Daily Limerick
Archives: August 2001

Contains Mature (and immature) Content;If You’re a Minor, Go Away!


NOTE: DL has not yet taken the time to put "anchors" into the archives. Translation: You're gonna have to scroll all the way through the long-ass documents (use your "find" commands, squatlicks)!


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Daily Limerick 8/1/2001:

Hoping Chandra Levy returns

there’s one trend that I can discern.

Events rather recent

have rendered indecent

the once harmless title, “intern.”



I’m assuming you’ve heard about the comic on Conan O’Brien who used the word “chinks” and cause a whole hubub. I think her name was Beth Silverman. Something Silverman.

This was pounced all over.  Protests over global trade and matters of real importance are ignored, but a fuss-budget complaining about the use of a WORD gets immediate results (never mind that the joke, at its core, was making fun of racism—and this two months after VH-1 has declared that Political Correctness is over).

I don’t know about you, but when I received a complaint letter over a column I was writing at college for the first time, the college newspaper advisor told me not to worry. “If you’re not offending somebody, you’re not saying anything.”

Television is a slave to the idea of not offending anybody.



Daily Limerick 8/2/2001:

There once was a fella named Ruben

who went up the butt of a Cuban,

which made her quite sore-.

As his first back door,

neglected to add proper lubin’.



You can always tell when a decent artist has just died.

I just heard “I Wanna Be Sedated” as the jingle for an upcoming sitcom, “Scrubs.”

If I ever do get famous, when I die, please rape my skull instead.


Daily Limerick 8/3/2001:

There once was a fellow from Munich

who never wore more than a tunic.

As a butcher found work

but through a work-day quirk

lived the rest of his days as a eunich.



The last few days have been the hottest of this summer in Chicago.

So, naturally, the power situation was screwed up.

Oh, there were no rolling blackouts. And where I was living was OFFICIALLY without problem. But, for the first time, occasionally our air conditioner would make a strange kicking sound and then go into a very low gear situation.

This happens every summer. And I guess the power companies haven’t caught on to what the first cavemen were on to: In the summer, it gets hot. And it happens everywhere. It happened when I was in California. It happened when I interned in New York (where they’re at least more honest in the naming of their power companies, where they call it CON Ed, instead of COM Ed, as they do in Chicago). And every summer the power companies make announcements to everybody to “not use so much power.”

I’m no business major, but... Isn’t high demand a great opportunity? Would Microsoft say, “Please, don’t buy so much of our product—we can only manufacture so much”? Would McDonald’s fax all the publications to say, “Don’t buy so many of our hamburgers—we can only make so many”?

NOOOOOOOOO! When DEMAND increases, you increase QUANTITY to meet the demand and thus make more of a profit! Considering summer is prime time for making the energy buck, isn’t this a bit like Toys R Us announcing every Christmas to “not buy so many toys”?

Aaaargggh. Good grief.


Daily Limerick 8/4/2001:

There once was a dame from Geneva

a hopeless and pure-blooded diva.

She’d scream and she’d fuss--

throw tantrums and cuss--

even with a cock in her beava’.



Here in Chicago, Generation X(tra!) has sat on their asses watching various Chicago neighborhoods gentrify, sending artists and quaint businesses that attracted the gentrification out because they can no longer afford the rents. This took many years to happen, over which time it was seen as more important to shoot heroin into one’s genitals and watch “Baywatch.”

Now, when the gentrification in the neighborhood at Wicker Park is pretty much complete, they choose to rise up and protest Viacom’s broadcasting of “The Real World” in Wicker Park. Of course, they wouldn’t have chosen to broadcast from there had the yuppification been anything less than total and, the irony is, in protesting “The Real World” now, it seems, even protests aren’t grounded in anything resembling the REAL world.

This reminds me of all the college students, when I was in school, protesting the “Contract With America’s” plans to cut student aid. I was a cub college reporter at the time (about as low as it gets), and as a class assignment, went out to talk to students about this situation.

Most people in the class turned in “Evil Republican” stories. I asked students if they’d actually VOTED in the elections that put the student aid cutters into office.

About one in ten eligible voters had.

Hey, guys! When you’re done protesting “The Real World,” why don’t you campaign for Al Gore? Better yet, whoever’s running against that Reagan fellow?


Daily Limerick 8/5/2001:

A horny young boy, fed a brisket

would not eat--in fact, he “Tsk, tsk”’d it.

Asked what he prefer

next door did refer

“The cheerleading girl’s whisker biscuit!”


Daily Limerick 8/6/2001:

A pro orgy planner named Blum

found that his business had turned glum.

So with his friend, Logan

crafted a new slogan

to help his biz: “First served, first cum!”


SLAPPIN’ AND YAPPIN’ 8/5-8/6/2001

Is it a mere coincidence that you COULD spell “MTV” as “EmpT-V”?


