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The Disappearing Remote MAG
Behind the pillow, under the cushion,
Where could it be? I’ll keep on lookin’.
I went to the kitchen to stuff my face,
But it’s not even there, or any other place.
“Mom! Dad! Where is the clicker?”
“We dunno, son,” and then they both snickered.
Inside the refrigerator, underneath the doormat,
I’m giving you eight seconds to show me where you are at.
Eight (by the fireplace?), Seven (under the sofa?),
Six (on the books?), Five (swallowed by a cobra?),
Four (inside the oven?), Three (within my hair?),
Two (on the coffee table?), One (under the chair?).
Alright! You win! I don’t know where you hide!
I’ll just ditch you for the beach, plus, it’s high tide!
But when I return, you better show your face,
Because you will not make me miss the new “Amazing Race!”