Fun with the Rocket-Powered Spice Rack

When I left the house this morning the ground was covered with snow, and it was coming down pretty hard. By that afternoon, the sun was shining and the snow was gone entirely. Go figure. The search for a house still goes on, but as everyone keeps telling me, and I actually believe, deep down, it'll all work out in the end. Tomorrow we go back to the fray, as the last house we put in an offer on didn't fly. But we shouldn't lose hope.
Tonight's poem I actually did not write any of. It's kind of an experiment, cobbled together from various bits and pieces of dialogue from twenty or so different Red Meat comic strips. Consider it artistic license. I had a good laugh writing it, anyway. And the comic strip's pretty funny, too.

The Red Meat Dialogue Diatribe

"What did we learn today?"
"I hate you, Milkman Dan!"

"Does this mean you don't validate parking?"

"But here in Mayberry, we just don't talk to gun-toting redneck amphetamine freaks that way."

"Not if you use a long enough piece of floss, dear."

"It was worth it, though. That dead clown was the funniest thing ever."

"Well... now that I've snapped my pelvis in half, I can hardly feel my back pain."

"I knew them radioactive zombie girls shoulda had pajamas."

"Oh, that must be that 'human head that refused to die'. I put it in there this morning while I was cleaning out the attic."

"Oh. I was afraid it might be a squirrel or something."

"Please get back under the porch before one of the neighbors sees you."

"You're a thoroughly repugnant mechanical bastard."

"Okay, three dollars and I still get to throw the oranges."

"I can only bow to your superior bastardry. Have a pleasant, relaxing weekend."

"At least I'll never have to wonder what a mummy tastes like."

"See? That wasn't so hard to say, now was it?"

"I need to grab my Skynrd tapes and my denim vest."

"Finis"