Pulp Fiction:
A Tribute To the Film "Reservoir Dogs"

Mean, metallic men, marching
To the jewel store, to the diamonds
Guns, knives under sleek blue suits
Professionals off to a nasty shopping spree

Shots fly! Civilians die!
The cops killed Brown and Blue.
Someone tipped them off, but who?
Blonde and Pink blasted their way loose,
Along with White, stained by Orange juice.

In the hideout, more than fingers are pointed,
Fighting and glaring like rats in sewers,
Especially White, a big fan of the Brewers.
A cop has been kidnapped, now tied down and beaten
By three grown men, laughing like children
He had been on the force for only a year,
Already he has to part with his ear.
Blonde starts preparing a favorite dish,
Char-broiled cop, which goes great with fish.
But Orange objects to this culinary fun,
And cancels Blonde's cooking, with his gun.
Orange's drug tales were only a dance,
His love of crime, an untrue romance.
He has run out of ammo, run out of lies,
In the chaos that follows, everyone dies.
All the surprises were bad for morale,
A gunfight in a not-OK corral.
Pink may have gotten away with the jewelry,
But these eight angry men would have made a poor jury.

The floor covered in gas, an ear, a pocket knife,
And all types of blood,
Too bad Sherlock Holmes was a fictional character.

Breakfast at eight,
Larceny at nine,
Rendezvous at ten,
Atrocity and revelation at noon,
News at seven, film at eleven,
On a "Super-Seventies Weekend,"
Where only the DJ lives on.


Robert Chao (rchao@netcom.com)