Daily Limerick
Archives: March 2002

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


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A paranoid girl, quite a dummy

was so scared of 'coming a mummy

that for birth control

she'd suck the man's pole

in time to land spooj in her tummy.



It seems that some of the prisoners at Guantanamo Bay are hunger striking.

Never understood the hunger strike thing. When I'm hungry, I eat. If you don't want to eat, well, fuck you. Unless you're an anorexic or something.

Boo hoo...

I guess Russell Crowe verbally abused some British awards show producer for cutting his long-winded speech, despite the fact that the guy probably deserves an award. Now, if you only let some members of the general public physically abuse the likes of Crowe who go on and on at awards shows, I think you might get me tuning in...

I read word that Aaron Sorkin, the producer behind The West Wing, made some comments about (I think it was) Tom Brokaw and his look at the "Real West Wing." What really bothers me is that it actually pissed off Brokaw and others and, worst of all, became "news."

Once again. The West Wing is not real, folks.



A man visiting the Twin Cities

went cruisin' the bars for hot kitties.

He stopped not for food

this one-tracked-mind dude

just dreamin' of squeezin' Twin Titties.



How does a guy take a compliment from a guy? As a heterosexual?

This eerie phenomena happens from time to time. I was in line at the bank because their ATM was on the fritz and some guy says, "Nice hat." So I said thanks. Then things got even more strange. I forget his exact words, but he continued saying how he liked the hat. How you don't see many hats these days. I mumbled some things and...

It was just weird. A simple, "nice hat," I suppose, isn't too weird, but the continual compliments were macabre.

Was this guy gay, or just ignorant of certain factors in the Guy Code? How was I supposed to react? Do other guys face this dilemma?

Now women compliment each other left and right. "Love your hair!," "Nice shoes," etc. So I imagine women have their own dilemma. Since they compliment each other on a regular basis, how do you know when somebody's goin' for the lesbo angle? Do the compliments just go up a notch, ala, "Man! That's a fabulous ass you got workin' there?"

A world of wonder we inhabit, indeed.



There was a real horny young sailor

who took a leave job at Ann Taylor.

He'd help women change

which made him deranged--

he grabbed one broad and cock-impaled her.



You may or (more probably) may not have noticed but I haven't mentioned much about the actual city of Minneapolis since returning from the brief vacation there.

I enjoyed it. Perhaps enjoyed it too much. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing but...

The Twin Cities (although I didn't even make it to St. Paul) have a cool thing going. They have good alternative papers, lots of stuff going on and, for whatever reason, many women there wear sexy shoes. (I think this related to the fact that there was a "heat spell" and 50 degrees to the Twin Cities is downright balmy--kinda like the fact that I saw people in L.A. warming up their cars, wearing those coats with fuzzy collars and, I kid you not, SCRAPIN' THE MOISTURE OFF THEIR WINDOWS when temperatures hit the 50s. But the fact that they have the cool shoes to whip out of the closet is a good deal to me, anyway.)

Here's the deal: I've been noticing that smaller cities are becoming cooler and cooler. Not temperature wise--just more down-to-earth, hip, with better non-mainstream stuff going on (I say "non-mainstream" because "alternative" is a synonym for "mainstream" at this point.

I felt this way about Portland, Maine as well.

A long time ago, I noticed that New York and L.A. were, well, too damn big and popular to be hip anymore. They just continue to transform further into gentrified enclaves. I'm not bashing those with money, here, only observing that, once something's declared "hip," a certain subclass of people with money, who've lived their whole lives for money and assume that money is everything, use their money to move into these "hip" places and, lacking any other factors of "hipness" besides the misguided belief that the actions accomplished through their money--like moving into a "hip" area--make them hip, and soon enough the hip areas are full of wannabe hipsters and the truly hip cannot afford to live there and the formerly hip hang-outs and such can no longer afford rent. (Money isn't the only factor at play, as there's attitude and other things to consider, but it's usually one of the tell-tale signs.)

You've probably noticed that I seem to love Chicago. But, New York and L.A. having been consumed by the tendrils of non-hipness, Chicago is falling into the grasp of declining hipness. I hate to admit it, but I've noticed the slide for some time. So, while, for reasons of the entertainment biz and all that I can't foresee leaving Chicago anytime soon (as a middle ground, having decided that I'm not so fond of L.A. and New York), I don't rule it out that I may someday end up somewhere like Minneapolis or Portland, Maine.

Perhaps urban-loving shows like "Friends" and "Sex and the City" (THE city? What city?) don't help a lot either.



This wise guy (or is he a "wise acre"? I don't know how to tell the two apart) checks in, concerning yesterday's Slappin' & Yappin', with:

>Nice slappin' and yappin'. It made me feel gooey and warm. :)

I'm not sure what that means. But I don't feel out of place with "frightened."



