Here’s an example of my comic strip “Shorten the Classics,” one of four for an upcoming issue of the Black Scat Review. This version of “The Raven” not only makes it more concise, but gives it a happier ending. Please click on it to make it more legible.

This retelling of the classic tale can be found in my book The Doug Skinner Dossier. Both Hansel and Gretel are based closely on my sister. Here’s how it begins.

HANSEL AND GRETEL AND I

Hansel and Gretel and I lived with our father and evil stepmother in a little bungalow out near the forest. Our mother was eaten by a bear when we were very young. Our father had remarried, and our evil stepmother made life difficult for us. She tried to poison our apples, but we only sickened. She encouraged us to play with bear cubs, but they ran away. She sometimes threw knives at us, claiming that her hand had slipped. Our father was busy making cuckoo clocks, and was oblivious to all of this. He was in a world of his own.
One sunny morning, our evil stepmother led us into the darkest and thickest part of the forest, gave us each a lunchbox, and ran away cackling.
“She’s abandoning us here,” I said.
“No she’s not,” said Gretel.
“She’ll be back,” said Hansel.
“She’s an evil stepmother,” I pointed out.
“We know she’s an evil stepmother,” snapped Gretel. “We don’t have to talk about it.”
“You only see the negative side of things,” added Hansel.
“But she keeps trying to kill us,” I said.
“No she doesn’t,” said Hansel.
“She throws knives at us,” I said.
“She told us that her hand slipped,” said Gretel.
“It’s wrong to accuse people of lying,” said Hansel.
“Besides,” said Gretel, “Mama is an angel in heaven now. She’ll watch over us.”
“That’s not how it works,” I said.
Gretel gazed upward, her eyes pearling with tears. “I miss you, Mama,” she whispered.
“She died when you were a year old,” I said. “You can’t possibly remember her.”
“Some people remember better than others,” Gretel archly replied…

This unusually brief story appears in my collection Sleepytime Cemetery. It’s short, but long enough for a happy ending.

THE FUNERAL DINNER

Little Tommy sat under a tree, pulling the wings off flies. When he pulled the wings off one, he tossed it onto the grass, where it died. He then plucked the next one from a jar, where he’d corralled them, being careful not to release the others.
Fly after fly buzzed to him, “Stop it! Put me down! Don’t hurt me!”
He paid no attention to their pleas, and continued his cruel routine, pausing now and then to take a swig of cola.
The flies in the jar were quite upset.
“How can we stop him?” one asked.
“He’s bigger than all of us put together,” said another.
“Maybe I can fly into his eye, and blind him,” another suggested.
“He holds on too tight,” another said. “Just look at him.”
“I have an idea,” said yet another.
“What’s that?” several asked.
“I’m harboring many robust specimens of bacillus anthracis. If he grabs me, I’ll give him anthrax.”
The others approved the idea.
Eventually, Tommy did pick the fly with the bacteria. As it traveled to its doom, the others buzzed, “Make him inhale them! That’s usually fatal!”
It was. Many flies brought their children to the funeral dinner.

Brent Raynes has written a book about my old friend John Keel, called John A. Keel: The Man, The Myths, and The Ongoing Mysteries. It’s not really a biography, but a catalogue of forteana, with John’s theories and opinions about them, as well as interviews with people who knew him, including me. It’s now available on Amazon. And I urge Keel fans to visit the site I maintain in his memory, John Keel: Not an Authority on Anything.

This alphabet appears in The Doug Skinner Dossier. Buy a copy! Buy another copy!

COMPLEMENTS

Acid — Base
Clean — Dirty
Empty — Full
Glum — Happy
Iffy — Just
Keen — Listless
Messy — Neat
Old — Puerile
Quiet — Raucous
Slim — Tubby
Unvoiced — Voiced
Wet — Xeric
Yawning — Zipped

Acrostics are usually used in longer verses. Here, they’re put to probably unsuitable use.

ACROSTIC COUPLETS

I mention that it might be fun
To eat a picnic in the sun.

It would at that, you answer back,
So we select some food to pack:

A jug of wine, some garlic knots,
Some nectarines and apricots.

In half an hour, we pack a lot
For lunch in some bucolic spot.

When we go out, to our surprise,
Enormous stormclouds fill the skies.

Great raindrops drop and start to douse
Our lunch. We run into the house.

Do we just sit around and mope,
Or do we find a way to cope?

It’s just as pleasant to consume
The picnic in the living room.

This song appears on my album That Regrettable Weekend, available on Bandcamp. I also performed it once with the Dixon Place Ukulele Ensemble, way back when. Here’s the first page, plus the first page of the arrangement for voice, melodica, Tremoloa, and baritone uke.

I add yet another formal constraint to the roster. Rhymed haiku observe the strict 5-7-5 syllable count of traditional haiku, but add rhymes. Here are seven examples:

Look at all the salt
Sprinkled on my frosted malt
It’s the waiter’s fault

You thought it great sport
To commit a grievous tort
I’ll see you in court

What is this I found
Just lying here on the ground
It must weigh a pound

Consider the mole
It spends its life in a hole
That’s its only goal

In the afternoon
You will seldom see the moon
Because it’s too soon

This is just a hunch
That was not a wholesome crunch
In my bite of lunch

Everybody dies
Then we get our ears and eyes
Full of baby flies

All of Robert Herrick’s rhymes are replaced. This is what he’d be like if he were different.

HERRICK RERHYMED

Gather ye Rose-buds while ye might,
Old Time is still a tilting:
And this same flower that smiles so bright,
To morrow will be wilting.

The glorious Lamp of Heaven, his place
The higher he’s a wending;
The sooner will he run his Race,
And neerer be descending.

That Age is best, which is the prime,
When Youth and Blood are speeding;
But being spent, the poorer time
Will followe the preceding.

Then be not coy, but use your day,
Goe marry, reconnoiter;
For once your prime has pass’d away,
You may for ever loiter.