Daily Limerick
Archives: November 2002

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


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When hostages seem to need fetchin'

instead of the talkin' and kvetchin'

of therapist piddle

the Ruskies don't fiddle--

they cook up Kentucky Fried Chechens.



As you can see, although I'm now writing "News Limericks" for an actual, legitimate publication, I'll still be including the occasional news-oriented limerick in DL--especially those that are... possibly in questionable taste for a legit pub--as today's entry shows...

I received my first automated political phone commercial today. Which helped, as I hadn't decided conclusively whom I'll be voting for in the particular race. Now I have.

Beyond a doubt, NOT the guy who invaded my home via what amounts to a particularly nefarious type of telemarketing.

I've been a long-time advocate of taking the world back from advertisers. For instance, when a car company threatens to destroy the good memories you might have over a Beatles song by using a bad cover of it in a commercial--decide, then and there, to never, ever buy that car. Even if it is the best deal. Even if Consumer Reports gives it the highest of ratings.

It's the only way to reclaim our culture. Advertising affects us, subconsciously, even if we don't realize it--and we need to take proactive steps to stop the stupidity.

So, if you get an automated political telemarketing call, vote against the bastard. Make a point of it. Even if that person is the one you were intending to vote for. You don't need to vote for the "other guy" if he/she is a total ass. Write in Alfred E. Neuman or something.

Like mold, we need to burn this stuff early, or its only going to cover everything in sight...

By the way, FYI, "Beatles" is not in my Microsoft Word spell checker, but corporate terms like "Polaroid" are...

I recently announced that I'll be writing regular "News Limericks" for a Chicago Tribune publication, RedEye.

Well, for any of you who have been seeking them out, you probably haven't found any--after a week of issues, a news limerick made it in only ONE edition.

I'm still getting paid for writing a week's worth and still instructed to keep sending 'em. What's happening is that some of the initial issues were more-or-less completed ahead of time, the whole thing is new and they're puttering around with crap, blah blah blah--and I still plan the regular News Limericks to be the rule and not the exception.

I'd be more nervous about this except that... Well, there's a contract and they're paying me, so I know they're gonna use them. Eventually.

Keep a look out, I suppose, and I'll let you know if there are any further developments in the matter (otherwise, assume that... Well, assume what I've just told you, schmuck!)



The yoga class led by Ann Chong

went terribly, horribly wrong.

Man stretched, out of whack;

a woman fell back

and his tongue lodged under her thong.



New York City is considering leveling fines against cell phone users who call, or let their phones go off, during theater performances and other such fare.

You know, by some counts, I should be wildly in favor of this. I can't stand cell phones AND I've arguably been subject to the hell of nuisance laws because I happen to smoke.

But I have to struggle and remain consistent here. I was utterly shocked, my belief in the goodness of the human race further wounded when, to cite but one example, West Hollywood decided to legislate cases whereby a smoker's smoke happens to float up to another's apartment window.

This made some sense during the dot-com boom--before the economy began circling the toilet bowl and a little thing called Sept. 11 went down. It was ridiculous then but, I suppose, you can argue that the naive among us really believed that our major problems were "conquered" and we could turn our legislative eye to making sure none of us are ever annoyed (or at least not annoyed by anything politically incorrect).

But really, folks--and especially you do-gooder numbskulls on the Coasts--we have far more important things to worry about.

And if you really want to pioneer in the field of anti-annoyance legislation... We may just have to sell off NYC and L.A.



>I'm surprised. These days, Beatles *is* a corporate term.

Well, I have an older version of Word. It doesn't even recognize "Smashmouth, Inc." yet.



A sixteen-year-old, name of Laurie

was litigious--and awfully whore-y,

with older men, mergin',

but still claimin' "virgin"

'cause it was all proved "statutory."



A plot was uncovered. It entailing the kidnapping of Victoria Beckham, better known as Posh Spice.

Hmm. Think about this for a second.

I'm gonna go out on a limb here and cop to the fact that kidnapping Posh Spice is not an unpleasant daydream. Now, I'm no sicko or something, and I realize that this fantasy would not carry itself out in reality.

After a few minutes of complaining, she would suddenly be turned-on by my taking her captive and she would ravish me like a savage she-beast.

But this would not happen.

She would be understandably upset over my actions. I would feel like a heel. Then I would spend time in jail and see nobody with even Posh Spice-esque traits for some time.

That's the difference between common man and a sicko. The common man thinks about some extremely base things. With frequency. And blazing color.

