Daily Limerick
Archives: May 2002

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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So you've spotted that guy or gal who's causing a dance in your pants--but what, oh what can you possibly say to pick him or her up? "You've got more legs than a bucket of chicken" is nice, but it takes a special kind of person to appreciate it, mainly people who don't know English too well. Perhaps you should throw out a LIMERICK! For limericks truly soothe the soul and part the thighs. If that doesn't work, some quotes from "Slappin' and Yappin'" will surely break the ice.

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A fellow whose lust never sated

had a penis motor created.

He lived on an isthmus

which lit up like Christmas

whenever that cat masturbated.



I'm about to reveal something that you're going to find frighteningly shocking.

I'm going to utter a confession to you that I'd never imagine I'd utter. (Well, I'm e-uttering, if you want to be precise.) In fact, I didn't imagine I'd ever witness ANYONE uttering this. But here goes:

Today, "Frank & Ernest" totally blew my mind.

Yup. There you go. There you have it.

I'm talking about the ancient, cornball comic strip. There's no other "Frank & Ernest" (a rock band or something) I was about to clue you in on.

Nope. Your initial processing of that terrifying statement was correct. THAT "Frank & Ernest."

Now you may recall that I recently noted the strip's disappearance from the Chicago Sun-Times. But it actually came back--not to the comics page, but it made a re-appearance nestled within the classifieds. Somewhere around "Ziggy." So perhaps F&E has gotten a little "out there" lately, which may happen to cartoonists when they're backed into a corner. But... Well, if you don't have a copy of a newspaper that carries F&E, here's what happened today:

(Initial note: I don't know which is Frank and which is Ernest. I actually tried researching through my stack of newspapers I save for a month--validating for all the fun-making it has caused at my expense by proving that I do, indeed, occasionally need them for research--but I cannot figure out who is who. And, yes, I could hit the Web or something but I don't feel like taking that much time and effort to RESEARCH GODDAMNED "FRANK & ERNEST," mind you.)

Frank or Ernest (it's the taller one, with the mustache) is seated in front of the desk of a doctoral-looking guy, above whose chair there is a sign reading, "Psychiatry." The man who we can reasonably gather is a psychiatrist says, "Don't be silly--foot fetishes are very common... By the way, where did you get those neat tennis shoes?"

Allow yourself a moment to adjust to this tear in the fabric of reality.

First of all, I have a sneaking suspicion that F&E is a favorite among older folks and I imagine Bob Thaves (the cartoonist) killed off a few today via heart attack.

It's not, of course, that I have any problem with this type of thing. But I don't have any problem with, say, spanking, and I'd be floored, nonetheless, if Bob Hope came onto some show doing stand-up and said, "So I was spanking the wife today and..."

Does Mr. Thaves, sensing the imminent mortality of F&E, suddenly feel he has to reveal that, all along, Frank and/or Ernest has been living with a foot fetish? Considering that this is Mr. Thaves' primary artistic outlet, is he saying something about himself here? Coming out of the shoe closet? (Is there any good reason a foot fetishist would HAVE to come out of the "closet"? I mean, building a love nest with someone of the same sex might require some eventual explanation to the p's and all but, unless you're a special variety fetishist who marries a pair of pumps or something, I don't see how it's necessary to derail Thanksgiving by proudly proclaiming you suck toes.)

But there's another disturbing layer to this strip. (You could say it's an Onion of Disturbance--you can just keep peeling away at the layers, if your sanity can hold up.) It implies that the DOCTOR is also a foot fetishist. And, again, I have no problem with this, but I envision folks falling off their breakfast stools, clutching their chests early this morning in Florida because the doctor would have to be HOMOSEXUAL to be pining for Frank and/or Ernest's feet, it would seem.

"Please welcome... Bob Hope!" (Applause.) "Hello ladies and gentlemen! So, I was spankin' the wife this morning and Johnny Carson stops by, to my surprise. He says, 'Don't stop on my account--there ain't a thing wrong with spanking. And, might I add, your ass looks nice in those jeans. If you don't mind..."



>Ugh ... I got a letter from the IRS saying I owe more money. The only sure

>thing is death and Texas.

You can't always pun. But you sure Kan sass!



It's all the rage now, "Girls Gone Wild!"

Next to my sick dreams, though, it's mild.

What I really want,

I'll put it quite blunt:

to see "Girls Gone Destiny's Child."



Erik Lindbergh, the grandson of Charles Lindbergh, is recreating gramps' famous crossing of the Atlantic via airplane!

Well, sort of.

Erik's plane goes 184 mph, has a computerized GPS navigational system and even e-mail. That's somehow a tad bit less impressive than chugging over the Atlantic in an early, slow, rickety plane that nobody was sure would actually make the trip.

Oh, and Erik? Dozens (hundreds?) of planes cross the Atlantic now on a daily basis.

Having trouble making a name for yourself, there Erik?...

John Ashcroft still, apparently, hasn't gotten laid and is rallying similar sexual repressees in Congress to somehow bypass the Supreme Court's recent ruling that you can't make "virtual" child porn illegal, considering it doesn't actually harm any real people.

So, where's the story of Ashcroft having put every terrorist type in America away, seeing as he has all the extra time to pursue his whacked-out pet projects?...