Daily Limerick 8/7/2001:

The head-averse girlfriend of Pete

had him quest to make his cock sweet.

It drove him quite silly

and he burnt his willie

trying to smoke it with mesquite.



Why do movie advertisements bother with quotes from Entertainment Weekly? Have they, in all their history, ever not liked ANYTHING the entertainment industry has crapped out?


Daily Limerick 8/8/2001:

In England, there once was a flasher

who flashed a rest’raunt ownin’ slasher.

When in a Brit pub

be careful with grub

(there might be strange meat in a rasher).



Further evidence that despite the fact that society overall, with all its technology and science and crap, is getting more and more intelligent... people in general are getting stupider all the time:

People can no longer handle doorbells. It’s too “manually operated,” too “non-computerized,” too “hands-on” or something.

I first noticed this when I was living in California. I thought it was just a California thang.

I was expecting various UPS packages, as I was working partially out of the home. From my desk, I could see out by the street. I saw the UPS truck pull up. I saw the UPS man get out of the truck. I thought, “I wonder if that’s one of my packages?” Then I thought, “Oh, if it is, he will ring my doorbell.”

I heard a bang, of sorts. I wondered, “Could that be a knock at the door? Nahh. I have one of those newfangled inventions called a DOOR BELL.” After all, there were a handful of apartments in the complex and it could’ve been for anyone.

Then I saw the UPS guy get in his truck and leave. And I forgot about the UPS guy for the day.

Then, in a bit, I went out the door and noticed the UPS note. “Tried to deliver but you were not home...” etc., etc., with the date and time coinciding with when I saw the UPS truck pull up.

This happened more than once with the UPS guy.

It happened with other visitors.

Then I witnessed it happening when I moved back to Chicago. Door-to-door marketers. (An insidious new alternative to telemarketing. At first I indulged them, trapped with their speil although, of course, I never bought a damn thing. I find it proof of the utter hopelessness of the human race that telemarking or door-to-door marketing EXISTS because it wouldn’t if enough people weren’t buying the shit to justify companies spending the money on the technique. But I digress.)

Then I noticed it ple going to see the neighbors. Hanging out in the courtyard because music was playing and they didn’t hear a knock.

It’s a button that rings a bell. Fabulous invention, folks. Eliminates the need for knocking.


Daily Limerick 8/9/2001:

A wise eukelelist named Phipps

gave his hot dates many wine sips

’til his ukelele

sounded like Ace Frehley

and he’d tip-toe through their two-lips.



Has it ever struck you that taking photographs is... Well, dumb.

Tourists are masters of this. They take pictures of them standing by everything they pass. Does anybody really marvel at these things? “Oh my God! In this age of easy worldwide travel, it is so amazing you were able to stand in front of the Great Wall of China for a few moments before hitting the nearest McDonald’s!”

I also wonder about the days before the camera was invented. Did Japanese tourists whip out a canvas and paint their families standing in front of things?

Oh, come off it! What do you think this is, Conan O’Brien or something?


Daily Limerick 8/10/2001:

A flaming young man shooting craps

tried to keep this fact under wraps

but a bouncing die

went in his brown eye

(should not have worn his buttless chaps).



While Slappin’ and Yappin’ is mostly dedicated to bitching about anything and everything going on in our world, I bring you the occasional sign of hope. And that’s what I’m bringing you today.

The Denver Post has decided to keep calling its football, etc. stadium “Mile High Stadium,” despite the fact that Invesco has shelled out big money to cheapen the entire city by naming the new model, “Invesco Field.”

I’ve been advocating doing that in such cases for about a year now. But I don’t suppose I got any credit in the press over it.

Oh well. When I set out to save the world... or at least sully the world, I realized that money and fame weren’t in my immediate path. But I’m a very rich man, if you count dirty thoughts.


Daily Limerick 8/11/2001:

There once was a man from Kentucky

who found oral sex so damn ducky

he’d search all the South

for purtiest mouth

on quest for the best sucky-sucky.



As you may recall, I ruminated in an earlier S & Y about how life was imitating MAD Magazine at a quicker and quicker rate all the time, and we, as a society, were becoming harder and harder to parody because we’re almost too ridiculous to make fun of.

Now, I found life imitating the Onion. Only... Well, in a way defying the Onion.

The Onion, a while back, ran a story about how Hollywood was becoming unable to “Lower the Common Denominator” any further in its stupidity. Then I saw a free sample on cable of the “Style Channel.”

They run bios of models and... Worse. At least on “Behind the Music,” you have creative people and often interesting lives (if they’re all really the same lives, with a few names and particulars changed). Models’ lives are... Well, about as boring as they get. My neighbor has a more interesting life. In fact, his is probably every bit as interesting as the “Tony Orlando Behind the Music.” Of course, that will be the next trend. Biographies of people who aren’t at all famous.

