monkey on my back

(to be read ALOUD)

Let's talk about the monkey on my back:

He is fat and has ticks, he's four feet tall and his stuttering makes me sick; he squawks like a parrot, his hands are so hairy, his dialect is Prussian and his accent--oh so scary. He wobbles in the courtyard like a zombified primate, he sniffs at his armpits in olfactuary fits, and his strategies are German--he takes me tanking in the Blitz! This monkey's like a unicorn, rare and tragic; he's perverse, a miraculous exhibit, yet thick with musky odours, like a mouldy catcher's mitt.

This here chimp is (sadly) quite a gimp, a weak noodle hanging limp, a slucker and a sucker, a poodle-fooling moronic mule-minded back-attacking beasty! A most mystifying monkey, clinging so chunkily, is robbing me of all fair feeling as he feeds into my funkery; he's a skunk-rumped gallunk, a nasty growth or a shoulder-hump, a hardy barnacle on my torso, I plead and beg but he just annoys me--he baffles, even more so.

Yes, according to my latest check there's a monkey around my neck; he's force-feeding me this dreck, so why not, what the heck, I should trade him for a gecko or a lighter kind of creature, a wizard-lizard, a courteous kissing cobra (I'd offer one of those a peck), a black mamba I can samba with--not lurch around with an ape, perched atop me clumsily and wonkily, so nefariously stuck. It's some bottom-barrel luck that's plucked me for this monkey; so until I can untie him, if we're whooshing by you'll spy him, the sly gorillish grin on him, his hand over my eyes and blinding me, driving me unto insanity. Yes yes yes! There's a monkey on my back, and alas and alack for poor Patrizio T, he is here laughing at me, a four-footed chimpanzee, adhering to me, married together, we, like horse and harness tethered, glued as one (it's the opposite of fun) unto eternity...