Pood #3

You’ve got to kill a lot of trees to make just one issue of Pood! (Pood-poets, feel free to use my Madison Avenue style advertising slogan. )

Yeah. Trees. The question is, what kind? Maybe the talking kind, like from The Wizard of Oz or H.R. Pufnstuf. The guy in a tree costume from Chaplin’s Shoulder Arms. Or maybe, like the tree branches on the head of the creature in Hans Rickheit’s Cochlea and Eustachia. (see above) My favorite moment in the current Pood is from that comic, when two masked girl-twins fight over a cupcake, only to learn that it contains a sleeping humanoid lizard embryo.

Pood is a mind-altering experience. To dig Pood is to dip into other realms, wearing only a fez , a codpiece and carpet slippers made of certain kinds of squash.

Sometimes (the nights when the shelter is closed), I like to snuggle up in a fresh copy of Pood over on parkbench #5  and read the ink impression it leaves on my thorax.

Pood doesn’t contain anti-oxidants.

I like to swallow Pood like a horse pill, and let its cool, menthol sensation spread like an oil slick around my diaphragm.

When the wind is just right, I like to ride it like a flying carpet. Whoops-a-daisy!

Put some Pood in your pillow as a tasty snack for later. Tastes like marshmallows!

Old women in babushkas like to congregate around the playground, shouting at the children: “Did ya get yer Pood? Did ya get yer Pood?”

Pood is furry and hops up and down (no, that’s a rabbit!)

Pood ain’t plastic; it’s Poooooooooooood-tastic!

Order your copy of Pood today! Here’s how.