There once was a man from Karachi

brought Pakistan's porn up a notch-y.

A trip to Van Nuys

did widen his eyes

and then he filmed "Joanie Loves Crotch-y."



Spotlight on the Entertainment Industry's Priorities:

For a $17 CD (and execs wonder why Napster was so damned powerful), the musician(s) receive .83 cents. There's a whole breakdown here, but most important is the record label's cut: $4.92...

On a similar topic, the Chicago Sun-Times yesterday ran a story about CD piracy. Figuring it had to run a photo with the piece, a nice photo of Destiny's Child appeared. Got my attention...

Was just reading today about how the diamond trade is financing terrorists. After viewing the bone-headed, apparently short-lived campaign about drugs financing terrorism (again conveniently ignoring that other propaganda labels addiction "disease" and the fact that the WAR ON DRUGS finances terrorism), I'm waiting for the commercials showing a couple getting engaged and labeling them "terrorist funders."

Would compliment Bush's push to get those on welfare married, no?



A man who wished he could turn gay

took home a drag queen for a lay.

Threw it in her butt

them glimpsed a Man Nut!

He stopped right then and ran away.



In a Special Pull-Out Section (read: thinly veiled advertising supplement) on Education today, the Chicago Sun-Times managed to use Sept. 11 in three leads (out of barely twice that many stories overall). What's more, in just briefing over the section, I spotted the "change in education thanks to Sept. 11" as a nut graph in another story and a bulleted section on "The Effects of Sept. 11" in a story about community colleges.

This coming Monday marks six months since the events. Will editors sit reporters down at that point and explain that it's time to go back to THINKING UP ORIGINAL LEADS!?...

I need to mention something to readers about the change in the Limerick World since the events of Sept. 11.

Just kidding...

Liza Minelli is planning a wedding reception right by Ground Zero in order to help breathe life back into the area.

This coming Monday marks six months since the events. Will agents and managers sit celebrities down at that point and explain that it's time to go back to THINKING UP ORIGINAL SPINS ON THEIR EVENTS!?...

It seems that European men have problems coping with the Guy Code.

I first noticed this when learning that some French guys my wife works with like to go to dance clubs. They in fact SUGGEST going to them as opposed to keeping quiet when they're dragged to them by women.

For the most part, other white guys have a law going: We just don't dance, or at least not often. That way, it makes it harder for some slimeball to swoop in as Mr. Dancin' Boy and get all the checks. With few exceptions, we unilaterally oppose the hell of dance clubs to make it easier on males everywhere. (Thanks to the Guy Code, my sister once told me that she "likes dance clubs but would never take any of the guys who go to them seriously.")

Now a German guy my wife works with told her the other day that whenever he sees me, I'm smoking a cigar. Now this certainly is the case considering that a bar is the ONLY FUCKING PLACE I CAN SMOKE CIGARS AND RELAX anymore. I even have to duck outside in my home to smoke (a man's home is his castle until he's living with a chick--then his home becomes his prison).

Whatever the case, a man DOES NOT open the doors to having another man's woman nag him extra.

Maybe this is why the Europeans just don't seem to understand Americans.



The sensitive guys get the chicks--

they cry at those romantic flicks.

Though their woosy games

surround them with dames

they rarely get to wet their dicks.



There once was a girl from St. Paul

cruised guys in America's Mall.

She'd part her fine thighs

for so many guys

that she was the belle of the balls.


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 3/6-3/7/2002:

I wrote the below portion of S&Y on the 6th; I'm hoping you're actually reading this on the 7th, but we'll see.

This time, it's not my fault for getting home late or going on a vacation (a selfish act to DL readers). It's the damn phone company.

Yes, the same phone company that has financially raped me for years, wanton and brazen during its virtual monopoly stage, and which now annoys us with ads telling us not to switch service (now that local competition is allowed here) has somehow knocked the wires or whatever out of service for my apartment and they are taking their sweet time fixing it.

Again: If you have Ameritech/SBC phone service, switch providers the second you are able to do so, or you're financing Corporate Terrorism...

If I may was a bit "George Carlin-esque"...

What's with the saying, "No rhyme or reason"? I understand the "reason" part but...

Well, let's say you use the phrase for, say, an education program proposed by George Bush. "That education program of Bush's has no rhyme or reason!"

Again, the "reason" makes perfect sense. But would it be better if it had rhyme? "Those great ol' teachers, need more features, more benefits, put on some ritz..."

I don't think so.



The new Regis co-host, Kel Rippa

is no Kathy Lee--there's a tip-a.

But many tune in

with tonic and gin

while handily loos'nin' their zippa.



Sign on a stoplight in Chicago: "No Right On Red When Pedestrian Present."

Is the state of Road Rage that far gone? Or is this the late results of a decade of "Full House"?...