The Seattle Mariners have banned fans from wearing "Yankees Suck" T-shirts in their stadium, as the nation spins further toward an Utter Pussification that threatens even the once sacred manliness of sports...

Ever do the "Unintentional Stalk"?

No, it's not some new dance craze--although, if the Macarena can actually catch on, I suppose it could be.

Most of the male readers have probably done the Unintentional Stalk. Here's an example of a US I did the other day (in second person!):

You walk out of your apartment, heading to the grocery store, which also happens to house a branch of your bank, just 3 blocks away. As you hit a main street (which you'll follow up to a perpendicular street which the bank is on) you take in your surroundings, mainly the other pedestrians. You spot a hot little number (with hot little numbers!) at 12 O'clock and begin ogling away. In fact, you speed up a bit, as she's quite a ways away, to get a nicer look at that ass and perhaps get a profile view of her face, if she turns her head at all--which she soon does--it's pleasing!--and it's likely that she spotted you behind her, although you're not doing anything wrong. But it seems like perhaps your eyes are bulging, or your tongue is hanging out or something, because she does, indeed, speed up. You hit the street that the bank is on, figuring she's probably going to cross in another direction, but she turns the same way you're going, making it seem even MORE like you're following her. Eventually she actually turns into the GROCERY STORE, and you follow her in.

Once in the store, you go your separate ways. But while perusing the store to pick up a few items, you see her a ways down an aisle you're shopping in, and she's looking over at you. Perhaps you're imagining things, but she seems to be in a hurry for SOME reason.

And now you know how to do the "Unintentional Stalk"!



>I ken tucky into breakfast, anyway... By the way, that was the funniest

>Slappin' and Yappin' ever. The idea of everyone in Boca del Vista (was that

>the retirement community on Seinfeld?) clutching their chests over the very

>against-the-grain Frank and Ernest -- hi-larious.

Here's my impression of Edward G. Robinson hitting on Anna Kournikouva: Well, I myself play a mean game of tennis--see? (Works better if you actually HEAR it.) (By the way, I hope I didn't miss any state puns after the ellipses. I didn't notice any.)

And, well, thanks for the "funniest Slappin' and Yappin' ever" comment. Is that on the order of "The most thought-provoking 'Baby Bob' ever"?



Now Destiny's Child sings of Jelly

and when I see them, think, "Whoah, Nelly!"

And then most my thought

is thoroughly fraught

with placing Jelly on some belly!



I don't know if it's a nationwide or just a local chain, but the Crafty Beaver is celebrating its 68th year in business.

Just get the giggling out of your system.

Next year, this hardware/home improvement store will be celebrating its 69th anniversary and, well, that's a double dose of double entendre!

One time, a friend of mine (and Daily Limerick reader--or at least subscriber, not sure he reads it...) went into a Crafty Beaver and asked about getting T-shirts. The employee(s) reacted as Al Gore might when asked if he'd like a steaming helping of spit-roasted spotted owl. (Actually, my memory fails--I might have been with for the incident.)

But, hey, you name your place "Crafty Beaver" and you gotta expect that sorta thing.

I will admit that the term "beaver" didn't have it's secondary meaning until (likely) some time after the store came about 68 years ago. I understand that sports journalists are responsible for the term. There was a tendency among them to hang out under the bleachers for the possible view of panties and the accompanying part of female anatomy. In order to signal one another to a great view, they couldn't just yell out, "Nice vagina over here!" so they instead said, "beaver!"

So if you do happen to live near a Crafty Beaver, let's get that T-shirt drive rollin' for the Big Sixty-Nine!... 

It has been the long-standing policy of Daily Limerick to occasionally correct itself when it was convenient for Daily Limerick. So, let me say that Lisa "Left Eye" Lopes is... Well, that's how her name is spelled. Like the Biggies, I'll conveniently ignore repeating my own mistake, to set a precedent in case that misspelling/mistake proves giggle-worthy.

Although, in the latter case, I'd probably point it out myself.



Clem's new neighbor snorted much powder

and so, when in bed, she was louder.

He'd listen at night

when the time was right

and whip up a batch of Clem chowder.



Now, it isn't nice to make fun of the people who put together the TV grids in the newspaper--in fact, at least one "reader" on this list does just that, or used to--but...

Well, you figure the point of these little grids, namely the wee bit of text describing the programs after the title, is to adequately describe the program and, secondly, to add a little something to the description that cannot be deciphered from the title alone, or something that at least elaborates on the title.

I don't know why I noticed this. It's not that I scrutinize such things. But in my TV grid for today, there's a little block for the program, "Cheaters." And here's the extra little detail: "A married man deceives."

Who would've thunk it!



>Uh-huh-huh-huh, huh-huh, you said "hardware."

Yeah, and get this: At the HARDware store, they sell TOOLS.

(By the way, "Beavis" is almost the same word as "Beaver." Coincidence? I think not...)



A wife craved a baby, of course

and in this quest showed no remorse.

Used the pin-hole tactic

with a prophylactic--

off'ring him the ol' Trojan horse.



I've gotten a lot of fuel from the classified ads lately.

There's been an ad running under the "Personals" lately in the Chicago Sun-Times promoting a "book burning."

This is the type of thing that you've always heard about but... Well, something in your own mind, your years of experience and learning, seems to tell you that it can't really happen. Or at least, not too often. Or not anywhere around you.