But the common man doesn't act on the especially tawdry urges.

The sicko does.

Fine line, isn't it?...

Flipping through the TV listings the other day, there was a disturbance in my parallel reading and I thought I spied "Connie Chung" on "COM" ("Comedy Central").

It is said that within every parallel reading accident lies a grain of truth...

Some character in Oregon was trying to sell a "Tonya" hot sauce.

The bottle was modeled on a stereotypical, yet not entirely true, rendering of the one and only Tonya Harding.

Speaking of that fine line, this whole concept turns me on.






Silent cedars

Snow in clumps like stones

Cedars lay their burden down

Silent poems melt



A rural Miss Teen show caused ripples

('twas long viewed as something un-hip-ple)

when viewers were blessed

as ill-fitting dress

crept down and showcased a fine nipple.



I saw a billboard for Disney Radio yesterday that carried the slogan: "Music Kids Love--Not Kids' Music." It was supplemented with photos of a couple of "stars," including Aaron Carter.

The question is this: Is there a difference between "Music Kids Love" and "Kids' Music"?

How many people over the age of 12 like Aaron Carter? Hell, if I didn't keep up on the news religiously, I doubt I'd have even HEARD of Aaron Carter.

If a smart bomb were to hit America, somehow killing off everybody age 12 and under, there would be no Aaron Carter, Justin Timberlake, Backstreet Boys, etc., on the radio or on MTV.

At first glance, it would seem that Radio Disney's marketing folks screwed up--in even hinting at the idea of making listeners fell more mature and less into "plain ol' kids' stuff," they threaten to obliterate their whole reason for existence.

Then, of course, there's the punch line, showing that the Disney folks weren't so stupid after all: Aaron Carter, obliterating any possible credence the words might have had...

As long- (and medium-) term readers know, I at least glance over every section in the newspaper as part of my theory of "keeping up on a little bit of everything" toward the end of writing "humor."

This gets me off the hook for reading an advice column recently.

I don't remember which one--but it wasn't one of the "edgy" ones like "Savage Love"--it was one of those modeled on "Dear Abby," written in a form that hasn't changed at all in many, many decades.

Somebody wrote in proclaiming how he/she and his/her significant other liked to read the column together.

Number one, unless you have the "Me Exception," your life's usefulness is open to questioning as a regular reader of an advice column. (And, I might add, it goes without saying that my own life's usefulness is open for questioning.)

Number two, this is perhaps the most pathetic couples activity I've ever heard of.



A retired British stripper, Jill Spence

had to pension, and this made her tense.

Time to not treat her well

so she had to hard sell

with a slogan, "In my pants--for pence!"



A French woman, at an Indiana airport, got so fed up with the security process that she protested by stripping.

(I actually tried to do the journalistic thing and take her name down, but she has FOUR FUCKIN' NAMES and, I'm sorry, you have FOUR FUCKIN' NAMES and everybody has the right to ignore you--call you by a number or a nickname, like "Strippy.")

Remember: After a situation in Africa recently, S&Y was the first to advocate more women stripping for their causes...

The YMCA is dropping Indian Guides. Well, dropping the name, and the Native-American flavor, but keeping the program in some shell of its form.

Now, in the name of the great religion of Political Correctness, we're actually taking away some ways kids might actually learn about these cultures we're so eager to protect...

Smokers, I've been telling you to go out of your way to be a "considerate smoker" for some time, and here's why: Tokyo is enacting a law to forbid smoking in certain public places.

Now, we have no need to worry in the near future as, well, Tokyo has a head start on the overpopulation game. But people aren't gonna back off with the breedin', folks, so consider this a glimpse into the future.

The way I see it, people are looking for any excuse at all to crack down further on smokers, with no other minorities whom it's politically correct to rip on, considering that discrimination is an innate human need. So I take care, when walking to the train with my cigar, to be aware of the people around me--to not blow smoke into anybody's line of inhalation, where possible. (Well, I do make an exception for people yapping on cell phones--air pollution to counter the noise pollution.)

True, we shouldn't have to worry about these things, as it is the great outdoors and they won't let us engage in this legal, adult activity hardly anywhere else. But be warned: They're just looking for excuses to up the ante and they won't stop until smoking a mile away from them carries the death penalty...

What's with football players named Moss?

First, we had Minneapolis Vikings knucklehead Randy trying to run down a traffic cop in his car. Now Michigan State University's Dawan Moss ran down a cop himself.

