Donald The Trumpeter

The tragic tale of how a compulsive liar was cleansed by fire

Donald was a wilful youth
Who hardly ever told the truth.
Confronted he just falsified
By telling even bigger lies.

His father Fred was in dismay,
And was heard one day to say,
“Let’s hope this is just a phase,
I can’t believe a word he says.”

The time then came to stop his rants
When burps emerged from in his pants:
They occurred to his surprise
When the boy was telling lies.

His lies were soon accompanied
By awful sounds that trumpeted
A warning loud and very plain:
“The boy is lying yet again!”

With the generation of methane,
His father now did not refrain:
Fred became less amiable
As Don became inflammable.

His father’s patience now all gone,
So when interrogating Don,
He made a point not to forget
To smoke a lighted cigarette.

First the lies and then the thunder,
Finally from way down under
Frightful flames rose and gusted
As Don’s underpants combusted.

This story might be false or true –
Don told it me as I tell you.
I asked him then how he survived
From a childhood so deprived.

“I still lie, of course I do,
But I have learnt a thing or two:
I survive my hot retorts
By wearing fire resistant shorts.”

No sooner had he said these words
Than rectal turbulence occurred
As a trouser trumpet call
Shook all his trophies off the wall.

And that of course was far from all:
What came next as I recall –
A dreadful light lit up his face
As flames embraced him from the waist.

It gives me pleasure now to say
Not all was blazed away that day.
It is the most amazing fact
His legs still stood there quite intact.

This means that I can now advise
The shorts had worked as advertised.

DJG/07/17