We’re almost there. I was treated to a bio of Daisy Fuentes. It was so brain-cell killing I could hardly turn away. They actually called her “The most famous Latino since Ricky Ricardo.” Hmm. But I didn’t watch enough to see where she is now—at the Arby’s in Hollywood or perhaps in Riverside County, Calif., where the rents are cheaper.

Commercials are always very telling about the audience a station and/or show expects. There was an ad during the Fuentes Snoozefest for a device you wrap around your stomach to lose weight in 15 minutes.

That’s the kind of person who cares about Daisy Fuentes these days, I guess.

I’d dare to say “It can’t possibly get any stupider” but, well, I fear it’s going to keep on happening. Until half our population literally needs to be potted.


Daily Limerick 8/12/2001:

I sit here and hypothesize

why dame flesh does so tantalize.

The more that I think

I soon see a link

as a puzzle piece does arise.



I wrote a little while back about how people in Chicago are protesting the “Real World” filming in our Wicker Park neighborhood, blaming it for causing gentrification and for just being the “Real World,” MTV and Viacom. I have a hard time supporting MTV (the worst thing to ever happen to music) and/or Viacom, but thought it just like Generation X (my generation, whom I’ve divorced) to protest a type of fiction. Where were they when they could actually DO something about gentrification in Wicker Park? Shooting heroin in their genitals, I suppose. So the whole thing struck me as much like campaigning for Al Gore in 2000 at this point in time.

Nonetheless, MTV has been shuttling the “Real Worlders” around in a van, protecting them from their real neighbors and, no doubt, editing out much of the protest activity. But , then again, I don’t expect anybody to be shocked at the fact that the “Real World” is slightly un-real.

But I am wondering if people in other parts of the country are aware that Chicago hasn’t exactly welcomed the plastic little RW people here, considering Viacom is one of the few media voices we have left. I’m also wondering if other cities have seen the same kind of welcome wagon for these 15-minutes-of-fame-stretchers.

And, by the way, this is the 2nd Anniversary of me winning the National Limerick Poetry Slam in 1999. I have yet to return for my title. But I’ll let some other people get the glory for a little bit, I suppose.


Daily Limerick 8/13/2001:

There once was a fellow named Feenie

who drank one too many martinis

and took home a girl

then gave her a whirl

but couldn’t do shit with his weenie.



And now, from the “If You Didn’t See it Coming from a Mile Away, May I Ask You Just How Yout Got Your Head So Far Up Your Ass?” Department:

Less than 50% of the money from the states’ tobacco settlements has went to tobacco-related causes.

Isn’t the term “Do Gooder” a little deceptive at this point? How about “Do Something that Appears Gooder”? Or perhaps, “Lawyer Feeder”?



Bye the way, folks. Don’t get all quiet in the letters category NOW. I’m about to start putting the previous week’s Daily Limericks, Slappin’ and Yappin’s and Letters to the Idiot on the Web.

In other words, your crackpot meanderings just might be read by crackpots from around the world!


Daily Limerick 8/14/2001:

There once was a chef from Laredo

who stuck his cock in a tomato.

Threw that on a dish

and tossed on some fish

topped off with a hand-made Alfredo.



This really gets me.

They’re replaying the VH-1 music indistry comnmercial... er, special, “100 Greatest Moments of Rock and Roll” while I write this.

Funny how, amongst Simon & Garfunkel’s concert in Central Park, Elvis’ Aloha from Hawaii, the Grateful Dead on Playboy after hours... We get stuff like some Ricky Martin pay per view.

Ah, the coincidence of so many of these “Top 100” lists spotlighting a disproportionate amount of artists from the last few years, artists who curiously are still able to rake in bucks worthy of an artists still in major circulation...

Trust me. In five years, or whenever your kids are teenagers, mention Simon and Garfunkel, or Elvis. Then mention Ricky Martin.

“Ricky who, daddy?”


“Latin Invasion,” my ass. Throw a couple of especially white-looking Latinos (so as not to scare the parents of the suburban Backstreet Boys crowd) at a couple hundred music executives, make sure they have names like “Martin” (as opposed to “Martinez”--much to frighteningly Latin for mainstream America) and call it an invasion.

And one of the “Top 100” moments in rock history.


Daily Limerick 8/15/2001:

There once was a band leader fellow

who covered his Willie in Jello.

He tickled his bone

on the xylophone

and then tossed his cock in the cello.



Bye the way, the above limerick was an “improv limerick” written at a show. The audience suggestion was “xylophone” (tricky bastard).

Here’s a beef of mine. (As if you didn’t see that comin’.) Actually, more than a beef--half a cow.