Readers may remember my theory that Hollywood has a system of "Falling Upward"--that is, rewarding poor numbers and a lack of talent. Now it seems that Colin Quinn--the first SNL Weekend Update reader to prove unlikeable, has been awarded a talk show...

An S&Y translation for you: Mail marked "Important Document Enclosed" can be read as "Rip up and throw out"...

The Drew Carey show was threatened when they produced a show showing a bunch of incompetent airport security workers (art imitating life, it seems). I guess the Nutwork doesn't want this overall portrayal.

The First Amendment knew of government censorship well. But our Founding Fathers could never have predicted Hollywood.



I know this young lady named Sonia

give her your number and she'll phone ya'

show you a good time

you won't spend a dime

but you can be sure that she'll bone ya'.



Have you seen these commercials for "Blousaint" (SIC?)? It's a "breast enhancement" cream or supplement or whatever.

Here's a quote from the commercial: "Not all women are satisfied with their breast size--but we're not left with many safe options."

Here's one for you: Accept yourself as you are.

Or is that un-hip now?



A deep woodland hermit named Keyes

spent many hours porkin' old trees.

In town, took a trick

whacked her with a stick

and said he was "checkin' for bees."



The differences between men and women were readily apparent recently just before our cat was put to sleep.

The events leading up to this drama-laden event were just one more instance in life proving my theory: That men and women are each completely screwed up--but in opposite directions. God or Nature or whoever, rather than just make a human being normal, made two types of humans--The Sexes--ridiculously dysfunctional in different manners so that, only by coming together, could some sort of balance be reached (at the cost of, well, lifelong sanity).

When I knew we had to put the cat to sleep, there was about 36 hours to go until the actual event would occur. So these hours were on one hand gut-wrenching and on the other important. Being home all day (unemployed and freelancing), my wife would often call to "talk" about these emotional hours.

Men, you see, don't talk about things enough. If left to their own devices, it is quite possible that men would simply explode.

Women, however, talk TOO DAMN MUCH. I should have counted the number of times during which, before and in the immediate days after the events, I was at peace with these life events, finally in a well-adjusted state and...

"How are you FEELING? You can talk about it?"

"No, I'd rather not talk about it."

"It's so sad, isn't it. Remember when Harley [the cat]..."

"Well, I was fine with it until you brought it up again."

If men would explode if left to their own devices, women would... well...

Here's a joke that kinda explains it: How many lesbians does it take to change a light bulb?

Answer in tomorrow's SLAPPIN' and YAPPIN'.

(Is this S&Y's first Cliff-Hanger Ending?)



Al's Pancake House girls never lacked

in bosoms, and that was a fact.

They served double platters

so Al's, in all matters,

gave the customers "double stacked."



Remember, folks--and especially those in media professions--today is the six month anniversary of the Sept. 11 tragedy and a perfect time to stop using September 11 in leads of any sort...

I'd written in my notebook that I wanted to make fun of people who put on those "Medieval Fairs" but... Well, I'm thinking that's too easy of a target. I did notice that these fairs, especially when indoors, are only quasi-medieval. Of course, most of the visitors aren't dressed in period attire, but the Visa/Mastercard signs on the "market" tables go a long way toward spoiling the mood. As does the electric light. And the heating systems. And indoor plumbing, not to mention toilet paper. And there were no rats running around and no omnipresent smell of body odor (well, some of the die hard participants seemed to have that one down...

Okay. Now for the answer to yesterday's joke: How many lesbians does it take to change a light bulb?

(Recall, fair readers, that I was lead into this joke by a rant about how, despite the fact that men don't talk/communicate enough, women talk/communicate far too much.)

And the answer:

At least four. One to change the light bulb and at least three to start a symposium about it.

Ba-dum CHING!



Sex overtures a priest rebukes

but there was a priest at St. Lukes

who heard hot confession

and after the session

lost it, thanks to her Daisy Dukes.



I heard an interesting thing the other day coming from the TV as I was cooking: "'Yes, Dear' is brought to you by... H&R Block."

Now, a disclaimer is in order. As much as I chide my wife about it--how it pains me to note her watching a pathetic attempt at humor when her husband is, well, a pathetic attempt at a humor writer--she often leaves "Yes, Dear" on because it's between two programs she in fact wants to see.

But it got me thinking about how nuts in our society (religious, sexually oppressed, etc.) boycott advertisers to certain shows for wacky reasons. And I had a dream...

What if the rest of us well-adjusted folk were to exercise our right to bitch? To, say, boycott H&R Block because they sponsor such a hopelessly stupid-ass show?

Oh, I know it couldn't work that way. Mentally adjusted folks don't get a bug up their ass about things they don't like--they switch the channel, flick on the radio, log on to the Internet or read a book, magazine or newspaper rather than insist it be eliminated.

