I eased myself into the turgid heat
  Turgid and turgider
   I guessed or approximated
The need
And packed accordingly;
Two slings
One medium stone
  a barrel of peanuts-
For the monkey
Never stopped chattering
   Some decisions were simple
Others reeked of old timetables
    But still I persevered
Foolishly perhaps
  But there was a method
To my sadness
  Which food, alcohol, and cigarettes
Would hardly allay
 It went like this-
Steam the labels off old cans
And put my labels on them
 Add a bit of chicken poo
On the eggs in the carton
 Then people would come from miles
Full of praise
  For the farm fresh quality
I replied stoically
Like any good farmer would