A rolling moss gathers no stones.


Okay, how about: Randy Moss gathers (a lot of material to get) stoned.




I'm hot for cartoon chicks--so sue me!

And if animators had drew me

I'd rush--on the double!--

if hot Betty Rubble

would cry out, "Yabba Dabba Do Me!"



Elections are becoming more like Jerry Springer all the time--and this was only confirmed by my post-election TV viewing last night.

Obviously, these are not friendly contests anymore--they in fact make the world of sports look civil. Debates resemble those talk show episodes when a neo-Nazi group and a bunch of Black Panthers are the special guests.

I wasn't paying close attention, but somehow felt obligated, as a pundit of sorts, to watch the election coverage. For most of the races in my state, I couldn't get excited about any of the candidates, so there was no personal stake--I knew I'd be frightened with any of the candidates getting wins. So I was trapped between feeling guilty for not caring about the election and feeling guilty for watching the coverage--watching gave me the same feeling as accidentally tuning in "The Bachelor" and being catching myself watching for a few moments before hastily changing channels.

I did note, during one loser's acceptance speech (why name names when they all blend together, and are probably equally guilty, anyway) that, when he mentioned the name of his opponent, the entire crowd booed in a tone reminiscent of the ol' "Jer-ry! Jer-ry!"

The winner in the same contest threw out a bunch of sound bites that nobody could argue with--"Protect the children!" "Fight Crime" blah blah blah. One was, "I'll work for the public interest--NOT special interest."

You know, sayings in the same genre as, "You'd better lose that zero--and get yourself a hero!"...

Marisa Tomei was bitten by a jellyfish and some guy helped her with the only convenient antidote available: He peed on her.

Jellyfish attacks always make me a tad bit nervous, as me and my friend Mike, of "Mike's Accursed Verse," er... "fame," had some wild conspiracy theories concerning an annoying L.A. comic, jellyfish and a plot to rule the world.

But, getting back to something most readers might actually be able to follow, I think this Marisa Tomei incident has provided a lot of fantasy fuel for some peculiar fetishists...

Another update on the perilous, devil-may-care, partyin' world of modern journalists:

Chicago broadcaster Walter Jacobson tripped on a pumpkin during a debate.

Hemingway, Hunter S. Thompson, et. al.--eat your heart out!...

Ryan Adams and Bryan Adams share a birthday (Nov. 5).

This is especially funny because I've read about Ryan's notoriously lacking sense of humor.

During a recent show (and this probably happens frequently), Ryan asked the crowd for requests, prompting a fan to shout, "Summer of '69!"

Ryan freaked out and tried to pay the fan to leave.

Humor among rockers is SOOO last century, dudes. That went out when MTV took the rock star image from the realms of "just one of us" to the realms of "Look at all the shit I got that you fans never will"...

A now for an installment of "Make Your Own Joke":

Dylan Thomas' home is being converted to a home for alcoholic poets.

Talk about a funhouse!



>The only Moss that matters to me is of the Kate variety.

Who's her husband again? I've heard he's a fun-gi to be around.



If I were to kidnap Posh Spice

money'd not be part of my price:

For ransom, I'd keep her--

and BLEEP her, and BLEEP her...--

'til I need to put cock on ice!



I looked over a sidebar on the winners of the Country Music Association awards today and saw that they give awards to radio stations. I'm not sure if other music awards shows do this.

But get with the time, folks! There are only six radio stations today (and six play lists), recreated in cities across the country with different city names plugged in and different (yet alike) "personalities" doing the morning zoos...

A correction on my previous report on today's "Living on the Edge" journalists: Broadcaster Walter Jacobson did not trip over a pumpkin at a debate--it was at his home. But he did break some ribs.



>Item one: I wish they would have played a video of the incident on

>jellyvision. :p


>Item two: Isn't "alcoholic poets" almost redundant?


>Item three: Yes, Moss' husband is a fun-gi. In fact, they get very

>sentimental in a special room of their house. They call it the Mush Room.



>Final: Should I change it from Mike's Accursed Verse to Mike's Toxic

>Acrostics? (errrgh)

I'll go out on a limb and admit that "jellyvision" actually cracked me up. Thanks, Mike. "For he's a jelly good fellow, for he's a jelly good fellow..."

(By the way, has anybody, in reality, ever sang that song during a moment of extreme jocularity? Didn't think so. But if you did, please tell.)

