I changed my mind. Sometimes, boys and girls, it’s best to reconsider or revise a plan. So it happened that when I got down to the plains, when I heard the click-click-clicking of the blond tyrant coming, coming closer, I revised my former plan to reason with the beast and so, instead, I jumped up high into the sky and forced my way into this box.

Barneys are not really made to worry about their lot. But I am worried, I am worried it is fiercely hot. And, after much struggling against the door I am beginning to doubt that this poor Barney might ever get out.

Barneys are not really made to regret. But if I were, I should never have sung so many songs about cold toes and being wet. Cold and wet would be a happy vacation from this blazing dry incineration.

Barneys are not really made to do anything but smile blankly. But if I were, you’d see me scream, you’d see me panic, you’d see me freak frankly.

And unless I am very much mistooked, Barneys are really not made to be cooked.

Bea Murphy