I was lookin’ through second-hand porn the other day. (Second hand porn, by the way... Oh, there are many forms and I’m not going to get into that manifesto just now, but in this case it was a catalog of porn titles and sex toys, with the “vitals” blurred out, ala on the TV version of the Howard Stern show.) I was flippin’ through, doin’ what you do when you’re flippin’ through second-hand porn and...

Evil. Oh, the humanity!

A half-page of gay porn, nestled in with the rest of the Adam & Eve catalog.

Of course, I’m not saying that being GAY is evil. I mean, subjecting me to that in the middle of an intensely... Er, cheap heterosexual experience is an evil act. I know that gay guys wouldn’t appreciate a clip from “Blow Job Betty” flashing onto the screen during a viewing of “Seven Men in a Barn,” so don’t give me your whiny, guilty-ass, white heterosexual liberal crap about it, either.

What is the purpose of this? Men are intensely visual creatures. I can’t imagine a gay guy looking for porn in an Adam & Eve catalog anymore than I can imagine me in want of a good, heterosexual lubricant and thus deciding to pick up a copy of... Oh, I don’t know. Whatever the gay version of Adam & Eve is.

There no reason for this. Stop it. Stop it now.


Daily Limerick 8/16/2001:

There once was a fellow from Tucson

who put an elaborate ruse on.

Buy dames ’spensive heels

but part of the deal

was they’d bang him with their new shoes on.



The Miss America pageant is going to add “Reality TV Techniques” to the festivities in the hopes of spicing up ratings.

I’m not making this up. Damn, I WISH I could make stuff up that was this absurd.

I don’t recall exactly how they’re doing this from the story I read earlier today, but, trust me, it was nothing really exciting. Nothing that would’ve truly spiced up the festivites, like having Ms. Wyoming kill a wild boar.

If anyone involved is reading this, here’s a clue as to why the Miss America pageant is losing popularity: We have porn now. This isn’t the ’50s where we eagerly await a chance to view nubile ladies in one-piece bathing suits. Not to mention the fact that anybody who really cares about the pageant has either a) died off, b) neared the age where they could die off at any time or c) people who, for all practical purposes, wouldn’t be missed if the were to die off.


Daily Limerick 8/17/2001:

A young man just learning Taoism

recklessly crashed up his Geo Prism.

The airbag shot low

which squeezed his loins so

he coated the windshield with jism.



Where I work, I just found out that there is a “community” box of Slim Fast bars. (Slim Fast is a registered trademark of some company or other, probalby AOL Time-Warner, somehow, but that doesn’t really concern us now, does it?)

Somebody asked if he could have one, and boss man says, “Yeah. They’re for everybody.”

That may be my new plan. Two of them today. With a little whipped cream, they wouldn’t be bad. Perhaps some crushed peanuts or, oh--macadamia nuts! Yes, and some of that butterscotch flavored Magic Shell stuff?

Don’t see why anybody thinks that diet is rough or anything.


Daily Limerick 8/18/2001:

A death row chick sought love protection

with a male guard in her cell section.

When word got around

her pardon: turned down

(could say ’twas a lethal erection).


Daily Limerick 8/19/2001:

A pollutin’ biz man named Sherman

went conquer’n the world like a German

through chicks ’cross the globe

whom he would disrobe

(many blame him for Global Wormin’).


SLAPPIN’ AND YAPPIN’ 8/18-8/19/2001

Another study was released this week that , trumpeting the fact that minorities are under-represented on television.

And... Well, I don’t mean to be a rabble rouser... Okay, so I do, but... I don’t generally rabble rouse on this topic but...

Somebody correct me if my facts are wrong, but this study cited one television as having only 29% African-Americans as actors. Last I read, the overall African-American population in the country was at 12%.

I’d be quiet before some Proud White Anti-Affirmative Action group thinks about those stats.

Anyhow, my main point concerning this type of things is that it proves things are getting better. It has to be when minority groups are protesting for things they really should be happy without.

You see, if I were African-American, I’d sit down with my son, turn on my TV and say, “Son, we’re a proud people. And do you know what? We had absolutely NOTHING to do with ‘Suddenly Susan,’ which you’re witnessing right now.”

I’d take it as a badge of pride if my people had nothing to do with television networks. Then again, I don’t go talking about “my people” too often (possibly never), so I guess I’ll quit while I’m only half-buried here...


LETTERS TO THE IDIOT 8/18-8/19/2001

A note to new Web readers: We do sometimes get letters. We really do.


Daily Limerick 8/20/2001:

There once was a man ’cross the pond

sought a name to cry out, “Gourmand!”

A friend then did bleat,

“You are what you eat,”

and this his new name was “James Blonde.”



There’s a brilliant little law, rarely enforced, in Illinois that makes selling bongs and similar pipes illegal.

The Rev. Michael Pfleger, a general Chicago do-gooder, recently made a push to enforce the law in the city and a few hippie shops got into some big trouble.

