Tag Archives: Gertrude

Hippo Haikus

23 Jul

Haiku #1
Gertrude is snoring
Hippo trainer needs some sleep
Duct tapes hippo’s mouth
Haiku #2
Lonely old lady
Hippo lovin old lady
Snuggles with Gertrude
Haiku #3
Hippo shares the bed
Gertrude drools on her pillow
Mavis does not care
Haiku #4
Gertrude’s ass is huge
Hippo is a big bed hog
Mavis rolls off bed
Haiku #5
Hippos have bad breath
Mavis can’t stand it
Gertrude does not floss

Love Mavis Rose Sinclair

P.S. Gertie, I love you!

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Mavis Rose and Willie Nelson…

24 Jun

I met Willie Nelson. I shit you not.

I was at a coffee shop sipping a delicious iced coffee on a sweltering hot summer night. I needed a break from the noisy atmosphere inside the cafe. Gertrude agreed. We were obliged to step outside for some fresh air. As usual, my darling hippo-friend’s pontoon ass never fits through any normal size door… It took a good five minutes to squeeze her out. Outside, we were reminded that the air was, indeed, not fresh. But more like that of an exhaust pipe. We might as well have stood directly behind a car, put our lips up to the tail end and drawn on the pipe as if it were a giant Cuban cigar. Nonetheless, it was a break from the noise pollution inside the building. As we loitered on the hot asphalt a middle age, grey-haired fellow with a nifty hat and an acoustic guitar slowly crept out of a shadowy gated hallway on our left. Gertrude seemed a bit put out by him because he was old, wrinkly and perfumed with whiskey and marijuana. I, however, was intrigued. Who was this odd fellow? He stopped three feet away from us. “Can I play a song for you?” I told him I would love to hear a song… but asked him his name first. He shook his head. “What’s your name young lady?” I told him my name was Mavis Rose and that my hippo’s name was Gertrude. He was perplexed. “What do you do, Mavis Rose?” I told him my profession and what Gertrude and I do in the ring.
“Wow!” With great enthusiasm he lifted up his guitar and passionately began to strum and sing a song!!! It was lovely. I could feel the energy and emotion behind his music. As soon as his last chord was played, he said, “that was for you Mavis and Gertrude… especially for you!!!” He took a bow. I told him how much I appreciated his song and that we would love to hear another one someday. I told him I would like to know his name. He said, “Sometimes people call me, Willie Nelson.” With that, he winked at me and walked away.” -The End, Mavis Rose

The Panty Show Must Go On!!!

14 Jun

It seems as though the looming severity of a bad economy has finally hit home. I noticed it the other day when Louisa the Snake Lady came to me and said, “Mavis, I don’t know if I can survive on pennies-a-week anymore. No one comes to my show.” She explained that the last several circus events had been scarce. Just as Louisa would let her snake slither and writhe around her neck and through her arms, crowd members would slip out the tent doors. Attendance at all of our shows has been a record low. The Siamese Twins suggested all we ladies hike up our skirts and “show a little more thigh” to attract more customers. Jun and I always assumed that people needed more entertainment during hard times. It’s my theory that we should lower our prices and advertise a grand show. People really do need an exciting distraction during economic decline. Look at the 1930’s and 40’s. I remember when it happened then. We did the same thing. People were unable to afford certain luxuries. But they always went to the circus! You know why? Because people need to take their minds off of their sadness. That’s what we’re here for!!! Step right up folks!!! Mavis Rose Sinclair will cheer you up!!! Gertrude and I will duke it out on the dusty floor for your pleasure. We’ll spar for a while… (a teaser). We’ll do a little dance around and around and around… Then POW!!! I’ll rip off my wooden leg and pop Gertrude smack in the forehead. This little dance will continue. The crowd will go wild… “Yeah! Hooray! Wow!” Then, for the grand finale… I’ll have Gertrude in a headlock on the floor, take a pair of lacy thong panties out of my pocket, strangle her into submission and sling-shot them into the crowd! -The end
Love, Your Hippo Trainer, Mavis Rose Sinclair

Periwinkle Chomski

19 May

It was a long night. Each and every performer agreed that the message from the audience was that of expectancy. They needed something from us. I think it was that they lusted for our energy and sucked us dry by the end of the night. Elgina mentioned that during her entire act, she was snoozing. And Gertrude and I were beat like whipped cream after our intense pounding session. Now, I’m not saying that this is unusual. We often have nights where we are sucked dry. However, tonight was extreme. As I hobbled to my wagon, I had to use my friendly pachyderm for support. Her sweaty skin left a salty residue on my new sequined tutu. But at that point, I was lackadasical. It was not important. My main goal was crawling into my fluffy bed and nodding off into deep slumber. As my wagon came closer into view, it seemed as if something was placed on the front steps. It was a freshly potted plant. “How odd”, I thought. I looked in all directions to no avail. Who would have placed this pretty pot on my porch? I took a closer gander to survey the plant. It was a magnificent Periwinkle. Hmmmm. How rare indeed. A very timid voice whispered out of the shadows behind my wagon. “Ma’m, I’m traveling around these parts and I’m lookin’ for a place to stay.” As he stepped out of the shadows he rolled a bicycle along his side. With hair disguising his face his head hung low. It was if he were trying to humbly ask for permission with his gestures. There was an immediate sense of trust between me and that man. I told I could most likely get him some lodging with Al the Mechanic. With this, he meandered over to the Periwinkle, and with grace, picked it up and strapped it to the top of his head like a fancy hat! It was a sight to see indeed! A potted Periwinkle on a man’s head with a strap snugly tied under his chin. He wore it as if it were part of his body. I walked him over to Al’s wagon. And just as I figured, Al was fine with the new guest. His name was Periwinkle Chomski. I told him that the next morning, he could ask the circus manager for a job. But, he was gone as soon as he showed up. What an interesting fellow. I wonder if I’ll ever see him again?