Do Not Blame Me Trixie Said

I had heard that the professor from Xanadu was a bit eccentric. Try eclectic, pink kangaroo corrected me. I screamed for my muse. Trixie did not arrive right away. She has a distorted sense of humor. She teases me with weird creatures which do not belong in my head. They pop up in a most wondrous way. Ha! I am kidding of course. This Neanderthal kangaroo was poking around in her own pouch. Why me? I asked. Are all muses this inventive and peculiar? Whomp! Something large and awkward jumped on my back. My muse Trixie sometimes hires assistant muses to help torment me. One muse is not enough to torture me I guess? This was a gigantic yeti. I yelled “Trixie!. The yeti mimicked me. My anger so deep it was tangible. Just what I needed, an abominable snowman with a mean streak. Let me guess, a snickering voice said from the corner of the bookshelf. “Your poems are questionable tonight, and you are blaming me.” I saw the yeti wink at her, so I did not take the bait. Her participation in my next poem is solidly questionable now.