I guess there are no people living on the streets anymore in Chicago anymore, seeing as it’s high priority to crack down on selling marijuana pipes. Er, sorry, tobacco pipes.

Because, you see, if there are no pipes, people won’t smoke marijuana.

Why don’t we carry this farther? Let’s ban beer cans! And cigarette packs! You’ll have to purchase beer in bags and carry your own cigarette bags around. All we need is a wee bit of inconvenience and--wham! Nobody will indulge in these activities that have been indulged in since cave man times!


Daily Limerick 8/21/2001:

That nude-posin’ chick from Survivor

might bright out your inner muff diver.

But I wish the show

(though me thinks, does blow)

should add to the cast ol’ MacGyver.



I read a story in the Chicago Sun-Times about “LadyFest Midwest.” It sounds like it was a very good festival, with lots of good music while remaining true to its “alternative” claims (I don’t mean “alternative” in the sense of “mass-marketed music that the record industry has labeled to sell to kids who wanna be ‘outside’ of the mass-market system).

But something from the story bothered me. I don’t think it’s too much that, oh, truth is adhered to. Call me silly and old-fashioned. No matter how good the cause (which I do support), you only open yourself up to drollin’ yahoos sayin’, “See? All these damn women can only get their movement goin’ with lies and fabrications!”

There was a line in the story, about a women-in-the-music-industry-type panel:  “...certain roles within the music industry are regularly assigned to women (publicists, groupies)...”

Hmm. So, is somebody hiring women with one of those deceptive “make big money! Rock and roll attitude!” ads, and then ASSIGNING them to become groupies? I thought they did that voluntarily (although out of some sort of pitiable dysfunction)?

Call me old fashioned. But, hey, blaming the music industry for THAT gives a few lawyers hard-ons.


Daily Limerick 8/22/2001:

A Yankee boy with a small boney

gave a massage to this chick, Toni.

She raved to Sir Doodle,

“How you work that noodle!”

he said, that ain’t NO macaroni!



Recently in Chicago, a conference of reverends met and decided that we have to stop talking negatively about clones because, when and if we are faced with clones in real life, they will have self-esteem problems.

We’re starting to be politically correct about things that haven’t yet happened.

Never has the philosophical question, “Should I bring children into a world like this?” been more relevant, although it now also includes the future tense.

Ah, but this marks, what, a couple months since VH-1 told us all that “political correctness is OVER”?


Daily Limerick 8/23/2001:

One evening, a bored lil’ Miss Muffet

had a tingly feel in her tuffet.

Afraid that a spider

might crawl up inside her

she told a dark stranger to stuff it.



I’m having problems with my computer. Nothing serious just yet, but downright ominous. Which is kicking in my Unabomber tendencies again.

Oh, there are no bombs involved. Manifestos aplenty, sure. I just... I don’t know. I find the guy kitschy, somehow.

I was at one point mildly obsessed with the Unabomber. If one can be mildly obsessed with things. I actually read his manifesto. In its entireity. I do have the excuse that it was vaguely an “assigment,” as I had to write the editorial for our college newspaper. Like the world stops and takes notice of everything the Columbia College Chronicle editorial board has to say. That was before we figured out that we should be commenting on college-related things.

Then, at one point, I thought I’d found him. When the search was heating up. (Funny how he started his bombings in, like, 1978 or something and in the mid-’90s things finally “heated up.”) They released that drawing of him? I have the T-shirt, I must admit. I’ve only worn it twice, I’ll admit as well. Around the house. Big turn on for the chicks, let me tell you.

Anyway, the rumor was that he was in the Chicago area. There was a strange, wild haired guy (with the obligatory moustache, of course) who hung out in the coffeehouse I hung at (in the age of real coffeehouses, before the Starbucksification, mind you). He was one of those jokers who’d start up deep conversations with strangers. Did with me once, but I cut him short. I’m generally very kind to nutcakes, but...

I overheard one of his conversations once. It was an anti-technology rant. But still, I thought, “naaawwww.”

I told a friend of mine about my suspicious. He thought I was nuts. Then we saw him leave, and pull a hood up over his head...

Instead of thinking about reporting him, I thought about interviewing him. Promising utmost confidentiality and all that jazz. I never saw the cat again again me and my friend engaged in some deep conversations of our own, concerning the ramifications that we were afraid to report this character and stuff, and what if it had been the REAL Unabomber...

But that’s beside the point.

When the real guy was caught, he looked nothing like that once-omnipresent sketch.

But still, I empathize with him. He killed two people which, as far as psycho-killers go these days, is relatively mild. He was nutty in an amusing way.

Of course, I don’t think it was amusing to anybody who was harmed by him, but...

I guess I really have no point. Except that, at times like these, I start thinking about Montana real estate.


Daily Limerick 8/24/2001:

There once was a smooth-talkin’ granny

whose sex life was great (’twas uncanny).