Perhaps "alcoholic poets" is redundant. But I almost wish there were a "Poets Anonymous," as anybody who's ever attended an open mike will agree.

Oh, and if we're going to get into the mushroom thing, if we're going to touch on different types of 'shroom, we'll have to draw straws.

Oh, and keep "Mike's Accursed Verse."

I now need to escape. If I had a jellycopter, I'd fly away...



A proud pizza maker named Borno

was fired from his job at D'Giorno

for baking strange pies

shaped like things 'tween thighs

so he formed his own business, D'Porno.



Illinois' new attorney general, Lisa Madigan--who is probably the lesser of two evils, among the Republicrats--is threatening... Er, promising to engage her office in more "consumer activism" than it has been involved with in the past.

Among examples of this "consumer activism," she cites the tobacco lawsuits.

Perhaps she meant "lawyer activism." Because tobacco consumers are not real happy with the "consumer activism" toward tobacco companies, since prices have more than quadrupled in 20-years, with most of the profit going to lawyers and government fungus.

I can't wait for consumer activism to bring us the long-awaited $4 Big Mac!...

Russian author Dmitry Yemets' created a fantastical fantasy world in his novel(s), starring a protagonist named Tanya Grotter.

Grotter rhymes with Potter and, apparently, a genre is now appropriate fodder for a copyright, as J.K. Rowling, along with her Leviathan publisher, is suing to put a stop to this.

Guess we're not going to see "Harry Potter and His Author's Sense of Humor" anytime soon.



>Jellycopter? Oh man, I wish I'd thought of that. I'm jelly-s. :p

Aww, don't feel so bad. Do something to cheer yourself up. Buy a new computer! There's nothing like those five words to raise your spirits: "Dude--you're gettin' a Jell!"




Though most keep it rather discreet

some find dance music quite a treat--

they think it's horrific

but for sex, terrific

to have their dames bleat to the beat.



I'm just going to leave you with a couple of questions today:

1.) Who the hell would call a crossword puzzle help line? Round up these people and sterilize 'em--quick.

2.) Gil Thorpe. What the hell is with this comic strip? I can't help reading any comic strip that I come across (unless it's completely laden with text) and I marvel at the 1950's sitcom morality plots but...

Why, oh why?



When Colonel Sanders first got wood

'twas fing'rin' a girl, as boys should.

he pulled out his finger

where juiced did linger

and then coined, "Finger Lickin' Good!"


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/10/2002:

Is it just me, or are sitcoms shooting to have a "Special Guest Star" for every single episode these days? (Of course rendering them not-so-special after all, assuming we even did consider it "special" to begin with.)

Perhaps it's just a sweeps thing, but I question the wisdom of this.

Like most Americans, I fall outside of the demographic that sitcoms shoot for--an IQ of 30 or less--but I'm actually a bit annoyed when shows I like feature a guest star. And concerning shows I generally don't watch... Well, let's just say that you'd have to bring Mark Twain back from the dead as a special guest star to get me tuning in to "Yes, Dear," or even other shows I don't watch that have a lower level of stupidity.

(Mark Twain? "Yes, Dear"? I have to pause to shudder for a bit)...

I've officially given up on Howard Stern.

I suppose that many of you gave up on him a long time ago--or perhaps never followed him to begin with. But since I've been a fan of the "irreverent talk" radio format for some time, and I usually support anybody pushing the limits of the First Amendment, I've been a semi-regular listener ever since he's been syndicated in Chicago.

Well, at least since he's been syndicated in Chicago and wasn't up against somebody else I liked better. You see, for all his blathering on about being a "pioneer," the format has been around since the '70s in Chicago, only with a focus on humor first and shock second.

So my first reservation about Howard Stern was that... Well, he wasn't all that funny. I still don't think he is. But I learned to admire his celebrity bashing--especially with most everything else on the radio or TV so steeped in celebrity ass-kissing.

But, little by little, I've noticed Howard soften. And it has been years since my personal questioning of whether or not I really like him began. He becomes more and more guilty of celebrity worship himself by the day. It's normal to grow softer, I suppose, but when the hard edge was all you really have going for you, softening is especially dangerous.

Rather than critiquing the mainstream, he's openly embraced much of it lately--"reality TV," celebrity "look-how-cool-I-am-and-how-much-shit-I-have" shows, etc. More recently, he's taken on a frightening Business As God attitude, bashing those who complain about new musicians selling their songs for commercials so readily today, for instance.

The final straw came within the last week or two.

