The Rip Post                                                                                              


ISLETS OF LANGERHANS

Weary of Bahaman sun, bored with Biarritz,
Stultified by St. Tropez, sated with St. Kitts,
I sought a new exotic site in which to rest my wits
(A place with charms tres innocent, and girls with perky tits).
And as I mused an inner voice, hearing of my plans,
Whispered quite seductively: "Islets of Langerhans".

I ran for my gazetteer, rapt; "What place is this?" I thought.
I knew of Isles Man, Capri -- mundane and cheaply bought --
But "islets" were another thing, so small and finely wrought,
I knew I couldn't rest until I found these gems I sought.
Yet absent from my Baedeckers, these "Islets" of white sands;
I couldn't find on map or chart "Islets of Langerhans."

The days passed by, I spent my time in constant conversation
With travel gents and ladies, too, to make my reservation
For "Islets" delicate and cool, the ultimate vacation,
But knew they not of such a place, this sublime destination.
They eyed their atlae, browsed brochures, for these exotic lands,
Yet not a one made mention of "Islets of Langerhans."

I grew depressed, morose, withdrawn; I could not find this place
Of unimagined beauty and inestimable grace.
I finally went to see the Doc, for chemical solace,
And told him of my woeful time, a melancholy case.
He asked what enchanted isle of mestasticising tans
Provoked me so? and I replied, "Islets of Langerhans."

He laughed until his head turned red; he burst his seams with glee,
He chortled, weezed, guffawed, hee-hawed (I thought that he would pee).
And when the mirth subsided, he cocked his head at me
And said: "You dumbass chucklehead, its not in any sea!
You'll not find them on any map, your "Islets of Langerhans,"
You'll find them in your stomach, Bub, they're endocrinal glands!"

An anatomic text he found and turned to chapter three
And right between the kidneys (two), above the place you pee,
An oddly, oozy squishy thing he pointed out to me,
And roared anew, with merry glint, "There's the place you'd be,
Above your nuts, below your guts, anterior of your can
You'll find your coconutted place, your "Islets of Langerhans."

To be continued.


---Kirk Rense

 

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