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Broken Record

My brother’s like a broken record.  He tells me about how we used to bike around the neighborhood pretending we were race car drivers, and how we’d gained multiple knee scrapes from turning the curb too fast. He’ll tell me this story twice, thrice, or even four times in a row, and laugh about the good ol’ days. I laugh with him, because though he doesn’t remember that he’s already told me this story for the fourth time in a row, he does remember the fun we had. My brother’s like a broken record, but I don’t mind one bit.

What's for Dinner


Yesterday, I received a strange letter.

It said, “You’re the winner!

Congratulations my friend,

You have been invited to a grand dinner!”


At the bottom was the time it would start

Along with the address.

I didn’t have anything else better to do

So I put on a bit of perfume and my best dress.


When I went to the house

I was greeted by a hare.

He let me right in

And all I could do was stare.


The house was magnificent.

It had such elegant decor.

Crystal chandeliers, silver flowers,

And ornate paintings galore!


There were plenty of animals

Who had been invited to the dinner too

Such as a bear, an ox,

And even a cockatoo.


My stomach growled.

“What’s for dinner?” I asked the hare.

“I am not sure,” he said.

“Ask the mare.”



“What’s for dinner?”

I asked the mare.

“I don’t know,” she said.

“Ask the bear.”


Frustrated, I went to find him.

“What’s for dinner?” I asked the bear.

“I don’t know,” he said, licking his chops.

“But I’m hungry, so I might eat Hare.”


“Don’t do that,” I said.

“Who’s hosting this party, anyway?”

“I think it’s the cockatoo,” the bear said.

“You smell like cookies, I dare say.”


I didn’t want to be an appetizer

So I quickly left the room.

I was beginning to regret

Putting on that cookie dough perfume.


As my stomach growled louder,

I found the cockatoo.

“What’s for dinner?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Ask the kangaroo.”


I sighed and found the kangaroo.

Again, I asked, “What’s for dinner?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Ask Ox. Maybe he knows the winner.”


At this point, I was hangry.

“What’s for dinner?” I asked the ox.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Ask that silly fox.”


I stormed over to the fox.

“What. Is. For dinner?”

The fox smiled at me.

“Why are you the winner?”


“I suppose, but what does that mean?!”

The fox chuckled. “Oh, so you don’t know?

The ‘winner’ is the appointed chef

And chefs must prepare food, sooo…”


I stood there dumbfounded.

“Surely this is a joke!”

The fox shrugged.

“We’d pay you for it, but we’re broke.”


My face grew hot.

“This is utterly insane!

And you thought I’d go along with this?

That’s simply inane!”

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