Howard announced he'd be producing re-makes of "Porkies" and... I forget the other movie.

I used to like how Howard would bash lame, lazy Hollywood trends--like remaking everything in sight, rather than coming up with good, new ideas.

Funny thing is, Chicago's Steve Dahl, who's been doing irreverent talk radio since the '70s, has softened, too. But I haven't once questioned whether or not I still him...

I heard an announcement in a theater the other day: "For everyone's comfort, please refrain from smoking."

Sorry, but you're not really considering EVERYONE'S comfort in this equation, folks...

To New York Times "readers" who are not professional journalists, other appropriate professionals or retired folks with nothing else to do all day: You're not impressing anybody. I know you're lucky to even read all the headlines on a daily basis.






TODAY'S POEM: In Beautiful, Desolate L.A.

wet ended kiss

castbackward shadows

early morning mist

washed out gray streets

cars waiting, chasing

rainy green lights

her birthstone was strawberry

she wore sunlight here in morning

like a shoot outgrown its soil

did she move? she didn't move

she found a way to write

poems to the sea

she loved those afternoons

did she move? she didn't move

did she lose? she didn't win

she wrote under that palm tree

it's dead, should be cut down

imagine holding its dried brown fronds

skirting away on the hot wind

oh, she loved cypress stands

long, in green rows like giants' teeth

she imagined she was a bird

hopping above their gums

a single harm in the darkness

handset cord looped, shining

words rejecting dreams

would she wash out, a stain?

stand gleaming in the rain?

it doesn't rain much here

god, the way she wore solace

loneliness is not a pain, a chain,

a chance to recover your will

god, the way she wore sorrow

mercy is not a name, a flame,

a prayer's chance in hell

the way she wore her need,

like evening;

like bleeding

i'll walk on the wet pressed sand

right near the tide,

its overlapping ribbons

(she is made of water now,

sunlight made of foam)

and california roam


DAILY LIMERICK 11/11/2002:

A chick had dry skin on her abs

which, consequently, had no flab.

Requested some lotion

a man, in quick motion

shot her some with a few flesh stabs.


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/11/2002:

The Winona Ryder Show/Trial appears to have reached its run in the media eye, managing to be far more interesting than anything network morons figure will work as a "reality" show. And Our Disturbing World has taken the spectacle and packaged it into a frightening new realm, as "some" (whoever these "some" refereed to in the news are) are hoping it sheds light on the "problem" of shoplifting.

"Problem," in this case, translates as some sort of disorder. Which translates into, "We should feel sorry for Winona" and, as we delve further into the P.C. muck, "Winona is really the victim here."


Now, of course, especially when you consider the amount of money that Winona has, one of her mental gears is obviously malfunctioning. And I have a rule for this sort of thing:

Boo hoo and all that jazz, but pay the price like everybody else.

Of course, she won't pay the price like everybody else because too many people view her as outside of "everybody else"--a celebrity.

I drew the line long ago at sexual addiction.

Actually, scratch that. I don't believe there should even be a line.

Take your punishment and once you're locked up, figure out how you can avoid doing the crime in the future. If that means fixin' up the ol' noggin, well, so be it.

We don't need anything "drawing attention to the problem of shoplifting"--other than, of course, security guards and the legal system.


DAILY LIMERICK 11/12/2002:

An ex-staffer of Lady Di

turns out, was a criminal guy.

While her valet slept

toward him, he crept

and pillaged his winkin' brown eye.


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/12/2002:

I'm starting my own "Reality" show in this space today! Well, at least a "Reality Column."

It's called "Duh! Factor." I present real-life, "duh!" headlines!

From UR (a Chicago weekly that originally was "University Reporter"): "Reality TV or Just Really Orchestrated." And from the Chicago Tribune: "Lawyer was troubled before killing mom, neighbors say."

Oh, the shock of it!...

A couple related developments in the War on Duh! that don't quite fit my new Reality Column...

The director of the new James Bond movie, Lee Tamahori, on his decision, in the end, not to include a lesbian scene involving Madonna, said he "didn't want to turn the film into a male fantasy thing."

Wouldn't want the James Bond franchise, with all it's sexed-up babes, espionage, action and macho lovin' goodness to become some sort of male fantasy thing...

And another...

Newspapers and broadcast outlets across the country are goin' gaga over a new study that says most Web data isn't reliable.

Damn! And I just got that allegedly stress-relieving, whole-pineapple-suppository into place...

