I was sitting on a bench in Central Park after dark when I saw a lark fall in a trench. I pondered as I wondered 'bout the trout of the Marinara and how I'd be a cow if I weren't to bow and share a pair a' shark to the lark. That's when I heard a loud, disturbing noise, the type that proud of are the boys. It seems the Ricky Martin had a part in on the fartin'. I say, "Beg ya pardon". He say, "It's those Latin pre-fried beans and that's called Livin la Vida Loca". I say, "What have you been smoka?" I'm thinking it's gotta be those Cubans or those new ban-anas from the Dominican Republic or maybe he went with Dominique to public school 'cause that'd be cool to pull the fire alarm with just one arm that couldn't do any harm. Hey! How the hay did he grow up on a farm that way with just one arm? He trimmed his limb on the bottom of a tractor, that's the greatest common factor or the GCF, and that's the easiest way to explain that day without inflicting pain or offending some viewers or getting rid of those die or doers. But if all the diers and the liars and fire starters and Ricky's fellow farters are out of the picture then who's gonna install your lighting fixture? Who's gonna build your house, catch your mouse, give your fire a douse? Who's gonna keep cats like me off your streets? Out of your treats? Off my feets? I guess nobody's perfect, or else we'd all be bored except Harrison ford who claims to have met perfection and is here for your protection.