The Grand Matinee

The Grand Matinee

Welcome, y’all, to The Grand Matinee!

Today we’ll watch a puppet dance, we’ll watch him work and play.

And soon’s he gets his butt on stage, he’ll cry for you, okay?

As far as props and puppets go, our Frank won’t fail, no way.

He’s learned to prance through lost romance, and all them kindsa things;

today you’ll see ’em, big as life, and all the pains they brings!

What’s that? Hell, Charlie says he’s gone and cut his strings.

Again? Don’t matter none, ’cause Molly here, she sings.

Burn us one now, Molly, give them cords a ride. She’s great:

vocal, string, or otherwise. Molly, please don’t hesitate;

the seats are warm, you must perform. The crowd don’t like to wait.

Well, Hell, it sure do look like Molly’s caught a bug;

leaves us all shorthanded, ain’t nothin’ left to plug.

But Charlie says he’s rousted Frank, and strung him good as new.

So welcome friends and foes alike, I hope you gots a view,

’cause here comes baby Fearless Frank, all set to swing for you!

Cry, puppet, cry!

Crawl, you whiny quadruped, crap and pee some more.

Spend your days confined in cribs, fake n****e in your paws,

stuffed in strollers slamming curbs: Mama’s courting menopause.

Wail your wretched soul away till grandma comes, arranges you,

flips and strips and changes you, and sings your a*s to sleep.

Stand, puppet, stand!

You’ve had your rosy, cozy spell, it’s time to learn the ropes.

You see sweet Fido sleeping there? He’s fealty without pause.

Your told he loves you very much. Just watch the teeth and claws.

Take hold of this! Let go of that! Did you hear what I said!

Shape up or I swear to God it’s off to early bed.

Walk, puppet, walk!

Go play with all your little friends, Mama needs her rest.

Ernie’s got a gift for you: a roundhouse to the eye.

Don’t let Papa Puppet see; his big boy’d never cry.

“Frank!” wails Mama Puppet, hands clasped to her chest,

“You’re sure to be the death of us. Who said to go outside!”

Dance, puppet, dance!

Papa’s done enrolled your butt in Little League this spring.

You’d better learn to thrill ’em all; to catch and slide and swing.

He’s already informed ’em twice that you’re the best there is.

No poster boy or six-foot stud can lick a son of his.

So pad your Jeans with magazines and grab your ankles now.

Run, puppet, run!

It’s June in Junior High School, the bullies have you cowed;

first they ripped your f*g tag, and then they stole your lunch.

“Son!” cries Papa Puppet, “you’ve got to learn to punch!”

He takes you to the back yard, and really roughs you up.

“That’s my boy,” he mutters, “now go make Papa proud.”

Strut, puppet, strut!

That girl who drives you crazy is walking home alone.

The fellas say she digs you, and really wants to chat.

This is it! Your one big chance. For sure your one and only.

Unless you want to spend your life a drifter lost and lonely.

Well, that went quick. Who knew girls slapped like that.

Smile, puppet, smile!

You’ve primped to pass this interview, you’ve got your patter down.

This job could mean a whole new life; a car, apartment…Christ!

A way away from parents! From “friends”! From money only doled!

“Frank,” the interviewer smiles, “you’ve won me, heart and soul,

“but, sad to say, this job you seek has gone to Puppet Joel.”

Groan, puppet, groan!

Park your plastic horse inside your polished plastic dome.

Another weekday rut at work, another rut at home.

Mama Puppet rattles on, Papa Puppet sighs.

The TV screams of gels and creams to energize his joint.

He looks at Mama Puppet there and wonders what’s the point.

Cry, puppet, cry!

You’ve lost dear Mama Puppet, to breast cancer they say.

Your son’s home in a body bag, from some war far away.

Your daughter ran off with a creep who pimps her on the streets.

You spend your days with pigeons, your nights on toilet seats.

“Too bad,” the other puppets sigh, “Well, guess I gotta run.”

Roll, puppet, roll!

Shove that gold watch you-know-where and hug your new Depends.

Guide your wheelchair down that rocky path that never ends.

Watch that telltale sunset swell and tell yourself all’s right;

another good day gone to hell, another lonely night.

Drain that cup and cover up and drift off with a sigh.

Die, puppet, die!

Tremble on the toilet, cry a plastic cry.

Roll your glassy eyes and wheeze, embrace your wooden knees.

Drop your phony head and give your chest a final squeeze.

Bend your wooden waist and place your face on either thigh.

Poise and purse your painted lips and kiss your a*s goodbye.

Well, thanks for your attendance, folks, we hope you had a blast.

Good shows come and go, y’know; the best ones rarely last.

Y’all can thank our Fearless Frank for givin’ you his all.

It breaks my heart to say that he won’t make his curtain call.

But rest assured, you got my word, we all regret his loss.

He’ll spend his rest in Puppet Hell for lettin’ down his boss.

Y’all make sure to come on back, and bring the in-laws too,

to watch our Dauntless Dave take on a biker gang or two.

I know he loves to take his lumps; he’d have no other way.

G’bye, now, folks! Y’all been great! Y’all have a great day!