Needed no prune juice

to keep her bowels loose

instead, she took it in the fanny.



What the hell is with this country’s Gary Condit Obsession?


In any event, why the hell is he so damn newsworthy? He officially has enough problems now that you can leave him alone. And that includes Connie Chung (who, by the way, should not be working in journalism for the rest of her life—there are millions of journalistically jobless journalism graduates out there who HAVEN’T completely thrown ethics out the window).

I’m not exactly defending the guy. Or at least not on all levels. He’s obviously a slimeball and that nutrod wife of his wouldn’t dump him if he did up the entire Dallas Cowboys Cheerleading Squad right in front of her with fanfare and neon lights.

The Big Question these days: WHY did he stay quiet about his relationship with Ms. Levy?

The elusive, mysterious answer: HE’S A MARRIED FUCKING MAN WITH A PATTERN OF BOFFING ANYTHING IN A SKIRT! It’s not as if he hardly knew her, saw her out of the corner of his eye in a coffeehouse and THEN stayed mum about it.

Man. Ninety percent of “society’s questions” would be answered if the entire nation read Slappin’ and Yappin’.

Of course, this would generate a whole new set of “questions” but nonetheless...


Daily Limerick 8/25/2001:

It seems that George dubel-ya Bush

has brains that are made out of mush.

And a hot First Lady?

She’s purty, so maybe--

but his girls are primo First Tush!


Daily Limerick 8/26/2001:

A horned-up Hell’s Angel named Charlie

went lust mad and mounted his Harley.

Before the strange boff

did not turn it off

and burnt up his schwantz rather gnarley.


SLAPPIN’ AND YAPPIN’ 8/25-8/26/2001

Today, I’ve done something I haven’t done in a LONG time.

Now, just stop those mental gears right now. I really, honestly was only friends with that Levy girl. And I’m not talking about the deer antlers and the stiletto heels.

I picked out eyeglasses today.

I learned (or was reminded of) a couple things.

One, men’s fashion, in all its forms, is rather boring compared to women’s. There weren’t a lot of choices. There’s the nerdy look, the gay look, and the currently hip Anthony Edwards on ER kinda glasses look. I chose the latter.

Okay, there really was no gay look. I wanted to make the plethora sound more versatile than it is. There were a select few that... Well, I don’t know WHAT look they were. But only a few.

For a second, I almost got upset about this fact. But then I realized, had I dozens of choices, I would’ve been overwhelmed and just picked the same damn style anyway. Guys (straight guys, anyway) usually only follow fashion enough so we don’t look like total dweebs. At least until we get married. Then we just go dweeb anyway. Well, not totally. I would wear some damn deer antlers if it’d somehow get me laid more often.

But overall it’s a damn good thing. I don’t wanna be shelling out extra for hoity-toity name brands and blah blah blah.

But I was reminded of another thing:

Glasses are ugly.

Oh, I know this isn’t a good message to be sending out to the kids and all, many of whom will have to wear glasses. And, I also know that I’ve met women who actually find glasses SEXY, but I’ve long ago given up on figuring what the hell you people find attractive (speaking of Anthony Edwards). I could be wary of every buffed-up guy in the neighborhood and the plumber with his underwear hanging out of his pants could somehow strike my wife as “So passionate and sensitive--just something in the way he carries himself!”

But glasses, sunglasses, any kind of glasses, in my opinion, don’t do anything good for anybody. Period. Not that this is discriminatory in any way, as I imagine women without their glasses (and other things) anyway. And I imagine (and hope) that most people don’t wear them... er, when it really counts. So to speak.

(By the way, too, I’m not actually going to be a “Glasses Guy” now. They’re a supplement to my typical contact wearing ways, for whenever I’m giving my eyes or rest or something away from humanity’s prying eyes. I also realize that most of you don’t know what the hell I look like anyway, but now you can see the delightful head shot on my Web site.)

In writing this, I’ve discovered that there actually may be exceptions. I remember seeing some sort of pornographic portrayal of a librarian type who wore, at some point, nothing BUT her librarian glasses. And then there’s those cartoony, heart shaped glasses from the teen party flicks of old...

But, before I come across as an even bigger weirdo than I’ve intended, that’s my point. Whatever it was.


LETTERS TO THE IDIOT 8/25-/26/2001

>I would like to be one small percentage in that quest for 90 percent of the

>nation reading slapping and yapping. If you're not part of the solution,

>you're part of the probation hearing! Or something like that.

Congratulations! You are the first “Letter to the Idiot” that will make it on the pitiful Web site, weekly round-up of Daily Limerick activities!

By the way, Spice Squirrel here is a frequent contributor to “Letters to the Idiot.” In fact, he’s the closest we have to a staff writer. I just hope he’s not putting that on his resume...