But I've always been a dreamer.



>I've got one! How many medieval faire revivalists does it take to change a



>Four! One to change it and three to start a symposium about it. Oh wait, you

>already used that one....


>-jailhouse back

Do you know how many surrealist painters it takes to change a light bulb?

(Answer tomorrow!)



A cute Catholic school girl named Leeds

let one boy engage in dark deeds.

He ripped up her stockings

to give her a cocking

pulled out and made hosiery beads.



Yesterday, in the LETTERS TO THE IDIOT section, I promised you the answer to this joke:

How many surrealist painters does it take to change a light bulb?

The answer: A fish.




A well-hung young fellow named Lincoln

found his precious Willie was shrinkin'.

'Gainst time he did race,

his standards went base--

to each chick who would, gave a dinkin'.



I didn't catch Fox's "Celebrity Boxing" last night. Especially since one of the fighters was Tonya Harding, I'm a little upset about that.

But is this show's title really truthful? "Celebrity" boxing? Are these people REALLY celebrities? I think we need a new word when anyone from Tom Hanks and Britney Spears (mentioned within 15 minutes anytime you flip stations on the radio or cable TV) are thrown into the same classification as Tina Yothers and former members of New Kids on the Block (whose names are only mentioned if a. some miracle grants them a new shot at a career or b. they are arrested or otherwise subject to embarrassment, in which case the media mentions allow the majority of people, with their never-celebrity lives, to be entertained and comforted by the problems of a former "star").

Celebrity boxing would be Brad Pitt vs. Regis Philbin. Anna Kournikova vs. Rosie O'Donnell. I'm not saying these folks are any "better" than the current Fox roster (their media mentions of rehabs and domestic abuse suits are not too far away) but...

Perhaps we need the term "neo-celebrity"? "Para-celebrity"? We need a word for these folks! Any ideas?



>A surrealist joke? You un chien andalou-ser!

I feel I should answer this guy but... I have things to do and I don't want to get abstracted over it.



There once was a horny old chief

who fed this hot squaw his big beef

but, licking her cooter

he did have to boot her

when she loosed one hell of a queef.



Here's a quote from the bone-headed husband of Andrea Yates: "She's the most caring person I've ever known."

Hmm. What, do you fly out to California and hang out with Charles Manson? Are the tabloids right in asserting that Hitler's really alive--and his he your poker buddy? Or are you in some sort of Al-Qaida bowling league?...

It's interesting that all these women's groups and such are spending all this time (and resources) on Andrea Yates. Did I miss the news that every poor and/or battered single mother has been accounted for who HASN'T DROWNED HER FIVE CHILDREN? What a Utopian world we live in where the "next on the list" in need of the most help is a psychopath who drowned five children!...

Concerning the hubbub over the "insanity" defense: Can't you argue that SOMETHING else (besides the perpetrator) is responsible for EVERY crime? I mean, poor Osama bin Laden is obviously a little off--he just needs some counseling.



>There's a word for para-celebrities, all right. Has beens.


>Mike (a never was)

Yes. "Has been" is a term but... I'd like a new one. Something that sounds right. Like "schmikeldorf" or something. I don't know.



His love for dumb chicks tried absconding

'til Fred and his son tried male bonding.

He got two hot bimbos

for him and young Jimbo--

porked them in the name of "Male Blonde-ing."



I have this strange compulsion to look over EVERY section in the newspaper. I usually don't actually READ every section, but I figure that, hell, if I'm going to shell out a whole 35 CENTS, I'm gonna at least read the headlines even in the sections that don't particularly interest me (and, as a humor writer wannabe, you never know where ideas may lurk).

Well, while flipping through the "Home" section of the Chicago Sun-Times, I saw an article on a woman who has decorated her house on a ladybug theme. While reading the photo captions, I saw a reference to the fact that she was recently divorced.

Hmm. A woman who decorates her homes on a ladybug theme who has trouble maintaining a relationship with a man. I wonder why...



>I do like the idea of Mr. Yates going off on the insurance companies and the

>health care system in general. I can believe an insurance company is

>indirectly responsibe his kids murders.


>Why don't you ever show your face? Surely your handsome.


>Should we call priests "Daddy" instead of Father.

I don't think we can discount the insurance companies' role in any of this. But I think Mr. Yates was a little crazy with assigning them the blame--perhaps he's an H.M.O-sexual.

And perhaps priests say, "Who's your Father!" during... well, you know.



Warm greetings for St. Patrick's Day

a day for lim'ricks, work or play.

Seek a four-leaf clover--

be sure to bend over

and receive your St. Patrick's Lay!



A recent Sports Illustrated poll found that most Native Americans don't think that Native American-named sports teams should change their names.