The ad encourages "you" to participate in order to "save your soul."

If this is the type of thing required to save my soul, there's no need to bother. I've been created fundamentally incapable of having a "saved soul" and there's nothing I can do to avoid rotting in some crazy place called "hell."

Is my calendar wrong? Is it actually the year 1002?



A Southern impressionist, Frankie

was asked on stage to do a Yankee.

He misunderstood

and whipped out his wood

and then asked the crowd for a hankey.



There exists a subset of people known as "Office Humor Consultants."

Naw... The recession has nothing to do with companies misspending.

I don't know what these people do. Actually, given the nature of our times, perhaps such a position is, indeed, necessary--not to actually stimulate humor in the office but at least to help delineate what is offensive and to whom.

Actually, the best rule of thumb is to assume that everything can be offensive to some moron.

I take it back. There is no need for "Office Humor Consultants."



A hobbit who went around braggin'

'bout how many chicks rode his dragon.

Did get such elation

from his reputation

he changed his name to Dildo Baggins.



The Chicago something-or-other firm, Challenger, Gray & Christmas, have released the results of a study showing how much money businesses have lost thanks to the latest "Star Wars" movie, predicting also how much might be lost by the next one.

Some of this is due to folks calling in sick--although I thought most employees were supposed to either use their sick days or get paid for them, anyway--and the rest is...

Fun, overall, is not good for corporate America. Office Humor Consultants aside.

Which might explain a lot about our silently declared "War on Fun"...

Speaking of the War on Fun, California is considering banning mascots that might seem "offensive" to certain groups.

No need to let people decide things for themselves.

I'm offended by the Cubs. If this type of law catches on here in Illinois, can I sue to get rid of them?...

As a big fan of truth in labeling, why don't we refer to the "Mid East Peace Process" as the "Mid East War Process"? Let's call a spade a spade here. And while we're at it, "The War on Drug Users" or the "War on Drugs that aren't Alcohol or Produced by Big Campaign-Donating Drug Companies" rings truer than our current moniker.



>Office Humor Consultant: You're fired! Ah ha ha ha ha ha hee hee ha ha ha.

>Oh my god that's a good one -- ah ha ha ha ha haaaaaa. Hee hee hee ha ha ha.

>Ha ha ha ha -- stop, stop it yr killing me y--- ha ha ha ha ha.... phew.

>*snrk* "You're fired!" HA HA HA HA HA!

Okay, I'm changing my mind on the subject YET AGAIN. It seems an Office Humor Consultant can, indeed, prompt some laughs.



If you're hot for vampires, they say

the problem is not in the lay

or the undead hex

but in oral sex--

those fangs always get in the way.



If Slappin' and Yappin' appears to be lacking (more than usual) today, it's probably because I am typing on my knees.

I'll give you no other explanation, but caution that the reason(s) probably isn't (aren't) as exciting as it (they) sound...

Sara Lee is coming out with a new loaf of bread with the crusts removed. This might help eliminate that pesky second and a half spent throwing out the crusts for mothers with kids who don't like crust.

File this with the overpriced Lunchables--crackers, cheese and meat that eliminates that needless two minutes sorting the contents bought at a much, much cheaper price--under "Reasons we're overweight, stressed-out, and all heart-attacks-waiting-to-happen."

The total two minutes, one and a half seconds could be better used on the cell phone with work while getting ready. And will come in handy when you regrettably call into work thanks to your latest grabber.



That pipe bomber kid loved Cobain

and did it to "express his pain."

His father, brain bubbled,

say his boy's just "troubled"

but I think the fucker's insane.



That knucklehead planting mailbox bombs across the Midwest--and that's the proper term, for he's not a proper "terrorist" or "menace" or "villain," he's a Supreme Knucklehead--supposedly did it, at least partly, because he wants to see pot legalized.

Listen hear, pal. I too think pot should be legalized (and in fact feel strongly so), but I don't want you on my side, okay? Really, you've set the cause back a couple decades, now that conservative knuckleheads (in the same family as you, but not the same exact species) can point to you as an example of what pot does.

By the way, I read the list of charges against him and "attempted murder" wasn't in there. C'mon, let's put this fucker away as long as possible, if for no other reason than to keep the quest to legalize pot rolling stronger...

Speaking of knuckleheads jumping on causes to the fright of others espousing those causes, the guy who shot that Dutch politician reportedly partly did it in part over his animal rights beliefs.

Kinda makes you long for causes like "Death to America!" in evil-doing, doesn't it?...

I suppose you've seen or heard the commercials for the movie "Unfaithful," which basically IS "Fatal Attraction," with the woman doing the cheating instead. I listened close to one of the ads today and heard, "From the director of 'Fatal Attraction'..."

What's next for this guy? A homosexual who cheats on his long-time partner with a psychopath...

Surprise, surprise, surprise! The late singer for Alice in Chains, it has been confirmed, died of a drug overdose.

Now, rockers. This isn't actually original anymore...

Speaking of shockers, the FTC is cracking down on those "ab belts," saying they don't help people lose weight. I guess they're going to go after those "X-ray glasses" advertised in comic books next...

There was a story about the court case with Enron and Arthur Anderson in the paper today. There was mention of a song parody some Anderson cat wrote about the Enron thing... But no excerpt of the lyrics or... ANYTHING.