And he’s referring to yesterday’s wish of mine that, one day, 90 percent of the country would be reading Slappin’ and Yappin’.

I’m too excited about this letter to comment with much wit. I guess I’m at my wit’s end. Or, like much of those e-newsletter, just fueled mostly by my end’s wit.


Daily Limerick 8/27/2001:

There is a suburban mythology

of a mom who offered apology.

For her doc-playin’ son

who had far too much fun

with his specialty, which was proctology.



Okay, so I “oops’ed.”

I MEANT to send another day of limerick and revelry yesterday. You see, Aug. 26 is my first wedding anniversary.

And I owe it all to limerick.



Daily Limerick 8/28/2001:

There once was a fellow named Louie

who suffered premature kablooey.

He got a lap dance

which messed up his pants

(took two minutes to launch his spooey).



So there’s a new controvery surrounding this song, “Because I got high.”

Good to see these “controversies” are still raging. It’s not like bitchin’ and moanin’ about something you don’t have to listen to or watch if you choose not to actually SELLS MILLIONS MORE ALBUMS or anything. Oh no. We’re too brilliant a society to do anything like that, in this enlightened age and all.

I was reading about how MTV, the Champion of Free Speech (as long as it makes a buck), and how they handled the video for this song. Here’s a quote from a news story I read, (broken up, with some annotation):

“MTV excised visual images of smoking...”

Hmm. Thought I’d noticed a few drug-friendly songs on MTV before. Perhaps I was wrong...

“...a common vulgarity refering to a woman’s anatomy...”

Hmm again. Thought I’d seen a few rap videos doing just the same but... Again, I’m probably all confused.

“...and a popular sneaker logo.”

Hmm. Times three, I suppose, to keep up my tricky little literary pattern here. But, seriously, I’m stumped. MTV’s history is riddled with smoking, drug use, and sexual innuendo on the air. And, I mean, a corporate logo couldn’t possibly be of any concern to such a cutting-edge, art-first institution like MTV.

I’m simply befuddled.


Daily Limerick 8/29/2001:

A fellow fresh from the Marines

won a contest, eating mass beans.

Collecting his trophy

he farted, the oaf-y

(which launched a new prize in his jeans).



I’m going to have dinner with Destiny’s Child!

Well, I should clarify that a bit. When I asked my wife, she said I could have Destiny’s Child over for dinner. Now there’s the little matter of getting them to accept an invitation. Preferably without ending up on “Cops.”

I’ll clarify again: I don’t like Destiny’s Child for the reason you’re “supposed” to like them. And to further complicate my dinner invitation, I would have to insist that they don’t sing or talk about their Godawful music. Which is the problem with celebrity fantasies, really. How could you bed down somebody you can’t respect? Unless you’re real good at disguising your true feelings, like Gary Condit or a network executive or something.

But, ah, just a moment’s passing thought about the possibilities of post dinner festivities with Destiny’s Child...

Which, of course, presents yet another monkey wrench in the machinery of my dinner plan. Were Destiny’s Child coming over for dinner, I’m sure my wife would attend. I don’t care how late she were working. There’s an old saying about leaving a wolf in the henhouse. Although, in this case, the wolf is a bit geeky and he would be overstuffed, so to speak, after a mere feather from these particular hens.

Ahem. Okay, back to reality.

I don’t know if I can say any ONE “Child,” or “Destined One,” or whatever you call an individual of Destiny’s Child is that hot that I would be making fantasy dinner plans over her. But it’s the “Collective Hotness” of all of them, a philosophy I myself discovered.

Take the Spice Girls. (Okay, so some of my references aren’t exactly cutting edge.) Not one of them is all THAT hot. But collectively... To put it in the jargon of an off-color saying, take the hottest individual Spice Girl, and, while I’d certainly “do her” (keeping in mind, of course, some alternate life, as I’m a married man in all), I would probably kick her out of bed for eating cookies. Gimme all the Spice Girls in bed and I’d allow a veritable cookie fight.

Gimme Destiny’s Child and they could bring in the damn Keebler Elves.

Ahem. Back to reality.



In reply to my ramblings about glasses:

>Glasses may be ugly, but then what would be drink out of? The lowly mug? The

>ridiculous cup? The scalding carafe? Should we, perhaps, drink straight from

>the carton, jug or jar? Or maybe it's in your opinion that we just slop

>coffee, milk, soda or juice all over the floor, then lick it up like cats

>and dogs! I for one, am proud to be the owner of MANY pairs of glasses,

>though a lot of them broke in the dishwasher the third time through...


>Squinting Squirrel

That was EYEGLASSES, I should have specified.

I personally prefer a big, plastic mug. Whadaya get when you pour straight vodka into such a thing? A MUG SHOT! (Often, in more ways than one.)


And here he blathers again:

>It's funny how a simple little song can make so many people's neuroses show.

