The Gumby Manifesto

Gumby is made from that stuff inside of us that never stays the same,

but which can rest in the same place forever.

Gumby oozes in and out of the cracks in the walls of money.

Gumby's poop is currency in the slums of Heaven.

Gumby is the unseen third sex that we strive to become in union,

a squishy blending of parental archetypes.

Gumby is the absolute truth that is only defined by lying

as lies dance the pattern of Gumby's shadow.

Sometimes the cold world freezes Gumby into a particular shape

and he/she becomes messiah or prophet.

Gumby is the mannequin God uses when he sews a new species.

Gumby loves to play on the double-helix.



Gumby is not edible!

Gumby is not edible!

Do not eat Gumby!

Gumby does not taste good!



Gumby however may be taken orally to retrieve your keys

but only if you haven't lost your gag reflex.

The National Enquirer reports that Gumby is Barbie in drag

while in a state of suspended animation.

Gumby is kryptonite for the terminally inflexible.

Gumby is everyone's achilles-high-heel.

Gumby is the stunt-man who steps in to spend your dark night of the soul.

Gumby is the bliss in every traffic jam.

Gumby serves the only free lunch you must give everything to eat.

Gumby is a mushroom cloud omelette.

Gumby is the magnetic field where we harvest our radios.

Gumby is the snowstorm twixt commercial and show.



It aint over till the fat Gumby melts into your dessert,

extends two arms from the centre

of the whirlpool that your pudding has become,

and at the bottom of which a mouth that has formed asks

"Please sir, can I be more gruel?"