Missed the most important part of that story...

Oh, the Seattle Mariners reversed their ban on "Yankees Suck" T-shirts. We just won a tiny battle in the war against the War on Fun...

Overheard in an overplayed commercial for "Tweeter" (annoyingly re-naming a stadium near you), trumpeting a new location: "Across the street from Blockbuster, near Target."

Exhibit A: How our Cities are Becoming Pretty Much One and the Same...

P.S. What, who or where's "Fuqua"? (It comes up in the spell-checker as a substitute for "fucker.")



A fella, beset with a cold

saw a hot chick--and got quite bold!

She gave up some sugar

and then a big booger

which caused the encounter to fold.



As you may or may not recall (good for you if you're not wasting brain capacity on it), I'm incredibly turned-on for some reason by some woman's singing of "It's all inside" in commercials for J.C. Penny. Like a neon light on the Vegas strip.

Last night, I overheard the TV in the other room and... A GUY was singing that line.

I'm very, very disturbed over this development.



A lusty mad scientist, Zack

researching new milit'ry tacts

did shrink himself down

and's not since been found

(now sleeps on Miss Tennessee's rack).



I was in the goddamned Target parking lot today and, like a revelation, a conspiracy theory came to me.

I'm not sure the point of this here alleged conspiracy. My two theories are a) somebody's got a whole bunch of handicapped people locked up somewhere or b) the handicapped are plotting against the non-handicapped.

This was a Saturday afternoon at Target. Meaning, one of the last places you'd ever want to be. Crawling with people. Mostly idiots walking without looking and driving without looking. Impossible to park, with more traffic in the damned lot than in the street the Target is on.

And then, of the sixteen or so handicapped parking spots, ONE actually has a car in it.

So, somebody either release those handicapped folks from your closet, or we need to call this Handicapped Cabal part of the Axis of Evil.



In that case, shouldn't it be "It's all outside"?


I'm taking it "all in stride." "It's all in bide"(ing) my time.



To all ladies craving erection

but plagued by yeast in the "love section":

Should be temporary

but if it's real scary

we call it a "Mid East Infection."



Do you think they'll ever fund some sort of comprehensive, reliable study as to how effective advertising REALLY is?

Now I know the basis behind advertising--that if you get a name out x number of times, it will somehow translate into sales of x/y product. Right? I can see that this is the case because, for instance, my general choice in colas is Coca-Cola. Alright, to foster my own "rebel" attitude, I've recently been buying more RC, but... Perhaps there's an "Ed's Cola" I'm always passing up because its brand name isn't plastered all over creation. At the same time, no amount of Pepsi marketing will ever hook me in (although the recent Pepsi Lemon stuff might get me to try it) because I don't prefer the taste, but many people do and thus, well, again, x/y...

On the other side of the coin, I'm so averse to certain ad campaigns that I can't imagine other people feeling the same way. For instance, I'd NEVER buy a car based on advertising. For big purchases in the past, I've bought "Consumer Reports"-like stuff, or at least asked friends and such a lot of question, or went "out in the field" and tested things (all these things I did when I bought my stereo system, which is now over 10 years old). On the other side of the coin, I know that, to a large degree, people in general are sheep. If they weren't, nobody would spend a dime on political ad campaigns (if you don't pick up the newspapers and such and figure out long before the commercials even begin to air who you're going to vote for, sorry, but, er, "baaaah!").

I'm dwelling in this question now because there's this clod around town (who is also a friend of a friend of my wife's friend, or something like that) who started this local publication, "Chicago Scene." There's virtually no "content" in this thing. A conglomeration of ads, "party scene photos" of club "action" (consequently of clubs who happen to advertise), some local listings (less than 1 percent of those covered in the Chicago weeklies--and the paltry listings that do exist happen to, surprise surprise, focus on clubs which happen to advertise a lot) and... I saw this thing at one point and though, "This'll be out of business in no time." I've never seen anybody with one. Never heard a mention of anybody looking at one. I thought I was one of only a few people that even knew the damn things existed.

Then, through this friend of a friend of a friend of a wife's friend or whatever, I've heard that the publisher of this glorified toilet paper is stinking rich.

I'm not naive enough to think anything other than advertising keeps 99 percent of all publications afloat. But at the same time, you usually need some sort of content to get people reading and thus to show the advertisers that people are reading and thus its worthy of spending ad money on.

So is this some giant scam? Or are there a bunch of people who DO actually pick this thing up? Do I happen to run among crowds of people who are just smarter than the average buffoon? Is it like the auto ads that fill most of my newspaper--I flip through them and pay absolutely no attention whatsoever, but somebody probably does peruse them when looking for a car?

Is there a study waiting, soon to be conducted, that will radically change our world and rid us of all the "Chicago Scenes" out there when advertisers realize that just because you print so many copies, it doesn't follow that anybody's looking at them? I mean, if an entire forest falls in the middle of nowhere, it doesn't make a noise? But would this study also take all the auto ads out of legitimate newspapers and bankrupt them, too?

Or does something like "Chicago Scene" work on the order of women's fashion magazines, which basically contain an article or two (prompted by heavy advertisers, usually) nestled among 95 percent ads? Still, "Chicago Scene" makes something like Vogue look like Harper's. (Not that Harper's isn't ripe for fun-making of another kind, but...)