You know, 90 percent of this space is "War on Duh!" material, so enough with that. We'll just keep the structured formula of "Duh! Factor" for now...

Some anti-war/anti-America protesters in Brussels attacked a few American businesses, including a McDonald's, a Marriott and a temp agency.

Do you recall that kids' game, "Guess Which Item Doesn't Belong"?

Aren't 50 percent of protesters generally temps to begin with?

Oh. That actually might explain some things...

And what's with that Vietnamese hooker cliche, "Me love you long time." Don't most men generally enjoy love for a short time--especially when it's the "no strings attached" relationship with a hooker?

Have they seen the light yet? Are Vietnamese hookers today cooing, "Me love you thirty minute or less"?


DAILY LIMERICK 11/13/2002:

A young man in search of life's meaning

toward vice found his little quest leaning.

Though he found no real answers

through exotic dancers

he's found life's good watching them preening!


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/13/2002:

And now for today's edition of Duh! Factor:

From the Chicago Sun-Times' new youth-marketed, public trans friendly Red Streak, "Ben Affleck will be hubby number three for J-Lo, but she's not the only star with several marriages under her belt..."

It should go without saying from now on in this feature, but here comes the commentary:


Why do some people have a phone number AND a separate voicemail?

Now, don't go writing me into your personal episodes of "Duh! Factor"--this is obviously a standard ploy for guys fooling around on their women.

But, I mean, people who do this for business purposes? What's wrong with an answering machine--or a voicemail through the phone company on the line you already have?

(This is the portion of S&Y in which I use you, the readers, as my personal "Information" desk. Not that anybody ever answers me, but...)


DAILY LIMERICK 11/14/2002:

A discussion followed the screams

after some pervert blew off steam

o'er ladies' room sink

by milkin' his dink

making the mess Topical Cream.


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/14/2002:

If you're one of the three or four people out there STILL tuning in to watch "The Anna Nicole Show," here's a warning that might cause you to reconsider:

She's been slurring something about wanting to strip on the show.

If you're a practicing bulimic, however, get it on tape...

A new Republican elect to the House of Representatives from Indiana is named Chris Chocola.

No word yet on whether his team includes Frank N. and Beau Berry...

Just a question: Has M&Ms ever sued Eminem over trademark issues? I can't imagine that they haven't, given today's corporate climate.

He's probably even closer to infringement on M&Ms with Nuts.


DAILY LIMERICK 11/15/2002:

A girlie resolved to go Rasta

and change her looks, whate'r the costa--

dreads hung to her boobs

and even her pubes

were stiffened like angel hair pasta.


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/15/2002:

I still look through the "Help Wanted" ads, despite the fact that, at this point, I'm back to full-time income and I've never found a non-temp agency job through them.

In fact, even when I've been happily employed and prepared to stay somewhere for a few years, I've perused the "Help Wanted" ads.

Occasionally, I'm reminded why.

I saw one recently for a "blaster."

If you're a blaster and you only rely on newspaper "Help Wanted" ads for jobs--not Web sites or friends or industry events or what-have-you--times have gotta be really tough. Because this is the first ad I've ever seen for a blaster. The field is not exactly booming. On one level, anyway. It used to have a better job outlook, but many positions have been (M)80-6'd. (Ugh.)

The ad also asked for "explosives" experience. And wanted somebody who could do a "bang-up job." It also said that the benefits were dynamite. (Okay. I made the last two up.)

How does one end up becoming a professional blaster? Is it a cool job? Could you say it's "da bomb"?

Are there a lot of hot chicks you work with? Can you get a little TNT... Er, T&A on the job?

I need to know--or I feel I'm going to explode!

Well, I've amused myself, anyway.


DAILY LIMERICK 11/16/2002:

A healthy gay virgin named Stan

set to be de-flowered by Dan

yelled "whoops!" as they started

(he... er, more than farted)

and vowed to go easy on bran.


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/16/2002:

The FBI is warning of that al-Qaida may be planning "spectacular" terror attacks that will include: "high symbolic value, mass casualties, severe damage to the U.S. economy and maximum psychological trauma."

And this changes the situation we've been looking at for over a year now...how?



>I was a blaster for a while. They promised me I'd have a blast, but the job

>was such a dud. They wouldn't let me wear my caps to work, for one. People

>kept bursting into my office, blowing everything out of proportion. They

>kept plunging me into harder and harder tasks. I ended up getting fired.

