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Buzzle the Wuzzle

(Photo: Wuzzles in the wild...Wall art inside Cincinnati’s Museum Center at Union Terminal.)

On a walk along Wabash one bone-chilling day
My suburban friend, Val, had something say:

“You can’t tell the story, you can’t tell, you can’t–
My nieces might read this, their parents will rant.
If you do, change the names of people and places,
Using a pseudonym leaves fewer traces.”

“Most of all, please make it fit for young readers,
My sister has standards, I beg that you meet hers.
Under no circumstance unveil the puzzle–
The item I sought to buy? Call it the wuzzle.”

Five years and twenty have passed since it happened
Suburban Val found herself rubbed on the back end,
Never expecting the unforeseen nuzzle
While harmlessly out on the hunt for a wuzzle.

Now wuzzles are funny, as older girls know
They don’t like to sled with you out in the snow.
They don’t like the sunlight, they don’t like the rain
You wouldn’t take one out to play on the train.

They won’t be caught romping in summertime flowers
Instead they’ll befriend you at undisturbed hours.
Their rubbery wubbery wobbly kisses
Are sought after widely by legions of misses.

But where’s a girl coming of age in the sticks
Supposed to find wuzzly buzzly kicks?
Where can you find one? Where do they roam?
How do you go about coaxing one home?

You go to the forest where wuzzles are born
Amid renty-blue flickies and wee-gamer sporn.
You don’t tell a soul of your wuzzly bid
But you go there, and quickly–that’s just what Val did.

As she entered the glade, she was swiftly perplected–
It wasn’t exactly as she had expected.
For one, it was dirty, for two, it was dim
And all of the people there looked rather grim.

She averted her eyes, she avoided their gaze
And made for a tree hidden half in the haze,
When what to her down-looking eyes should appear
But a sad little wuzzle, shedding a tear.

“Oh, why are you crying, dear wuzzle?” asked Val.
“If I can do something to help you, I shall.”
“Yes, please,” moaned the wuzzle, “please do so with haste,
My batteries are dying, they must be replaced!”

Now there’s nothing as woeful, as jolly decreased
As seeing a wuzzle becoming deceased.
Thusly moved by its plight, Val picked up the poor creature
Gave it a kiss and examined each feature.

“I’ll take you back home and I’ll wash you up neat,
Then you and I both will be in for a treat!
We’ll play in my nuzzle patch, just you and me
We’ll play there together, we’ll play there, you’ll see!”

“Say, you’ll need a name as would any new wuzzle…”
Val thought for a minute, “I christen you: Buzzle!”
Replied our faint hero, “Now please help me work,”
So Val cuddled him closer and made for the clerk.

But before she could get there, she suffered a bump
A thumpety-rub smack dab right on her rump.
And turning around to see what was the nuzzle
She came face to face with an odd fellow’s kluzzle.

She cried out in fright–she was not to be blamed
Then after she gathered herself she exclaimed:
“Dear sir, I’ve no interest to rub on your kluzzle,
My heart now belongs to my buzzery wuzzle.”

Val ran away quick from that nasty old grinder
In hope Mister Nuzzle was nowhere behind her.
But fleeing one frying pan into one newer
She met with a floozie who thought that she knew her.

A floozie it was, a floozie indeed
But not of the typical amateur breed.
From the tip of her tat to the breadth of her poozie
As floozie-floos go, this one was a doozie.

“I’m Madam Gadunk-Gadunk,” floozie professed,
“The last time you saw me I wasn’t quite dressed.
Apologies due for that day’s tardy session,
Shared space has its snags in our chosen profession.”

“Now what are you talking? Now what did you say?”
Val asked as she felt herself inching away.
“I’m not your old roommate, no we’ve never met.
You naked is something I wouldn’t forget.”

“Now please let me by, I really must hurry–
My wuzzle is wheezing, I’m starting to worry.”
As Val hastened past, she heard an alarm
And watched Gadunk carted off by the gendarmes.

She looked down at Buzzle, held tight in her hand
And told him, “Today’s going not as I planned!
I wanted a wuzzle, but not all this hassle–
This hassily, wassily, whissily-wassle!”

“Now let’s get you fixed and get out of this glade,
My patience is weakening, my temper is frayed.
Who knew nabbing wuzzles was difficult work?”
Luckily that’s just when Val spotted the clerk.

She slid up to the counter and laid Buzzle down
Got hold of the clerk, and said with a frown,
“My wuzzle is wheezing, he’s almost a goner.
Can you fix him up? Will you do me the honor?”

And that’s when the clerk got a mischievous grin.
“I think he needs D-cells, here I’ll put them in.”
“I’ll do it,” said Val, “if you merely provide them.
I’ve had a long day. Now where do you hide them?”

But quick as a wink and before she could flee
The clerk snatched away Buzzle with obvious glee,
And giving a flash of his lecherous smile
Inserted the batteries and turned up the dial.

Now what he did next you’d never suppose–
He shook the poor wuzzle in front of her nose!
Then asked in a voice that was needlessly gruff:
“Is this wuzzle’s rub-buzzery buzzling enough?”

“Why I never!” said Val. “Never did I suspect
A buzz-wuzzle salesman to be so direct!”
She tossed him a twenty and gave him a smack,
Ran off with dear Buzzle and never looked back.

Now many years later and half-again older
Suburban Val hasn’t grown markedly bolder.
“The fright that he gave me can do without topping,
Forevermore I’ll stick to Internet shopping!”

“The prices are cheaper there, no one’s a tease,
And two-for-one sales make me weak at the knees.”
The moral’s as plain as a pat on the tush:
A wuzzle in hand is worth two in the bush.

Categories: Adventure Best Of Chicago Carless Books and Words Dating Seussical Posts

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Michael Thaddeus Doyle

I'm a NYC-native, Latino, Jew-by-choice, hardcore WDW fan in Chicago with an Irish last name. I believe in social justice, big cities, and public transit. I do nonprofit development. I've written this blog since 2005. Believe in the world you want to live in.

My Bio | My Conversion | My Family Reunion


9 replies

  1. And here I was thinking what a great raconteur I was with my non-seussisized story. I was wrong. I humbly bow down to you sir.

  2. I think audioeric has a crush on you. And that’s “Chicago Burlesque’s Dyke Darling”.

    [Ed. Note: I stand thusly corrected!]

  3. Thanks kindly, Matt and Eric. Especially you Eric 😉

    Occasional colleague and burlesque-diva-extraordinaire JT, I’ll relay that information. And then try to get the imagery out of my head. Oy…

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