Oh, I'm just extra disturbed right now. Pay me no mind.



Do you want to do Tina Yothers?

Or how about ol' Sally Struthers?

If big blondes, washed-up

are tea in your cup

you might go see Dr. Joyce Brothers!



I happened to catch a little "Daytime TV"--that is, talk shows--today and I wasn't sure that I hadn't went back in time to 1995 or so.

(As I typically do, I have an excuse for this behavior--my wife is home sick from work and I believe there's a law or something that says you have to watch daytime talk shows if you're home sick from work--therefore, I've caught them in the background. I know I don't have to make excuses for catching TV crap--I can always plead "humor research," and I don't know if you believe my excuses anyway but... Well, maybe I'll stop with the excuses, but I just feel compelled. Believe it... or not.)

I think that all these shows have about a dozen topics, and they just rotate between them, throw in an occasional, subtle variation here or there ("Teens Who Strip--Who are of biracial origin!).

I'm just flabbergasted that these shows get away with the same shit over and over. I mean, at least the sitcom, as ready for the killin' as it is, has grown in SOME ways. There's a preponderance of tobacco company humor, for instance, since the Liberal Rulers said it was a liberal duty to make fun of them.

Or maybe daytime talk shows just don't need to evolve--like the brainless shark, which has remained the same for eons. As stupid and simple as they both are, perhaps they just have what it takes, naturally, for survival and don't need to progress any further.



>"Ad" me to yr list!

I will. I just hope you're not engaging in some shill game here.



I'm dreamin' of that Kirsten Dunst

(in skimpy outfits, she looks fun-st).

If I'er Spiderman

my cock and my hand

would find their way into her cunst.



Here's a quote from today's Bill Zwecker column (he's the celebrity kiss-ass columnist at the Chicago Sun-Times): "LENNY KRAVITZ fans who harbor lusty thoughts for the hunky rocker will have to cool their jets." It goes on to describe how Lenny has become engaged.

No need to cool your jets, stalkers, over a "star" who is still single...

I saw Robert Siegel, editor of The Onion, speak yesterday (largely for the purposes of sliding him a resume and clip package, but for other reasons as well, namely that The Onion kicks buttocks) and found out, in the course of the lecture, that all of the idiot mail received by the publication (from people who think the stories are actually meant to be true, mostly) comes via e-mail from... You might have guessed it: AOL accounts. Don't ever say the Daily Limerick doesn't clue you in on trends...

By the way, I considered offering apologies for the use of a certain word in today's limerick but... Well, I CONSIDERED apologies. It's the thought that counts.



>I had to outrace an advertising guy once. He was going at least 5 miles P.R.

>hour! (bleeeeh)

I used to have an advertising addiction. And I got off it for a while but... Well, eventually fell off the (band)wagon.



A patriot soldier Israeli

asserted his devotions daily--

not just for the nation

or his army station--

he'd also hit bars to score tail-y.



I read over the obituary for Bill Peet today. He was a Disney animator who, among other accomplishments, drew Dumbo, wrote "101 Dalmatians" and went on to write/illustrate his own children's books after leaving Disney.

Why did he leave Disney, you may ask?

Here's a clue: Peet also drew for "Peter Pan," and Captain Hook was intended to look like Disney.

Sorry for not researching all the facts here and now, but I also read some time ago about how Scrooge McDuck was the creation of an animator or animators surreptitiously getting back at Disney for being... Well, a cheap bastard.

Now THAT'S family values!



A trav'ling salesman, tired and lazy

appealed to a farmer quite crazy

who lent him the stable

(with his girls, as fabled)

and warned him, "Please don't eat my Daisy!"



How do you "shrimp" someone? Is that a term? I think I've heard it before. Just wondering. Sounds fun...

Just read that "Baby Bob" is set to return in the middle of the next TV season.

That, and the fact that I'm running on a couple hours sleep, throws me into a funk and I'll have to leave S&Y at that for today.



>If Disney were actually frozen like popular legend says, and not cremated,

>I'd lob an arm at you! Wouldn't that be cool to see shatter?


>Signed, defaming the dead

Damn! You're really going out on a limb there!



A lady, a' trav'lin' the Chunnel

was spied by a dwarf with a funnel.

He said something crass

than hopped on her ass

and somehow got in her dark tunnel.



Sorry folks, you're getting even less than your money's worth lately (considering this is free) because it has been a rough week and I've been brief. Extra crap to come in the next couple days. But here's some refuse for now...

The Sun-Times, which formerly ran Ziggy on the Weather page but sent it into the Classifieds section, is still running a big, bold message on the Weather page: "Look for Ziggy in Classifieds." I guess that prevents extra grabbers...

A temp job this week had me playing receptionist (and unfortunately not being chased around the water cooler). On one call I fielded, I asked the caller if she wanted to be put into this cat's voicemail, as he wasn't at his desk. She said, "Is that possible?"

It was all I could do to resist saying something like, "Yes! There's now this wonderful, new-fangled technology that..."