>Now, about the "vulgarity for a women's anatomy," they mean "pussy," but

>then why doesn't MTV do what radio does (as opposed to the radio doing what

>MTV does), and just chop that verse entirely? And MTV has always been weird

>about drug songs. There was this one song by Primus back in the day called

>DMV, where Les Claypool states something about THC, one of the main

>chemicals in marijuana. They bleeped out THC. THC, for god's sake! It

>doesn't make sense.



How nefarious. Now I only wish “Classic Rock” stations would nix similar drug references, like BTO.


Daily Limerick 8/30/2001:

So it seems that Mariah Carey

made a flick, busting her acting cherry

and as much as we’re told

all that “Glitters” is gold

I’m sure this “Glitter” is rather scary.



I’d like to add something to yesterday’s Destiny’s Child Hunk:

When DC was in Chicago, they were spotted eating at Chili’s.

All sorts of world-class restaurants in Chicago, they have millions of bucks, and they choose to eat at Chili’s. Why, they might as well have had my Kung-Pao chicken!

By the way, I also want to plug a delightful column being circulated by e-mail (and also, quite possibly, soon on the Web) by frequent LETTERS TO THE IDIOT contributor, Mike. (No last name—it’s kinda like a 12-step meeting around here.) In fact, he’s so regular he could almost be dubbed a LETTERS TO THE IDIOT Staff Writer. What’s worse, he’s, sort of, a Daily Limerick protege, as he’s doing an e-newsletter just like yours truly!

So join up with his list at your own risk: e-mail b_squirrel@hotmail.com.



From the guy I was just talking about in S & Y:

>Seriously! I wish Classic Rock station would start Takin' Care of Business

>and get rid of that offensive stuff! And speaking of Destiny's Child, I'm

>not only ready for jelly, I'm also ready for an entire bottle of Knott's

>Berry Farm Boysenberry syrup!

Jelly? Boysenberry syrup? Now stop kicking those ilicit mental gears into gear! And you, my friend, have been reading too many limericks.

Then he continues:

>Now, on a different note, I ended up taking John's message to heart when he

>half-joked that I was pretty much a "staff writer" for the Letters to the

>Idiot section. So I decided, hey, might as well try my own column and see

>what happens. If you'd like to be part of the experiment known as "Mike's

>Mind," just e-mail me at b_squirrel@hotmail.com and I'll add you on. Who

>knows, maybe I can increase my readership to 20 people! :)


>The previous was not endorsed by John in any way, if he's smart!

Actually, I do endorse it.

Let he who be without idiocy cast the first cream pie.


Daily Limerick 8/31-9/4/2001:

Puff Daddy’s been playin’ that game

(celebrities changing their name).

Should we say “P.Diddy”

or cancel his bid-dy

for fifteen more minutes of fame?


SLAPPIN’ AND YAPPIN’ 8/31-9/4/2001

That’s right. This is what they call a VERY SPECIAL edition of the Daily Limerick and Slappin’ and Yappin’. It should probably have a special guest star, too.

Who would it be? Perhaps... Conrad Bain? Yes, he would be perfect. And I think he’s at about the career level we’re shooting for.

In order to ensure things are VERY SPECIAL, I should also add that I’m pregnant. And somebody’s wedding was called off. Perhaps I’ll get stuck in an elevator with somebody I’m not too fond of.

Actually, I’m going on vacation, and I’m not mobile (see the Web site for an indication of the technology level here in the Daily Limerick offices--in the Daily Limerick tower).

So... Well. That’s about it.


Be sure and visit SLOOP CENTRAL (and the Daily Limerick Home Page) at http://home.earthlink.net/~sloop49


In July of 1999, one month before the All Limerick Slam at the 1999 National Poetry Slam festivities, I was bitten by a radioactive Leprechaun and the Daily Limerick was born. Suddenly, my path in life became clear. I was born to be a crusader for uncensored truth, justice and Limerick! Actually, I wanted to get an AUDIENCE for the Limerick Slam I’d be hosting, but I was so amazed at the lack of enthusiasm for the project that I thought I’d send a Daily Limerick indefinitely! Plus, I won the Limerick Slam accidentally and wanted to give something back to the Limerick community! (Not too much, as there was no prize in it for me!) I then committed to at least a year of the limericks—a milestone I’ve already past! At this point, I’m not entirely sure why I’m continuing this, but I have no definite plans to stop—so perhaps I’ll do this for the rest of my life, if we have enough subscribers!

By the way, I guarantee QUANTITY in limericks—one a day. I do not guarantee QUALITY in limericks.


If you want to be on John Biederman’s e-list for comedy, sketch and/or poetic performances (in Chicago, Los Angeles or elsewhere), let me know!


©1999-2001 John “Sloop” Biederman. All Rights Reserved.


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