'Ten Minutes Late for Reality' by Lou Morris (c) 1988, 1989, 1991, 2002, 2015. Fourteen:


"Fatter than a bleeding gullet,
more sorrowful than a loco's motive,
able to heap tall helpings in a single bowl.
Look!  Up in the sky!  It's a turd!  No, it's a goose!
It's Mighty Mooch!
Yes, it's Mighty Mooch!
Strange eater from another county,
who came to Cassville for a picnic with relatives
far distant than his second cousin, Jen.
Mighty Mooch, who now can eat twenty full course dinners
and chew steel with his empty mouth.
And who, disguised as himself, really fat reporter        
for a less than legal newspaper (The Daily Eclipse),
now eats a never ending serving of chocolate moose,    
crushed ice and anything else that gets in his way!"

                                 - Mighty Mooch!
                                  The man of meal.

   A Corvette zipped by Roy as he pulled his gray Malibu to
a halt at the yellow traffic light.
   "Glad I put back all that stuff I borrowed," Roy thought
outloud, "Who knows how much trouble I could've been in if I
didn't listen to those two omens."  He turned down the radio
volume which was quietly playing some generic metal band.  
"Almost hitting a retard and talking to a fish.  A dead
fish!"  That's two omens if I ever seen them, Roy thought.    
Although, Roy added in thought with a smile, I did keep all
those nice socks... except those tacky pink wigwams.
   A big gold car with a brown door screeched to a halt
beside him, in the right hand lane.
   Roy looked over at the boat-like auto.  That's Lou's car,
he thought.  He waved, though he couldn't really see Lou that
clearly because the windows on the Riviera were either really
dusty or were covered with chocolate finger prints.  He noted
that the car was sitting extremely close to the pavement.  
"You need new shocks!" he yelled out his passenger side
   The Riviera revved its engine, inching forward slightly.  
The theme song from "The Flintstones" blasted out from the
air vents in the rounded trunk.
   "Oh, you wanna race, huh?" Roy laughed happily.  He
revved his own engine, inching forward as well.  He stared at
the opposite direction's traffic signal, waiting for it to
turn yellow.
   Little did Roy know, but was destined to find out, big
gas guzzlers are known to go really fast while smaller
economy cars are not known for their phenomenal speed.
   Screech!  Zoom!...
   Scrape! as a certain large car, driven by a certain large
individual hit a certainly large pot hole, leaving a flutter
of wrinkled candy wrappers behind.

   In order to scrape some of the dullness from the book and
make it more interesting and exciting, the editor suggested
that I have you wait a while to find out who won the race.  
As if you couldn't guess.