The Saucy Cello

I can't take it any more; the cello in my basement is giving me conniptions!

I pound out most of this cupcake stuff in my basement, see, and there's this cello sitting there, and it's got a blue nylon cover slip with metal zippers dangling off it; it sits atop the brown bookshelf below the east wall of the house and laughs at me. Occasionally it asks for a glass of water, which, since I am a gracious Canadian, I do not refuse it; yet my goodwill and diplomacy is met with vitriol, condescension and (dare I name it) mockery!

I have decided to call this cello 'The Saucy Cello' because of its egregious output of sass. Everything in the world is just a big laughable 'paper tiger' to the Saucy Cello; all life but a fluffy pinata to be poked at with the stick-pins of a frivolous rhetoric. "A pox on vegeterians! How I mock their utopian pedantry!" the Saucy Cello says. "Who's more foolish? the fool, or the fool who writes about fools?" it bellows, and--this last one really crosses the line--"blogging is pseudo-anarchist claptrap; you folks need to get a life!"

Can you believe the effrontery, the impolity? Talk about a load of petulant cra-zap. And what a whiner too. Yesterday I was at my desk, minding my business, contemplating all manner of things--evolutionary psychology, the miracle of transparent plastics, and how Fiddle-Faddle is a preferable alternative to Crunch-n-Munch--when this dad-blamed Saucy Cello resting behind my swivel chair starts whinging away: about how lonely life is when you're an underappreciated cello; how cellos ought to be running the civil service and the RCMP and be given tax breaks on account of not having any arms or legs, etc. "Pity the poor cello," it whinges, "always playing second fiddle to the violin." Self-pity, from a saucy cello? Rot and balderdash, I say.

Then it starts in with the abuse. On several non-consecutive occasions this most noxious viola has called me things like (and I quote) 'a lizard-toed loather of the arts', a 'mealy-mouthed trumpet-blowing suck-wad,' not to mention, the unkindest cut of all--'a preposterous scallywag'!

Me, a scallywag?? Can I get a freakin' witness*?

This very morning the Saucy Cello was all 'up in my face', rhyming off a salvo of saucy limericks, viciously crafted at my expense. Here's an unsavoury sampling:

'There once was a bloke in the basement
whose skull was a mere empty casement
where there should have been brain
is a wasteland moraine
and so I exult in his debasement!'

Enough slander and libel, enough salaciousness; enough confrontation! How much insensible poppycock must I tolerate from this rambunctious orchestral stringed instrument? What measure of reprimand is appropriate for the Saucy Cello? And is there no impound lot or rubbish removal van that will forever cart the bastard away?

Sweet sizzling sausages I say!

*exclamation c/o ABM