>They re-fused letting me stay at the building. I tried finding new work, but

>there's still too much fallout from that last job. Stay away from being a

>blaster -- the boom is over, and it's just not a good match, unless you want

>to work in the sticks.


>Signed the Bomb Mike off the Face of the Earth Committee

I haven't heard good things about the profession. It's hard to stay close to your nuclear family with such long hours, I guess. So, any of you planning such a career might want to consider throwing it all away--the whole kit and kablooey.




A senile old farmer in Prague

mixed bullets in with a cheese log.

Then, after a party

his teenage son Marty

whacked off and somehow shot the dog.


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/17/2002:

Okay. Sunday Special Daily Limerick, Take Two.

A while back me and Mike Chmielecki teamed up to add Mike's Accursed Verse to the Sunday edition of my Daily Limerick e-newsletter, which is now in its fourth year of service... Or something resembling service.

For weeks now--or maybe it's a month at this point--I've been doing this special thing, but we just figured out that we weren't sending the Sunday edition to extra subscribers from Mike's list... And not that has been rectified.

So, enjoy. Or heave with a smile on your face, new readers...

There's been a preponderance lately of people using the "C" word. It's rude, it's crude and... Well, I'll say it: What's this world coming too?

I'm talking about "courtesy." Used way outside the dictionary definition.

First, I noted the occasional "courtesy call"--meaning, of course, that they were bothering you at home and trying to sell you some crap that, if you wanted, YOU'D LOOK INTO YOUR DAMN SELF! If I wanted aluminum siding, for instance, I'd probably ask some friends, call around for quotes in the Yellow Pages, what have you. Even if you'd happen to call me selling aluminum siding the second I thought, "Hmm... I could use some aluminum siding," I'd hang up on your career-challenged ass because I'm not going to do the tiniest bit to encourage telemarketing. There are obviously some real ass-brains out there, otherwise telemarketing wouldn't even exist, who buy crap over the phone, but I'm gonna ignore this fact, which causes me to lose hope by the second for the human race, and just wish I had the nerve to dick you over like some people I know, who do things like say, "I've got some great stuff I wanna try out for my first comedy open mike I'm about to hit, here goes: 'How many telemarketers does it take to...'"


They, I got to get an oil change the other day. I had a coupon. It was quite a great deal and I pushed aside my inner cynic who said there'd be a "catch." I get the oil change, prepare to pay the low, low price, and the chowderslap says, "Oh, and as a COURTESY to our customers, we did a check, and here's what might need doing on your car..."

And he blathered on about a bunch of things I should really shell out for at this point in time. Trapping me for a while with his COURTESY.

Well, pal, allow me to stretch the definition of what used to be a perfectly good word: Allow me the courtesy of taking a peek at a monkey wrench you have behind the counter and courteously shoving it sideways into a certain orifice of yours.

I didn't say that. Didn't wanna get caught up in orifice politics, you know...

Oh, and by the way, the spell checker still has no suggestions for "Chmielecki."






TODAY'S POEM: Warm, wet snow

Making heat in warm, wet snow.

Sky books clap down white from trees.

Passages in fragrance melts.

Rose sweats down to tremulate.

Melting mud-pink quiet heat

burning through this closing flame.

Just a drop, a drop of two.

Just a drop, my love. Make day.

[If you'd like to physically thank or berate the poet, e-mail him at b_squirrel@hotmail.com. He will bite.]


DAILY LIMERICK 11/18/2002:

A man asked a street-walking strumpet

if for 50, her hand would pump it.

The economy

is so bad that she

dropped down and blew it like a trumpet.


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/18/2002:

Why can't cable news readers pronounce anything?

I guess I don't mean why can't "they" pronounce anything--their only necessary skills are reading aloud and lookin' sharp--but why can't their news teams investigate the proper pronunciations of names?

I am almost willing to forgive them on long foreign names--I say ALMOST because the news is supposed to inform the people, which in print would suggest spelling names correctly and, in broadcast, pronouncing them properly.

I heard some knucklehead on CNN the other day wrestling with the pronunciation of Marion "Suge" Knight. (That threw me off when I first saw it in print--it's like the first half of sug-ar.) I think she called him "Soodge."

Suge Knight is an American--and arguably a cultural icon at this point--so there's no arguable excuse for somebody in the CNN office NOT having some sort of pop culture clue and, consequently, passing it on.

I also recently read that CNN's journalists have recently been given a form of "Slang Dictionary" to help catch those elusive young'un viewers.

