Bartholomew’s Penance

Photo By Grace Galligan on Unsplash

I will not make deepfakes of Mrs. Krabappel
I will not bring my musical saw to band practice
A chain saw is not musical
Sir Mix-a-Lot does not have “sprung rhythm”
I will not hide war crimes in Milhouse’s locker
I will not run a speakeasy in the boy’s bathroom
I will not serve turpentine to minors
I will not tell Eliot to “eat my shorts”
I will not panhandle assembly
I will give Heath Ledger back his posthumous Oscar
I will not get very far with this attitude
I will not swear or swear off
I will not criticize the Western penal system
A fire drill does not demand a fire
The jungle gym does not need a coating of olive oil
I will not shave my head and mimic Foucault
I will not dwell in possibility
I will not apply for a Guggenheim
I will not floss with caution tape
The chalkboard does not want for words
I am legally bound to Principal Skinner’s NDA
I will not steal cogs from the great profit machine
I will not live-tweet the couch gag
I will not couch all my statements in ambivalence
The truth is not out there
I will not endorse bloodletting as sanctioned medical practice
My muse does not speak for me
I will not spray paint “El Barto” on The Intrepid
There is always more room on the chalkboard
Thirty-six seasons of this is a reasonable punishment
I will not leverage a spin-off
I will not make Whitmanian proclamations about the ever-sprawling soul
I will not snarl at daddy decay
The shingles virus is already inside me
I will not call Jebediah Springfield “toothsome”
I will not toss Sisyphus a beach ball
Being alive is crisis enough
I will not claim to be St. Augustine
Television cannot purify the soul
I will not open the blinds to “let in a little light”
I will not slap wheels on reason’s plank
and skateboard into the sunset