happy cinco de mayo

Greetings, 'ku believers! No, you're not hallucinating again -- it's really me, The Haiku Master, writing from my top secret base of operations atop an exclusive Himalayan mountain to wish you a drunkenly happy Cinco de Mayo!!!

That's right! Don't expect this to become a habit, though. See, ever since leaving Baltimore I've been living with a bunch of monks, which is about as much fun as it sounds. Talk about uptight; they even have a whacko "code of silence," and force me to abide by it too. All of which leaves very little excitement with which to regale you. And like it says on my business card, "If I can't excite, I ain't gonna write."

From Left: Brother Lo, Brother Ko, The Haiku Master, Brother Po, Brother Ho, And Brother Mo

But seeing as Cinco de Mayo is the Sultan of Syllables' all-time favorite holiday, I decided to liven things up by slipping tequila into the monastery's drinking water... and brother, was it ever worth it! The whole crew is talking up a storm, and some of 'em even got into fistfights. Plus, I'm pretty sure Brother Lo is suffering from a bad case of alcohol poisoning as we speak! Talk about a fiesta!

Too bad my old sidekick Paulo can't be here to give it that authentic Mexican flair. Or Santo and Blue Demon, for that matter. Truth be told I miss all of the old crew: Paulo, the Haiku-Bot, Old Man Winter, Angelina Jolie, Professor de la Groove... heck, even slick Texas Kelly and his weird Bush clone, Dubya. But alas, those days are gone. I'll keep sending you Friday Haiku though -- assuming you people keep paying your annual dues, that is.

Best,


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p.s. I hear that Haiku International's former Minister of Operations, Oswald "Oz" Carver, has started a "blog" called Oz's Funhouse. I'd check it out, but that guy gives me the creeps. Not to mention the fact he works blue. Very blue. You have been warned.

fistful of robotic fist

What's happening, folks? It's me, The Haiku Master, and I'm pleased to report that my Mirror Universe counterpart has been run out of town... and it's all thanks to my robotic man-servant, the Haiku-Bot!!

The Haiku-Bot

That's right! See, after wrapping up last night's post, I called H.B. into Castle Haiku's stately library and laid out the situation for him: my evil opposite, Chuck E. Cheese, the arm-wrestling challenge, etc.

"Bzzt," it said. "I see Mr., The Haiku Master sir your. Problem is a lack, of wrist-grappling ability combined, with questionable forearm. Strength. Correct?"

"Uh, yeah," I said. "What you said. I think."

"Bzzt. Here watch, this," it said, handing me a dusty VHS tape.

"This being..?"

"Over the, Top a 19, 87 Sylvester Stallone film focusing, on arm-wrestling."

Over The Top: It's No Rocky

"Oh. Well, what are you going to do while I'm watching this?"

"Bzzt. I am going to, construct an arm-length exo, skeleton made, from titanium but indistinguishable, from your real arm which, will ensure you victory in, tonight's. Contest."

H.B. was as good as his word, and by the time I'd finished watching the saga of struggling trucker Lincoln Hawk and his foray into the dangerous world of professional arm-wrestling, the exoskeleton was ready.

Now that I think about it, though, I'm going to wait 'til tomorrow to tell you how things went down at Chuck E. Cheese. Mostly because Santo and Blue Demon just showed up with a car-full of tequila and senoritas. Catch you later, non-rhyming poetry fanatics!

Best,

anyone know a good florida-based attorney?

Click For Larger Image

***
‘FREE PAULO,’ CHAPTER I

Ooooh boy. Hi friends. It's me, The Haiku Master, and there is an extreme cloud of guilt hanging o'er my brow tonight.

As longtime fans and anyone who watches the evening news will remember, I undertook an epic journey through darkest Mexico back in early February. While there, I made a new ally in a local cockfighting* expert by the name of Paulo; a swarthy fellow of few words who now serves as one of my most trusted agents.

Paulo, Agent Of Haiku

Thanks to Paulo, my time in that savage land included three weeks on its championship cockfighting circuit -- an eye-opening experience, to say the least. After witnessing firsthand the tequila-esque popularity enjoyed by the Sport of Kings in Mexico, I decided it was high time to introduce that beloved pastime to my own country.

Unfortunately, it would appear The Man beat me to it, as cockfighting is currently outlawed in forty-eight states. Forty-eight!

Undaunted, I had my attorney, Johnnie Cochran, draft the necessary paperwork to bring the Confederation of Championship Cockfighting Professionals - United States into legal existence. One phone call to Paulo later and the CCCP-US had its first Commissioner, who quickly went about setting up franchises in Louisiana and New Mexico.

This Ad Was Part Of A Full-Scale Media Blitz Announcing The Arrival Of The CCCP-US In New Mexico And Louisiana
(Click For Larger Image)

The cockfighting-friendly states secured, Paulo and I decided to tackle Florida, as it struck us as being one of a handful of localities that might reconsider their backwards thinking on the subject. If I'd only known then what I know now...

There's no easy way around this, loyal readers, so I'm just going to come right out and say it: as a direct result of our ill-advised expansion strategy, Paulo has been jailed (link goes to Florida's "News 6")!

That's right. Brave, loyal Paulo, rotting away in some godforsaken prison. Which, from what he tells me, is partially submerged in three feet of swamp water and infested with crocodiles. Naturally, I feel horrible about this...but not so horrible as to set foot in the state of Florida until the ridiculous bench warrant they've issued for me has been cleared up.

