I pay, you whistle.

help me summarize this after you read it through...thanx

I stared intently at the ad on my screen.  It was so odd, and quite like a dream.

"Professional whistlers needed," it read.  "Inquire within," is all that it said. 

I squinted and searched for additional clues, but none could be seen, this couldn't be true.

I was a whistler, partial to tooting.  I'd like a chance to show off my fluting.

After a moment, I started to think.  If the ad was a hoax, then I was a fink. 

I'd have to pursue this matter at once, I sprang from my chair, discarding my lunch.

I would need help in solving this puzzle, a hacker, a slacker, and maybe some muscle.

First of all, if I practiced my loiter, the newspaper's office I'd reconnoiter.

Then I would plan, an ad I would write, the choosing of henchmen from those who replied.

The hacker would be of a average sort, not the kind that I couldn't afford. 

Recruiting a slacker wouldn't be easy, they don't read the paper, they just watch the t.v.

Maybe a trip to the new yogurt shop would help me think outside the box.

Soon I was spooning cookies and gumdrops, sprinkles, hot fudge, cherry on top.

If I was a slacker, how would I find, someone else who was slacking at the same time?

I finished my treat, still deep in thought, narrowly missed the trash with my shot.

The mess I had made was everywhere, I saw bits of yogurt drip from a chair.

I mumbled excuses and fled from the scene, I couldn't waste time helping them clean.

Feeling embarrassed,  I pause and ...

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed