Imaginary people have house trained rabbits!
(“Or rabbits that live in hutches outside?”
No, that’s normal people –no good for beating oneself up with,
Since one doesn’t aspire to normality.) Anyway...........
Imaginary people have house trained rabbits,
They do not descend to the kitchen each morning,
And, as one of their ritualistic habits,
Tread in the red and ochre puddle while yawning,
And stretching on tiptoes to open the shutters,
Then stub their toes on the mule chest.
Imaginary people aren’t nutters!
Imaginary people are blest,
With the pleasing knowledge that they would never spend,
An hour with the tube of a vacuum cleaner,
Sucking ancient, desiccated, fibrous currants,
From the cracks in the settle’s back,
Because imaginary people would not offend,
One’s fragile sanity (and what could be meaner,
Than an imaginary person pretending to be as weird as you?)
Imaginary people somehow have the knack,
Of grooming their dogs ‘til they’re almost hairless,
And their houses are minimalistic, chairless,
Because they know how to resist an ‘ebay’ bargain,
(1820’s, sabre legs, what can one do?)
Imaginary people know how to go on,
Understand computers, and know the jargon
(Or is that normal people, I can’t always tell?)
Imaginary people would never tread in poo,
Then turn the experience into a song,
Is there anything these figments can’t do well?
Yes! Of course!
Imaginary people can’t go wrong!