Zorgamazoo Read Online Free PDF

Divining Device !”
    Â 
    Everyone clapped. They hollered and cheered.
All except Morty. He was scratching his beard.
    Â 
    The Lottery Boss, he waited until
the crowd, once again, was quiet and still.
    Â 
    â€œYour names,” he went on, “are within the machine.
They’re written on marbles— nine hundred nineteen!
    When I yank on the lever that’s here at my side,
the nine hundred marbles will go for a ride.
    Â 
    They will enter the funnel that starts at the top,
they will tumble and roll ’til they come to a stop;
because only one marble will finally roll
to the end, to the base, to the Destiny Bowl!”
    Â 
    The “Destiny Bowl” was more like a flask;
it was heavy and broad, like a barrel or cask.
On its side was a letter, which Morty could see
was written in rubies—a big letter

    â€œWait!” Morty called. “Before we begin?
You still haven’t said what the winner will win!”
    Â 
    The Lottery Boss tipped the brim of his hat.
“Well, of course!” he exclaimed. “I was getting to that.
You see, my good friends, there’s adventure ahead!
Perhaps you have read what the newspaper said.
The countryside zorgles have all disappeared!
They were lost in the night, or so it is feared!
    Â 
    So the winner tonight wins a compass, a map,
a flashlight, galoshes, a coat and a cap,
to help with the search, when the going is rough!
…plus all kinds of other adventuring stuff!
    Â 
    And then something better than all else combined!
An expenses-paid trip to head out there and find
the zorgles who vanished with nary a clue:
those countryside zorgles of Zorgamazoo!”
    Â 
    To Morty, this sounded like less of a prize,
and more like a punishment put in disguise.
    But there wasn’t much time to consider for long,
for the orchestra started performing a song,
and the Lottery Boss went over to stand
in the place where the lever awaited his hand.
    Â 
    â€œNow remember,” he said, “that in any event,
this machine is correct, one hundred percent!
It will magically choose from this clamoring mob
the most suitable zorgle for doing the job!”
    Â 
    He beamed at the crowd with his simpering grin.
“Now! Let the lottery raffle begin!”
With his hand on the lever, he gave it a push,
and the marbles came down with a

    Then into the funnel
and onto the tracks,

and wire and wax,
    guided by channels and panels and planks,
battered and clanged in mechanical cranks,
    Â 

over
the motors and rotors and ramps,
    Â 

under the glow of electrical lamps,
crossing
    Â 

the miniature bridges and piers,
rolling and reeling in winches and gears,

    bouncing between all the balancing bars,
flung by the flingers and into the hubs,
caught in the catchers and
funnels and tubs…
    Then, when the running was finally done,
with odds that were more than nine hundred-to-one,
a particular marble was down at the goal.
Alone, on its own, in the Destiny Bowl.
    Â 
    The Lottery Boss, he skipped and he hopped,
to the bowl on the floor, where that marble had stopped.
    Â 
    He plucked it right up and read what it said.
Then he paused.
And he frowned.
And he waggled his head.
    Â 
    â€œFancy that,” he said softly. “I suppose this is right!
Where’s ‘Mortimer Y?’ He’s our winner tonight!”
    Â 
    All of the zorgles were looking around
to see if this “Mortimer Y.” could be found.
Mortimer knew they were looking for him.
He had won, though the odds were incredibly slim.
    Â 
    It can’t be, he thought, they’ve made a mistake!
He was suddenly woozy and started to shake.
    His palms were all clammy; he thought he would faint.
For he was no hero, no idol, no saint!
He was just Morty, just Morty the hack,
and he sensed he was having a panic attack.
    Â 
    But then he remembered his desperate dad,
whose illness was growing increasingly bad.
He thought of his Pop in that hospital bed,
swaddled in gauze from