I guess there's some movie out, somewhere, perhaps Cannes, called something like "Searching for Debra Winger." (I'm extra into the research side of things today.) Well, in a photo accompanying the story, the Arquette sisters and Sharon Stone are at some sort of appearance for the film and complaining about sexism in Hollywood which, I guess, is a major theme of the movie. Oddly enough, in this photo, there's a good deal of cleavage hanging out. Guess a bunch of male producers/directors forced them into those outfits.

They've got a point. Each of them has two very, very good points, in fact.



>I might be going out on a limb, but I'm well-armed. Care to give me a hand?

Sure, man. Cosmic. I can dig-it.

And we get this in, too:

>You suck on their toes.

At first, I thought I was being accused of something. Then it hit me: I asked what "shrimping" was. And I guess this nut boy answered me.

So what would ordering the "21 Shrimp and Fries" be?

Probably kinda sick, considering they usually come in groups of 5.

Fast food joints that serve fried, breaded shrimp often bill it "21 Shrimp and Fries," for some reason. Perhaps it's a Chicago thing. But there are always way more than 21 shrimp.

Speaking of life's little mysteries.



There is a young girl from Tunisia

developed selective amnesia--

forgot about work

and her husband Dirk

but sure recalls just how to please ya'!



I know that it's probably not perceived as "nice" to make fun of the brutally murdered, but...

There's been this unsolved "Brown's Chicken Murders" case in the Chicago area, in which a bunch of folks were murdered at a Burger King--just kidding, at a Brown's Chicken--almost 10 years ago and it was still unsolved until this week.

Well, there was a big section on this in the Sun-Times today and they had little photos and descriptions of the victims. Most of the victims were described with stuff like, "Had a wife and three kids," "Owned the Brown's Chicken Franchise" and "Was planning to go to college to study Law."

One guy, however... Well, I guess they couldn't dig much up on him. He was described as "according to his twin brother, liked to listen to music and hang out."

What a legacy.

I know, not nice. But I still laughed. Then felt guilty. Then laughed...



A Drew Carey fan and a shouter

when Drew wasn't on, was a pouter.

But when in her crack

with Drew in the back

she'd yell quaint things, like "Winfred LOUDER!"



Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday dear me-ee. Happy birthday to me!...

Yes, it's my birthday, so I rightfully don't have to slap today. Of course, I'll probably "slap" anyway, but that's a different story altogether.

I think I have only two "privilege" birthdays left. There's 65, where I can retire, and there's 35, which means I can run for president. Since I turned 34 today, I have one year now to start the campaign. Actually, I have a little over two, since the next presidential election is in 2004...

Ah, but we can dream! A "State of the Union Limerick." Press conferences ala Slappin' & Yappin'. And let's not forget, Destiny's Child would most certainly take me up on the offer of dinner.




There once was a guy from Milwaukee

who looked in windows for a stalk-y.

He'd drop down his pants

and polish his lance

while he just stood there and got gawk-y.



I saw a guy with a baseball cap today emblazoned with the word, "Jesus."

Does Jesus get a cut of those sales?

Whoops! I just sent some attorney into a frenzy...



>May you get all the jelly you deserve on yr b-day.

It helps to get marma-laid.



Do you recall old Mr. Whipple?

His Charmin squeeze caused quite a ripple?

Me thinks he craved bad

the dames in the ads

(and fantasized squeezin' some nipple).



Now everybody's riding Bush...

Let me start over. If everybody were "riding bush," most of our problems would be solved.

President Bush has been subject to much criticism over the possibility that certain red flags were ignored that might have been used to thwart the Sept. 11 attacks.

Bush, and all of our federal security agencies, definitely deserve a heapin' dose of scrutiny at this point. But my problem has to do with the partisan nature of it all.

In 1996 (when, naturally, Bush was not President), Philippine authorities notified the U.S. that plots were underway concerning dive-bombing planes. Even before that, in 1994, a plot to fly a plane into the Eiffel Tower was thwarted.

Kinda waters-down the current Bush Administration catch phrase that, "Nobody could have predicted Sept. 11."

Let's not lose sight of who the blame lies with: politicians. Not Democrats. Not Republicans. The entire scum-sucking, airline industry ass-licking, put-our-interests-behind-any-crackpot-campaign-contributor lot.

Getting partisan is exactly what they WANT us to do. Fight over the ever-changing philosophies of amorphous movements like "liberalism" and "conservatism" and "Republicanism" and "Democratism."

As far as I'm concerned, the lowliest, bug-eatin', rum swillin', pocket-pickin' homeless man in the gutter is STILL higher on the social ladder than the most "honest" politician.

Preventing Sept. 11 would have cost profits. And that's the only reason why it wasn't prevented. And, although I hope not, that's much of the reason that similar attacks will be successful as well.



A slick O.B./Gynie, Joe Puffin

would fix all that's ailing your muffin

and if your box mix

was up for some tricks

he'd give your fine muffin' a fluffin'.



The always eloquent Mayor Daley, a professed fan of George Bush (despite being a Democrat, feeding into my theory of partisanship being a ruse for the politicians to fleece us all), claims that the Bush Administration made a "mistake" but that they were "non-intentional."

As opposed to those "intentional mistakes"...

For some reason, I always scan the obituary pages. The thinking behind this habit was at one point, I think, I could run into a friend or cohort and say, "By the way, sorry about your grandma."

That, however, has never happened. But the habit remains.

