"I need to improve my media presence,"

said the weasel to the shrew.

"Some selfies and a profile page,

an agent should know what to do. 

No more slinking and stinking for me,

i'll lift my image

come out of the wild.

What think you?"

 

"Just wishful thinking, weasel words,"

replied the cunning and baleful shrew,

knowing full well the seed now sown

he took the idea for one of his own.

 

"I'm happy with insects and the outdoor life,

no studio rota

or telly quota.

I'll scuttle along at the end of day,

no spotlight for me,

I can see quite well in the dark you see."

 

But like the wonderful Wizard of Oz

the weasel saw the rising sun

and his ego was not to be undone.

So off he went to stealthily present

his plans for recognition,

(though lacking somewhat in sound ideas

and wanting in cognition).

 

The wily shrew in his catchment zone

made good his plans with a mobile phone.

Interest grew that was overdue,

and soon the word was out in the wild:

Simon Cowell soon approached

a plinth was made, auditions filed. 

 

As fate decreed, after sniffing about

they set about a meeting of minds

to save competition, to enhance variety:

formed a hyperactive duo

celebrating their unique talents.

 

Like the chipmunks of an earlier time

and to knock the meerkats off their perch

they learnt to sing and everything,

even better than Ant and Dec

with more sincerity than Anton du Beke;

they learnt to do stand up

work with a band,

success came to them with an open hand. 

 

They proved themselves to the public taste

but were nevertheless anathema

to dear old David Attenborough

who was quite nonplussed

whenever the weasel and shrew appeared

to display some rudimentary knacks

of recording then covering up their tracks.

But celebrity status has a branch of its own

that defies evolution

once the seed is sown.