At Hamster Sam's Rodeo, tickets are free,
and, oh, the spectactular things that you'll see.
We're hamsters with cowboy boots, lassos, and chaps,
sombreros and saddles, bandanas and straps.
We even have hamsters for rodeo clowns,
with red rubber noses and painted-on frowns.
We spend our days racing, and roping, and riding,
and wrestling, and running, and bucking, and sliding.
It's non-stop excitement and guaranteed thrills,
with action and laughter and drama and spills.
And what's even bett...
Has anyone seen my chameleon this morning?
He has to be hiding somewhere.
He asked me if we could play hide-and-go-seek,
and then disappeared into thin air.
I've looked high and low in the yard and the house
and it seems like he's nowhere around.
He's probably hiding right out in the open
but doesn't yet want to be found.
I'm guessing he looks like a leaf on a bush
or the back of a sofa or chair.
He could be disguised as a book or a bagel.
Regardless, I don't think it's fair.
If you come a...
Have you ever heard the story of the weasel and the whale?
Well, I'll tell you, as it truly is an entertaining tale.
Let me introduce you, firstly, to the weasel, who, we note,
had a lifelong dream to waterski, but didn't own a boat.
No, he didn't have a speedboat or a rowboat or a raft.
Not a kayak or container ship or any kind of craft.
Not a steamship or a sailboat or a dinghy or a yacht.
Well, I think I've made my point, so I'll continue with the plot.
He was walking down the beach one mo...
The Dancing Baboon of Djibouti
is known for his breakdancing skills.
He flips on his hips and his booty
from Boston to Beverly Hills.
He'll bounce from his back to his belly.
He'll hop on his hands and his chin.
He'll scissor from Dublin to Delhi,
then drop to his shoulders and spin.
He'll windmill from here to Helsinki.
He'll rocket from Reno to Rome,
then pike on the point of his pinky
and pretzel hop into your home.
But if the Baboon of Djibouti
starts dancing inside your abode,
to run fo...
My parrot doesn't care to fly.
Although it sounds absurd,
he much prefers to skydive.
He's a most peculiar bird.
You'll see him leap from airplanes
in his zip-up nylon suit,
with goggles and a helmet
and, of course, a parachute.
He plummets toward the earth
and nearly breaks the speed of sound,
then pulls the ripcord just in time
before he hits the ground.
He skydives almost every day.
It leaves him feeling super.
And this is why he doesn't fly:
Yep, he's a parrotrooper.
When Bad Bertie Bartigan strode into town,
he held up the bank and his britches fell down.
"Dad gum it!" he spluttered. "Gawl durn it! Aw, shoot!"
then picked up his britches, but fumbled the loot.
He lit out of town in a mad-scramble dash.
He still had his pants, but he'd lost all the cash.
The stagecoach was passing that moment, by chance.
He held up the stagecoach, and down went his pants.
"Dag nab it!" he blurted. "Dad blame it! Aw, no!"
then hoisted his trousers, but dropped all the dough.
He ran for the hills with his britches held high,
but Bertie was broke and he wanted to cry.
And, as he was running, he spotted the train,
so Bertie, who wasn't renowned for his brain,
said, "This is a hold up!" His pants hit the deck.
"Garsh dang it!" he stammered. "Dog gone it. Aw, heck."
He ran away clutching his britches again,
straight into the sheriff and all of his men.
They busted Bad Bertie and tossed him in jail,
to wait for his sentence with no chance of bail.
And, there in the hoose...