A saw an obituary for somebody named "Nee." Therefore, if this woman were to get married, you might see something in print like, "Martha Jones, nee Nee."

For some reason I found that interesting.



>To that, I reply -- Whore, what is (she) good for? Absolutely everything! :D

Maybe I'll assemble these essays into a book called, "Whore and Piece."



Success for "That '70s Show"

hints how we miss most things retro.

But sex unafraid

before goddamned AIDS--

we miss most "That '70s Blow"!



Spending far too much time reading the job classifieds lately, I've often seen the phrase "non-smoking office" in the ads.

Just like I see banks and such that, for some reason, have "no smoking" signs plastered around. Just to rub it in the faces of any smokers, I suppose because, unless you're a bartender or possibly if you Phillip Morris, EVERY FUCKING OFFICE IN NON-SMOKING!

Are there that many people flitting about who just got out of prison and haven't been free since the '70s? Or are there that many French tourists?



A homeless ol' flasher named Pickett

was sleeping one morn in a thicket.

His spirits did fly!--

some girl scouts passed by--

more girls than he could shake his stick at!



Once the Little House on the Prairie

hosted a dark stranger named Larry

who gave Laura Ingalls

some curious tingles

(she showed him her place that was hairy).



A fat new-age chick named Zapruda

went on a quest to find The Buddha.

First she went to Bronson

and then to Wisconsin

and settled instead for some gouda.



A girl with crap eyesight named Rachel

(so bad, she'd miss things sized quite glacial)

entered a "salon"

where porn shoots went on

and freaked after ord'ring the "facial."


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 5/24-5/27/2002:

For any bastards wondering why S&Y has been a little short lately, there's a Murphy's Law specifically for out-of-work journalists. As soon as you take on a big freelance assignment, the temp agencies find work for you! Their overall plot is to find you jobs at such an inconvenient time that you cancel a freelance job just in time, feel leery of taking on new ones because you don't want to fuck-up a future freelance gig and you're fooled into thinking that "temping is picking up again!" and, when you do, they let you sit for MONTHS and MONTHS with no work whatsoever, having scared you out of freelancing, screwing you out of ANY income, and throwing you one step closer to the gutter! God, I just love being a temp!...

Funny how, about a week or so after billionaire investor Warren Buffet says that further terrorist attacks are inevitable, Dick Cheney comes out and says the same! We all know who the Administration is listening to INSTEAD OF THE FBI!...

Speaking of the whimsical, subjective shell-game we base our entire economy on, the stock market, here's more evidence of the "important stats" the stock market follows: An unfounded rumor circulated that bin Laden was captured yesterday-and stocks shot up! Because, we all know, we'll all magically get jobs and all sorts of money in our pockets as soon as he's captured!



Now Kylie Minogue's PR race

has put her all over the place

some ask: Was her butt

doc-lifted, or what?

(I just wish it'd lift to my face!)



I'm not sure who is attributed to the following statement. It may have been Dick Cheney, or perhaps Tom Ridge. I'm not feeling ambitious enough to look it up right now. But, in response to complaints of vagueness in the recent terrorism warnings, we got this:

"No sensible terrorist is going to give specifics."

Of course. And most terrorists are very down-to-earth, level-headed folks...

"Lane Cheater" is my term for one of those bastards out on the highways and/or freeways who, when two lanes are soon merging into one, waits until the very last minute to merge, speeding up along the soon to be closed lane in hopes of beating everybody. Or, sometimes, this schmuck just drives on the shoulder or in some neo-lane he or she is not supposed to be driving in anyway and works much the same scam.

As possible further evidence of the Pussification of America, it seems that somebody always lets this rat bastard in.

Do you part! America will be a much finer place when the Lane Cheaters literally rot away awaiting some pansy to let them in...

I am the Phantom Restroom Smoker.

I've struck in most states of our nation--from Vermont to California, Pennsylvania to Utah.

This spree began when I started taking road trips with the woman who was to eventually become my wife. She doesn't smoke--or, at least she only smokes occasionally when she's drinking--and thus there is no smoking allowed in her car. When I take these long-ass road trips, and we're in a hurry and want to cut-down on the time spent in pit stops, I use restrooms in fast-food places, gas stations and the like as a quick cigar smoking lounge. I realize this is probably technically illegal but, in the vast majority of cases, I actually believe that the stinky cloud of stogie is much more pleasant than the scent I was initially greeted with upon entering the lavatory.

So if you ever stop into a Wendy's bathroom and are greeted by a thick cloud of cheap cigar smoke... Moooo-ha-ha-ha-ha! The Phantom Restroom Smoker struck again!... 

And not for an update on... SILLY RIDICULOUS THINGS THAT TURN S&Y ON!

That Kylie Minogue song. Yes, it is in fact TOO catchy. But it turns me on like a goddamned nuclear generator.

And I'll fill you in on a shameful little secret: A lot of dance music turns me on.

If I sit in listen to it, I'm not much of a fan. The meaningless lyrics, the computer-generated, repetitive, lame-ass melodies and such. And I completely hate dance clubs as well--and even avoided them like the plague when I was single.

But dance music--at least, dance music sung by a woman or women--gets me all jittery in the ol' Dockers. When I'm wearing Dockers.



There once was a horny old Swami

who felt a twitch in his salami

took a young grasshopper

and threatened to pop her

unless he could make her a mommy.