Hmm. If this news is well-publicized, will Guilty White Folks be seen leaping from skyscraper windows?



A man trav'lin' India named Murray

found dames there put him in a flurry.

A cam he got workin'

for 'neath-sari jerkin'

and makin' his own off-white curry.



I learned of a recent tragedy in today's newspaper and feel compelled to issue a SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT.

Yes, it seems that curly-haired, funny-looking Backstreet Boy (or is it N'Syncer?) has broken up with Britney Spears.

I haven't read the story yet. Probably won't. But, spin doctors and stupid Hollywood assertions aside, I'll tell you why they broke up: Britney wasn't givin' any out.

I guess you can't blame that guy for holdin' out a while, as she does possess some Grade A Tail. Or perhaps you can. Can you imagine the kind of conversations she must engage in? Can you imagine having to pretend you respect what she does (well, considering he's a Backstreet Boy/N'Syncer, perhaps he does respect what she does)?

Yes, troubling events like this spotlight our increased need for PREMARITAL SEX. Yup. I said it.

In fact, it was the first topic of my college newspaper column. I have no doubts that a lack of premarital sex is responsible for a large share of marital infidelities. Blah blah blah, I think you know all the arguments. (And, by the way, I'm sure I will become a hypocrite and promote the opposite idea when I have a daughter of my own. But that's what family's are about--imposing standards you yourself would never consider upon your own children.)

But where are the PSAs? I can see it now, two teens in the back seat of a car with a flash-forward of a guy sleepin' with his secretary. Boldly emblazoned across the top are the words, "You gotta test drive the car before you buy it."

Yeah. That'll happen.



When a hot classmate Jack would nail

that class he'd undoubtedly fail.

When good, had it made--

you could say his grades

were on a system of "Pass/Tail."



I only wish I'd made this one up: The Million Clown March was held (yesterday, I believe?) in Los Angeles. The event was meant to improve the public perception of clowns. Reportedly, about 80 clowns showed up (I think they needed three or four Volkswagen bugs to accommodate them all).

Yet another news item I really can't add anything to...

There has never been a finer time in history to be an idiot.

First, a year or two ago, government investigates Publisher's Clearinghouse because there's evidently a stable of morons who believed they won a million dollars in a contest they never took the effort to enter. Now they're going after Miss Cleo.

If you're a reasonable person who was somehow suckered by the secret board room dealings of Enron, you can't expect the heads of that company to really get more than a slap on the wrist.

But the world is your Oyster Rockefeller if you happen to be completely, hopelessly butt stupid.



A whorehouse chef who was Chinese

served some Johns who'd orally please

the girls as they chowed

which made him quite proud

of his new style, dubbed "Cunt-onese."



That may be the first limerick I've written in which I've used The Grandmommy of Offensive Words. Enjoy!...

In general, I'm a sucker for anything that features talking animals. But the new Blockbuster commercial has added and amendment to my former credo, considering it still manages to offend via sheer stupidity. Or perhaps the commercial WAS originally funny and we're seeing the "family" cut...

Those nutty, Gore-Bush-electionesque Canadian skaters, Sale and Pelletier, have made me feel a tad bit guilty over laughing at Homer Simpson's labeling of Canada as "America Junior." It seems the pair was invited to an Oscar party in Hollywood and they refused, saying it would interfere with their vacation.

So, in essence, they believe it's preferable to have a legitimate good time rather than stand around with a bunch of self-important types, wallowing in the after effects of a glorified student council election, pretending to actual like everybody else present, chapping their lips via ass kissing and being in a constant state of camera-ready posing.

O! Canada! My home and native land...

(By the way. I'm just repeating the Canadian National Anthem. It is not my home and native land...)

I've been hearing a lot lately about this new trend involving men going to strip clubs with their women and even getting lap dances.

Is this some overlapping of mysterious dimensions that Einstein wrote about?

Never mind the obvious question of how the hell a guy gets a woman to do this. How the hell can a guy enjoy this with his significant other along? Doesn't he have to pretend he's not really enjoying it? How about continually reassuring his woman that "this stripper ain't got nothin' on you hun! (Smooch.)"

I'll admit that I've had some experiences concerning pornography and my woman. And although things have improved, you never get over the self-consciousness involved. (Okay, I've been looking at the screen long enough, now look away... Okay, can't look at the screen now or she'll ask if I "like" that "actress"...)

I don't get it. I don't get this at all. Perhaps I'm entering that official period of "un-hipness" now, a phenomenon that will follow me to my grave. I mean, it's gotta hit some time.



A virgin boy itchin' to learn

the art of sex, called Howard Stern.

For this wide-eyed rookie

lined up porn-star nookie

and within three days, felt the burn.



I'm declaring it official: Cell phone commercials are every bit as stupid as beer commercials. Probably even more stupid.