To make matters worse, Johnnie tells me he's not licensed to practice law down there. So if anyone can recommend a good Mickey State lawyer, they'll have the undying thanks of Paulo and the Pharaoh of 5-7-5 alike.

---CLICK HERE FOR 'FREE PAULO' PT. II---
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* Get your minds out of the gutters. I'm talking about the Sport of Kings, not some weird sex thing.

P.S. Talk about adding insult to injury -- my Minister of Information just sent word that New Mexico's House of Representatives has passed a ban on cockfighting by a 50-15 margin! Hopefully, my well-paid "friends" in New Mexico's Senate will stay true to their word (links go to various high-profile news outlets).

journey into mexico, pt. VI

***
CHAPTER VI

Santo and I gave chase to the treacherous Haikunestro and his robot chicken, El Diablo -- and in no time at all, we were on them!

"Well well well, Haikunestro," I said. "Looks like the table's firmly on the other foot now, hmm? Hmmmmm? Hmmmmmmmm?"

"¡Sí!," said Santo, punching his own chest and pointing furiously at our enemy. "¡Vamos a perforar su boleto, Haikunestro!"

Without missing a beat, Haikunestro hoisted El Diablo like a bowling ball and hurled it at Santo's head!

"Suck my robot cock*, you freak!" he shrieked. El Diablo tore into Santo's face with an equally piercing squawk, rending silver mask and flesh alike with his weird metal claws.

El Diablo Attacks!

"Sweet Jesus!" I cried, rushing toward my friend. "Santo!"

Haikunestro took full advantage of my momentary distraction, shoving past me as he hoofed it down the hallway.

"Never mind me, Haiku Master!" Santo shouted, wrapping his thick mitts around El Diablo's scrawny throat. "I can fend for myself! You must stop Haikunestro!"

He was right -- but how? My arch foe already had a good lead on me, and to be quite honest, I was winded; three weeks of living it up on the championship cockfighting circuit really takes it out of a guy.

As it turned out, no further action was necessary on my part. I heard twin gunshots, and Haikunestro collapsed on the dirty linoleum floor. Beside me, sparks flew from El Diablo's convulsing body as Santo's sturdy hands tore its neck in twain.

But who fired the shots? Paulo? Blue Demon? Who?!?

I peered down the hallway, and could just make out a large form draped in fine blue silk. This person wore an equally blue sombrero, and held a large, blue, smoking revolver in each hand.

"That," he said in a smooth Mexican accent, "is for sleeping with my wife. Adios, híbrido!"

Just as quickly as he appeared, the mysterious gunfighter in blue was gone.

"My god," I said. "Was that..."

"Sí," Santo said gravely. "The Blue Sombrero."

"The Mexico City Madman! I always thought he was a myth!"

The Mysterious Blue Sombrero, A.K.A. The Mexico City Madman

"Yes, well I would love to discuss his existence with you at length, but I'm afraid I must be off to the hospital."

"That's right, your face! Yeah, um, sorry about that..."

I nearly lost my lunch as I looked at Santo's wounds for the first time. El Diablo had left dozens of deep gashes on my friend's face -- it was a wonder his mask was still attached!

"Eh, it's no big deal," he shrugged. "My face was already horribly scarred -- which is exactly why I never remove my mask, as you well know. This will just be a new batch to add to the collection."

Just then, we were rejoined by Paulo and Blue Demon, who were inexplicably accompanied by four youngish-to-middle-aged, garishly attractive women!

"Hey Santo, Haiku Master!" Blue Demon said. "Look what me and Paulo found! Fun for all and all for fun, eh?"

"Blue Demon, you shouldn't have!" said Santo. "I need immediate medical attention, but you bring me senóritas instead. And when have I ever been known to refuse a lovely senórita? Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha!"

Oh, how Santo laughed! And when Santo laughs, everyone laughs.

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* Sí, is cock, no chicken.--Paulo

***
EPILOGUE

So that, faithful readers, was that. As it turned out, Haikunestro wasn't dead, just badly wounded, and he and his incapacitated henchmen were soon collected by the local police.

As for that night, let's just say what happens in Mexico City stays in Mexico City. And that Santo is extremely ungenerous when it comes to sharing senóritas.

The next morning, I said my farewells to Santo and Blue Demon, but felt no sorrow -- I had no doubt our paths would cross again at some point. Then, Paulo and I were off to the bus station; he to return to his village, and me to my top secret base of operations in the Baltimore suburbs.

"Well, I guess this is it, Paulo," I said as my bus pulled up to the station. "I really couldn't have asked for a better guide for my time here in Mexico. Put her there, pal."

"Usted es un hombre muy extraño," Paulo said as we shook. "Muy, muy, hombre muy extraño."

"Thank you, Paulo. I'll be in touch."

I must admit a twinge of remorse as I boarded the old grey dog for home. I would miss this country and its wonderful people, tacos, tequila, fajitas, cockfighting, burritos and fireworks. And donkeys.

After A Successful Adventure, The Haiku Master Is Homeward Bound

But whatever sorrow I felt was tempered by the knowledge that Mexico had gained a fervent new fan -- and powerful ally -- in me: The Haiku Master!