Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout

Ok I'm back. Hi.

Where was I? Oh yah. I was binging the Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout poem.

Found it. It's a poem called "Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout Would Not Take The Garbage Out" by Shel Silverstein, written in 1974.
Here goes:

Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout 
Would not take the garbage out! 
She'd scour the pots and scrape the pans, 
Candy the yams and spice the hams, 
And though her daddy would scream and shout, 
She simply would not take the garbage out. 
And so it piled up to the ceilings: 
Coffee grounds, potato peelings, 
Brown bananas, rotten peas, 
Chunks of sour cottage cheese. 
It filled the can, it covered the floor, 
It cracked the window and blocked the door 
With bacon rinds and chicken bones, 
Drippy ends of ice cream cones, 
Prune pits, peach pits, orange peel, 
Gloppy glumps of cold oatmeal, 
Pizza crusts and withered greens, 
Soggy beans and tangerines, 
Crusts of black burned buttered toast, 
Gristly bits of beefy roasts. . . 
The garbage rolled on down the hall, 
It raised the roof, it broke the wall. . . 
Greasy napkins, cookie crumbs, 
Globs of gooey bubble gum, 
Cellophane from green baloney, 
Rubbery blubbery macaroni, 
Peanut butter, caked and dry, 
Curdled milk and crusts of pie, 
Moldy melons, dried-up mustard, 
Eggshells mixed with lemon custard, 
Cold french fried and rancid meat, 
Yellow lumps of Cream of Wheat. 
At last the garbage reached so high 
That it finally touched the sky. 
And all the neighbors moved away, 
And none of her friends would come to play. 
And finally Sarah Cynthia Stout said, 
"OK, I'll take the garbage out!" 
But then, of course, it was too late. . . 
The garbage reached across the state, 
From New York to the Golden Gate. 
And there, in the garbage she did hate, 
Poor Sarah met an awful fate, 
That I cannot now relate 
Because the hour is much too late. 
But children, remember Sarah Stout 
And always take the garbage out!

My dad had this whole thing memorized I think. At least most of it, I remember him reciting bits of it from memory, but I don't think I ever heard him recite the whole thing. I don't remember the part about her "awful fate." Now I really want to know what happens to her, but I can't cause Mr. Silverstein is a jerk who cannot relate stuff when I want him to. Unless "Shel" is a girl's name. I don't know cause I've never heard that name before, unless it's short for Shelley, in which case it's a girl's name. That would make it very embarrassing for me if I met Shel Silverstein and made that mistake. Although if I met him/her/it, I could probably tell whether or not he/she/it is a man or a woman just by looking at him/her/it, unless he/she/it is one of those Persons of Ambiguous Gender, in which case it would be very embarrassing for him/her/it. That would be an awkward conversation. 

Shel: Hello! I'm Shel Silverstein. 

Me: Hello Mr. Shel Silverstein! Nice to meet you. 

Shel: It's Miss Silverstein. 

Me: Oh, I'm so sorry. I couldn't tell. 

Shel: @#$%?!!!!!

Never mind, it would be very embarrassing for both of us, unless I got it right the first time by chance in which case it would be very embarrassing for neither of us. 

ANYWAY: What was I talking about? Oh yes I wanted to know what happens to Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout. That part of the poem is incredibly unspecific so I'll have to rewrite it. The Bolded Parts are mine:

And there, in the garbage she did hate, 
Poor Sarah met an awful fate, 
That I, for you will now relate 
Although the hour is much too late. 
She slipped on a banana peel, 
And through the garbage did she keel
Past many a rotten happy meal, 
Until death's firm grip did she feel. 
So children, remember Sarah Stout 
And always take the garbage out!

There we go! Now I'm happy. I hate ambiguous endings. I think I remember when I was a girl-let watching The Wizard of Oz for the first time and being angry because it doesn't say whether or not the whole thing was supposed to be a dream, or if we're merely given the option of interpreting it that way. It's just an irritating way for the writers to bum their way out of agreeing on how the movie should end. 

That's all I got to say about that. Time for bed. I'll turn out the lights, and close the door. That's all there is. There isn't any more. 

If you get that reference, I'll make you cookies. 

Good night!