For as long as I can remember, beer commercials have had nothing to do with the beer itself--its taste, cost, etc. They've promoted the idea that drinking a certain brand will help you bed supermodels or just sought to make you laugh (and thus hopefully remember the brand when you're at the supermarket cooler).

But cell phone commercials, as opposed to merely BENDING the truth, focus on outright lies. Contradictions in fact (it's altogether POSSIBLE, though highly unlikely, that you can bed a supermodel-looking chick with the help of alcohol).

They trumpet the idea that a cell phone will bring you closer to family. Ahem. Talking on the phone (unless its a three-way call or on a speaker phone for all to hear) is anti-social behavior. Yappin' with your boss about the Henderson Project while at the beach with your three-year-old in lap DOES NOT bring the family closer together. Taking a call while on the dance floor DOES NOT make the club experience more hip.

Of course, especially after this week's Illinois primaries, we all know that logic plays no part in consumer decisions. They spend money to make us think something, and we sure as hell think it.

C'mon, everybody, repeat after me: "Baaaa! Baaah!"...

Speaking of dumb commercials, I've heard enough about the Outback Steakhouse and it's lame song that's slightly re-worked to make it sound like Australians have some crazy culture surrounding every goddamned holiday. It's Easter time--and that gets me thinkin' about the Land Down Under! And I'm sure that the real Outback is a lot like the Bennigan's-esque setting at the steakhouse...

I've been thinkin', and I have to give that show "Baby Bob" some credit. It's truly an art form, what the writers have done. If I said down to design the stupidest fucking show imaginable, I don't think I could do half the job they've done.



That raving nut, Andrea Yates

is subject of many debates:

Was she nuts or sane?

Who cares, we all gain

she's now locked away--and that's great!



I've mentioned in this space before my ritual of reading through (at least the headlines) everything in the newspaper. As an alleged "humorist," I try to keep abreast of everything going on.

I rarely read advice columns but sometimes I'm drawn in by the sheer stupidity of people so hopeless they actually write letters to complete strangers for advice that anyone with even a smidgen of common sense could answer.

So it struck me when I read one the other day and saw the oft-repeated advice column phrase: "Please inform your readers about this [hideous disease, addiction, etc.]."

Oh, how important it is to make sure that the bottom feeders of society's intelligence pool know about these causes!



Nutley here, referring to my negative praise for the stupidity of the show "Baby Bob"--and my assertion that it made "Yes, Dear" look like a quality show:

>You, of all people, are underestimating "Yes Dear"?!?!?



Believe me--I still think "Yes, Dear" should come with a Surgeon General's warning about the loss of brain cells it causes but... I think some sort of ancient god was summoned to create "Baby Bob." Not only the writing, but the fact that a bunch of people green-lighted it and all... I've long been jaded about the dumbing down of popular culture, but "Baby Bob" simply hit a level of stupidity that I didn't think was possible. And in this age of "Yes, Dear" and "Life According to Jim," that's quite a feat.



A girl took the devil to bed

(a deal for Big Fame and much bread)--

the sex, though top-notch

did tear up her crotch

(his horns are on more than his head!).



I know that Musharef (SIC?) is being helpful to the U.S. and all, but I'm still hot for former Pakistan leader Benazir Bhutto.

I'm also hot for Aun Sang Suu Kyi, who we haven't heard about it a while--the pro-democratic leader of Myanmar (formerly Burma) who was largely shut-up by fascists.

Just thought I'd fill you in on my Exotic Female World Leader fetish...

I'm a little upset about the current societal views on mischief.

"Mischief" was (and still sorta is) one of my favorite terms. As a kid, I sought out mischief. "Mischief," in my point of view, is causing trouble, but nothing too serious. Ding-dong ditching and such. Dennis the Menace-like antics.

The legal community is largely responsible for tainting "mischief" in the public eye.

It hasn't always been that way. I once heard a story of a guy who got all drunk, fell asleep in the bathtub with the water running, and flooded his floor, ruining that floor and the ceiling of the people in the apartment underneath. He was charged with "Criminal Mischief." I found this more humorous than was healthy, but the term was A-OK with me.

Now, these nuts in San Fran with the killer dogs have been charged with some form of "mischief."

Dennis the Menace doesn't cause death. This is a disturbing development...

What the hell's the deal with Paula Poundstone? Why haven't we heard more about what the hell happened?

She's reportedly charged with some form of "non-sexual" abuse toward her adopted kids (thank God that so many bone-headed celebrities don't reproduce) but some of those kids are still NOT ALLOWED TO SLEEP AT HER HOUSE.

Stop coddling celebrities. If she does deserve to be locked up for a very long time, there's no shortage of struggling comedians to fill her shoes. What the hell exactly happened here? And is she even a big enough name to join the club with Robert Downey Jr. and Michael Jackson?



