| Maybe Tha's Your Problum Too *Spoken with a Scottish accent* |
| Oll ma problums who knows, mybe ev'ribody's problums are due to the fact, due to the owful truth that I am a nudist. I know, I know. Oll those stoopid jokes: Where do I keep my wollet, ha ha, and oll the ones about wha I do when I see those "na shirt, na shoes, na service" signs. Well tha's funny, yeah. But you try bein' a nudist for a month er two. Go'head. Talk about bein' self concious, ya con't hide yer body with anything. Then winta comes but ya con't ev'n wear a coat while shov'lun the snow from yer wolk way. Now what do I care about not wearin' coats? But ev'rione tells ma it's the pric'pul of it because we're nudists. So I take off the coat and shov'ul the snow in the cold, freezin' me bloody buns off in the nude. Then there they are. Oll my stinkin' neighbas come out ta see me shov'ul my wolk in the nude, tellin' their childrun to stay insyde. You thank when you're a nudist sumthin' excitin's going to hoppen to ya. Well, I'll tell you whot, it neva hoppens that way. Nuthin' hoppens. I go to the beach, meet some perverted tourists, get mocked by sum teenagers, and go bock to the colony. LIke that, ova and ova. I thank I'll try sumthin' diffrunt. I thank I'll try sumthin' complately opp'sit like bein' a religious Mooslum covered oll the way to the veil. But you just con't quit bein' sumthin' like a nudist. You're a nudist for life. Foreva. I con't even wear shorts because of how badly they chafe. So maybe tha's your problum too, who knows? Maybe tha's the problum with ev'rithin'. Ev'ritime you try ta wear shorts, they chafe. |
| (This poem was an assigned copy of Jim Hall's "Maybe Dat's Your Pwoblem Too") |