For Rowdy Christians Everywhere

The Further Adventures of the Vanier Hitter

  When we left our charming anti-hero

  It was Hit Man seven, Good Guys zero.

  But his tale’s not told, though his ammo’s spent--

  There are always feet to encase in cement.

  He lurks wherever there’s elbows to rub,

  Dispatching yuppies, with a knife or club.

  So stock up on ice packs and anti-venom,

  And b’ware th’ bad cat dressed to kill in denim.

  Tonight he strikes at the Philharmonic,

  Where he renders a tuba player catatonic.

  Concertgoers gasp, in shock and awe,

  As the head swings limp, with a detached jaw.

  Then dodging sirens and flashing lights,

  Hear him vow to return on Opera Night…