A young boy decides today's fun day

and whacks off so much, that on Monday

his Willie is chapped

from being so slapped

(today, after all, is "Palm" Sunday).



Why do so many comedians... er... have such a lousy sense of humor in reality?

I heard a tape the other day of somebody from the Howard Stern show trying to interview Billy Crystal. It seems Howard made fun of Billy and... Billy's just too angry to deal with Howard.

And why do so many "funny men" outright refuse to go on the Howard Stern Show?

It's not just Howard. Steve Dahl in Chicago pissed off "funny man" Richard Lewis years ago and he STILL won't talk to him.

I could go on and on with example. I could, perhaps, even come up with a POINT.

But that's all I have to add today.



A girlie with bodacious boob

feared losin' her flow'r to some rube

so she wore a crotch muzzle

which contained a tough puzzle--

only smart guys could solve Pubic's Cube.



I've been listening to the radio this morning and it seems everybody's voicing their opinion on whether Halle Berry won her Oscar because she was black or because she deserved it.

Hmm. So, we just had a primary election in Illinois and about 1/3 of all eligible adults voted (which is, sadly, considered a "good" turnout). Yet everybody and their plumber takes the energy to weigh in on this.

So voicing one's opinion on politics, which affects all or our lives, wasn't worth as much trouble as a popularity contest featuring people from the Land of Make-Believe masturbating all over themselves.

Shocking, isn't it, that real racial problems still exist in America, no?...

We lost Woody Allen.

Okay, he was gone a long time ago, considering his sexuality and all of that. But at least we had somebody who was a decent writer and director to point to and say, "He refuses to go to the Oscars!"

Perhaps this isn't new. I don't pay a lot of attention to the Oscars and I actually feel guilty by even mentioning them here (yeah, they need more analyzation, sure).

But still... Okay. We can completely ignore Woody Allen now...

I don't know if I've ever mentioned this in S&Y before, but I can proudly say that I've never watched the Oscars. But all this Oscar hoopla is reminding me about an incident when I lived in L.A. that.... Well, let's just say that sheer, unadulterated terror reigned.

I attended an "Oscar Party" (even worse than seeing vacation slides of borderline friends) because my wife's aunt had thrown it. I could've gotten out of it but a part of me has felt for some time that perhaps I should watch one of the ceremonies, considering there's so much fun-making possibility involved.

But then I was on the couch, watching the pre-festivities. I began to sweat. I was regretting my decision, hoping against hope that I could turn back the hands of time and stay home. The show started and, 10 or fifteen minutes into it, the nausea set in, I began to pray to any and every god who would listen to take out my aunt-in-law's TV set or something, to somehow save me for the hell I had set myself up for.

Then, my wife's cousin came into the room. "Does anybody want to play Monopoly?"

I didn't win the game. In fact, I did pretty lousy. But I am forever indebted to cousin Nathan.



Once glance at this hot little Wiccan

makes one dream of throw'n her a dickin'.

From thighs to the calves

she certainly has

more legs than a bucket of chicken!



If you'll recall, yesterday I had a few unkind words for the Oscars and I'd noted that I felt bad even writing about them.

I feel even worse about it today.

You see, people just won't shut up about them--and I'm not just talking about the "pro-Oscar" crowd (as frightening as they are), but about the Oscar bashers.

"It was such an orchestrated political statement." "It's just a popularity contest." Blah blah blah.

Well, OF COURSE IT FUCKING IS! Do you attend the Tool & Die Worker Awards and complain that they're boring? Well, then don't even watch the Oscars! Yes, it's all an orchestrated, cold and calculated marketing ploy rewarding Hollywood "Team Players." That's all it's ever been and anybody with an IQ slightly higher than a standard Florida jury member knows it. Not only is this a superficial awards ceremony, but it's an award ceremony focusing on Hollywood--land of manufactured laughs, plastic surgery heaven, ass-kissing plasticene central. What do you expect from the Oscars?

It's better just to shut up and ignore them. And you have S&Y's word on that, from now on.



>Actually, Woody was only at the Academy Awards to plug New York and New York

>films of the past. If you're not gonna like Woody, let it be 'cause of the

>sludge he's pumped out to the multiplex recently, and not the fact he

>appeared at a schmoozy event to champion his hometown.


>Besides, he had this to say about L.A. backstage:


>``I will try to take advantage of any cultural opportunities the city has to

>offer - like mudslides.''



I did read more on the Woody Allen/Oscars thing after writing yesterday's S&Y but... Does anybody REALLY need to "plug" New York? Does anybody think it's not going to be the setting for at least 40 percent of all movies and sitcoms for the rest of the foreseeable future anyway? Maybe these celebrities ought to work on "plugging" New York over in the Middle East--those people don't seem to get the appeal of the Big Apple at all.

