The Uber-Goober

Seeing as how one of my heroes died two weeks ago--George "Goober" Lindsay of Mayberry fame--it didn't seem honorable to write just one poem about him.  This one came to me in a daydream (but don't all weird concepts orginate in the untamed pscyhe, as Freud noted?), and I thought I'd better write it down. 



So . . . here's another toast to Goober.






The Uber-Goober

There are three parts to every soul,
So Sigmund Freud once said:
The Ego, Id, and Super-Man--
All living in our head.

The Ego is our self-concern,
The Super-Man our dream,
The Id is who we want to be
And drives our self-esteem.

But as the German doctor knew
Sometimes the Id is cube
And splits in half to form a nut,
And he's your Uber-Goob.

The Uber-Goober is that nerd
Deep in your mental shelf,
The Goober that nobody sees:
Who is your Goober self.

The Uber-Goober isn't smart.
In fact, he's rather dense.
But every person's Uber-Goob
Lacks brains and common sense.

You know you like your Uber-Goob,
He's half your Barney Fife,
That part of you that's super dumb
And half your Goober life.

But don't despair!  Embrace yourself!
Learn from your inner tutor.
You're only one half serious . . .
The other half is Goober.