Well, it's official! I'm earning a lower wage than I have ever earned before in my life! (With the possible exception of my weekly paper route I had as a shaver!--and without factoring in inflation!)

I won't name names, but a certain Chicago publication, edited by a Super Flake, assigned me a story recently. Payment: $125. It seemed like a lot of work for the money at first, but I've written for them before and usually the work shakes out to be on a par with journalism wages overall.

But the assignment was Web-research intensive, and my computer is now 5-years-old, the equivalent of Fred Flintstone's in computer years, and that took me about 2 full days by itself. I chiseled away for at least half the day for the rest of last week, clocking me in at about 26 hours for this $125.

Then, Super Flake sends it back to me for re-writes--re-writes that wouldn't have been necessary had she filled me in on exactly what she wanted to begin with.

So, overall, I've put in more than 30, and closer to 40, hours on this piece of crap and... Do the math yourself. But, in high school, around 1984, I worked at Long John Silvers and made minimum wage--then, $3.35 an hour.

Say what you will about retro, but if you're forced to really LIVE it, it's a different story.

Does anybody need me for some sort of PSA on why today's kids shouldn't waste their fuckin' time with college?



It seems they've found poor Chandra Levy

--one Condit mistress, of a bevy--

things are now quite scary

for ol' slimeball Gary

(his pile of bullshit's just got heavy).



A Cultural Terrorism Warning: Hollywood knuckleheads are planning to re-make the Pink Panther movies...

A Consumer Reportish survey finds that the vast majority of cars will be smashed to smithereens when facing an SUV.

So, in addition to funding terrorism, thanks, folks, for engaging in Highway Terrorism...

I'll now have to apologize for the above two items. Not the "point" of the items but, well... It seems that people are throwing the word "terrorism" around to such a point that it is near-useless for describing anything at this point.

Chicago's Mayor Daley today, in cautioning the Feds about putting too much of their resources toward anti-terrorism and not enough toward drugs, calls drug dealers "terrorists." (Oh, and, yeah, with folks flying airplanes into skyscrapers and plotting nuclear dirty bombs, I think we should focus on some guy snortin' some lines to music in the safety of his apartment.)

Er, Mayor Nutrod? Making a living in a rough economy through illegal means, often partially because the education system sucks so goddamned bad that it's easier to get a job the old-old fashioned way, is a little different from declaring an intent to destroy a nation...

Thanks to the success of the one-joke reality series "The Osbournes," E! Entertainment has rounded up a celebrity for its own, similar show: Anna Nicole Smith.

Maybe before the old guy died, this would've been interesting. But I didn't know that this half floatation device/half human being was know for wit. Or anything other than cartoonishly giant, plastic boobs...

The American Legacy Foundation, proudly wasting money while the economy swirls further down the toilet on a daily basis, has done a study concluding that Philip Morris' anti-tobacco ads actually encourage smoking.

Here's a clue: There's a phenomenon known as "forbidden fruit." It's been around since cavemen times. Look into it...

McDonald's, after trying--luckily, unsuccessfully--to make a go of it with "McCafe" and other pathetic projects, is now trying to get into the mortgage business and is exploring other non-food arenas.

Uh, folks. You have burgers and fries. That's all you need. Fire 90 percent of you marketing dept. and up the wages of your near-sweatshop employees. No more marketing brainstorms necessary.



In printing this letter, I allow you a peek into my personal life. Or at least my non-limerick life:

>slooop, whats up with the scene, where are you spouting off at lately ?

>Also, I am trying to set up some show case venus for my band for record

>labels, and was thinking bone daddys may be a good spot, anyone you can

>recommend I talk to over there.  peace,.  jeff.

I've been doing more sketch comedy than stand-up/poetry lately. I can put you on that pub list.

I'm not sure who you'd talk to at Bone Daddy, however. Feel free to say that Sloop recommends you, or whatever, though.

(P.S. To readers unaware of the particulars behind this e-conversation, "Bone Daddy" is not a catch-phrase among priests. Or maybe it is.)



A girlie who hailed from Batavia

on first dates would just say, "uh, maybe, uh..."

to a facial kiss

but found first-date bliss

with firm kisses upon her labia.




There was a letter-writer in the Chicago Sun-Times yesterday. She was responding to a previous column about the IRA and weapons, defending the IRA on some charges and accusing Tony Blair of, among other things, raising campaign money through pornography in some sort of tenuous connection.

She named a title of a magazine and... Well, she said that "Asian Babe" was, among other things, racist.

How in the fuck is that magazine racist? Even for somebody who happens to have some sort of ethnic fetish, wouldn't that make heterosexual attraction sexist?

As a matter of fact, whacking off over someone is one of the purest forms of love.

(Hee Hee. I'm even a bit boggled I just wrote that.)

Unless, of course, "Asian Babe" puts all of its pictorial subjects in stereotypical settings. Or all of its cartoons make fun of Asians. Or...

Oh, I don't know. Just quit throwing terms like "racist" around all willy-nilly.


Visit SLOOP CENTRAL: 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 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!

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, or Theater of the Droll's, e-list for comedy, sketch and/or poetic performances (in Chicago, Los Angeles or elsewhere), let me know!


(c)1999-2002 John "Sloop" Biederman. All Rights Reserved.


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