Hurry! Let's spread the word about New York! People are forgetting about it!




There once was a man in construction

gave possible loves an induction.

Sex-wizened and sage

he'd hook up a gauge

to lollipops to rate their suction.



Interesting that the new Diet Coke campaign uses the slogan, "Do What Feels Good."

If a consumer were to really follow that advice, they'd have a regular, sugar-laden coke instead of that horrendous "diet" (actually, now read "women's" and "girly man's") stuff with that after-taste causing whatever the hell chemical they use as a sweetener.

Not that the average American consumer has a thinking cap on while watching TV or anything. Or course, much of the success of TV advertising can probably be tied to the dis-intellecting effect of stuff like "Baby Bob"...

I've always thought that an intense attraction to Jodie Foster was a possible danger sign.

In addition to ol' John Hinkley, I've known a bevy of friends and acquaintances attracted to Jodie and all of them were/are... well, not completely stable in the ol' noggin. (It's not that I never found Jodie attractive but... I guess, out of all the celebrities and such, I never considered her to be a prime object of fantasy.)

It started with pictures of her in that crappy, hardly worthy of wiping paper quality "USA Weekend" that comes in Sunday papers. Now, I've seen her in those commercials for the pathetic-looking "Panic Room" and, well, I'm hot for Foster now.

At this point in time, considering I haven't pined for her all my life, am I a possible danger to society? And, considering that Jodie is reportedly a lesbian, is the danger factor as solid among women who might find her hot?

Yup. Leave to S&Y to ask the truly tough, hard-hitting questions.



>I LOVE Nuh.......... Nuh ....... I love Nuh ....... Nuh ... Yuh.... Yuh

>..... I love New Yuh ...


>How's it go again?


>(huffin' glue, to forget th' Oscars!)

Don't forget, there are other songs about New York that have a somewhat different tone:

"Rats on the West Side, bedbugs, Uptown--go ahead, bite the Big Apple (don't mind the maggots)..."



Of that Nicole Kidman, won't harp it

or cover it up--I can't tarp it.

The Academy

means nothing to me

(but I'd like to see HER Red Carpet)!



There was special (read: "Catering to Advertisers) section called, "Personal Technology" in my Chicago Sun-Times today. It featured new "wearable" computers with little screens that fit in something like an eye patch.

Oh, that's just what we need! People driving down the street wearing those! (You know damn well it'll happen. And eventually somebody will crash and successfully sue the company because they weren't forewarned, and a jury of morons will side with the plaintiff.) Yes, we're not stressed out enough--we need to eclipse every moment of thought or relaxation in just walking down the street. Our attention spans aren't short enough, are demands for constant entertainment not met!...

The British High Court ruled against a knucklehead suing McDonald's for the fact that the tea served burnt them up (who would think that tea would be hot?).

Yet another example of foreign countries having a better grasp on the concepts we invented.



Three lesbos hung out and got hot

each dreamt of what the others got.

One kiss--in a while

they writhed in a pile

(could call it a "menage a twot").



Have you seen tear-jerkin' United States Postal Service commercial with the kid receiving his college acceptance in the mail? Where the moment is "brought to you by" the USPS?

I was again at the Post Office today and I think the commercial should say "this moment brought to you IN SPITE OF the United States Postal Service."



That censor-mad fat ass, ol' Tipper

(who, on Bill of Rights, has no grip-per)

thought of politics--

will welcome those tricks

when she transplants lips for a zipper.



Yesterday, I was ripped-off by a newspaper box again--I bought a Friday paper and when I came home, realized that the weekend section was missing. Since I bought it from a box, I couldn't very well go to a store and complain. I suppose I could've gotten all cantankerous and called the newspaper itself and bitched to some department but...

I just bought another paper.

I've been completely ripped-off in the past--put in the money and wasn't able to get a paper out at all. In convenience stores, I bought newspapers, too, and returned to find the comics or another section missing. Naturally, when this happens, I get the paper and then head out of town or something and thus I'm stuck with no fucking comics or whatever.

I don't really have a point beyond relating my pain. Perhaps I'm seeking readers to send me their own newspaper rip-off stories. After all, DL readers are SO good about leaping on topics.



If Britney Spears was in a burqa

and thus her hot curves were made murk-a

would old Afghan men

hide down in their dens

and watch her dance, doin' the jerk-a?



I just re-hooked-up my computer after moving. I could muse about that, I suppose. But I have nothing to add. But Happy Easter, if you celebrate this strange life fusing Life after Death, colored eggs and Santa Claus-wannabe rabbits.

I will say that I don't like this Easter in March (even the end of March) one bit. Is it slowly creeping backward? Will it one day be part of the Holiday Season that includes Thanksgiving and Easter?


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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 passed, twice! 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!

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