The likely lack of hipness in this dictionary, coupled with the word-mangling capabilities of the on-air staff, promises some unintentionally entertaining viewing to come:

"Today, hip young hopper M&Ms laid out some pee-hat jams. Word up!"...

Michigan State University football player Jeff Smoker violated the team/league's substance abuse policy.

Pause to snicker for a bit.

For some reason, nobody wants to reveal what substances were involved.

But you know damn well they're smokeable ones, and Jeff and his handlers are a little leery of presenting a living punchline to the public.

That's S&Y's prediction, for what it's worth.

Funny, if his name were Jeff Jones or something, S&Y wouldn't even pay attention to the zillionth case of a substance-happy athlete...

Authorities in Chicago, after busting a guy for possessing a duffel bag full of cocaine--and undoubtedly givin' him a bit of "The Treatment"--decided to actually test the substance and it turned out to be cement mix.

Another victory in the War on Drugs!


DAILY LIMERICK 11/19/2002:

Among PETA nuts, noses scrunchin'

pissed off a model Gisele Bundchen

whose clothes causes a stir--

let me at her fur

and I'll do some serious munchin'!


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/19/2002:

There are still many unanswered questions concerning the attempted hijacking of an Israeli El-Al plane. Turkish radio reported the guy was planning a "Sept. 11 style" attack, but Israeli officials are holding off on such conclusions. He had a knife, but there is some debate over whether or not he was holding the knife when he assaulted a flight attendant.

But I don't understand why nobody's jumped on this angle: A security guard stopped the would-be hijacker. A security guard.

I remember the security guards of my college days. The college's Internet server was stolen TWO TIMES within a couple months and, obviously, security didn't foil the attempts. At the college newspaper, however, whenever we'd order late-night chow on Fridays (our deadline day), the security guards never failed to harass the poor, perpetually confused Chinese food delivery guy. (On a side note, why are all Chinese delivery guys perpetually confused?)

I can go on and on about my experiences with security guards--and I'm sure you have plenty of your own. For instance, there was the security guard at a bank that I used to make deposits at for a coffeehouse I once worked for. Not only was the guard's age only decipherable by carbon-dating, but he was either napping or so damn inactive that he appeared to be half of the time.

Which brings me to my point about the most amazing aspect of the El-Al hijacking attempt: History was made when a security guard actually saved the day!...

I've recently read about a new trend: Having children take yoga classes. Or, more likely, making your children take yoga classes.

Now, I'm generally a capitalist--or, at least, I admit that it's the best economic system to be invented, so far, despite a boatload of problems.

But I think we should have a "Too Much Money Checklist"--a list of things and services that people foolishly shell out for, with kids' yoga classes being at the top. Then, you take people who actually buy things on this list, send in the Feds, and have them take a bunch of money from these frivolous morons to give to the poor or something.

If you're sending your kids to yoga classes, you have a) too much fucking money; and/or b) no clue as what constitutes intelligent fiscal decisions.

Oh, and I'm willing to look the other way if a few billy clubs to the head happen during these Fed raids...


Most clear-thinking people are frightened by the thought of improv--a bunch of yahoos spouting and performing mostly unfunny crap off the top of their heads because they're too lazy to write anything and/or think an act through ahead of time.

And most clear-thinking people are rightfully frightened by the concept of an open mike. Despite the fact that many voices that would otherwise go unheard are allowed a forum, well... There's good reason that many of these voices would otherwise go unheard. Many, of course, should not go unheard but... Suffice it to say there's enough of the former to justify the mainstream's fear of open mikes.

I just noticed a concept combining these two frights: Improv open mikes.

At some point, I may stop shivering.



>Jeff Smoker was reticent to speak to the press about his substance abuse. "I

>don't want to toke about it," he was reported as saying.

I think he's got some sort of spin system in place so he can avoid the issue--you know, the PR version of a Doob Goldberg.


DAILY LIMERICK 11/20/2002:

A sporting goods shopper named Jack

(right after the clerk humped his crack)

declared, feeling spent,

"That's not what I meant

by 'I'd like a nice fanny pack.'"


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/20/2002:

Today's episode of "Duh! Factor" (my own little e-newsletter Reality Show featuring real, stupid headlines from actual newspapers):

From today's edition of the Chicago Sun-Times published Red Streak: "Has J. Lo Sold Out?"...

There's a mini-column that runs once or twice a week on the comics page of the Chicago Sun-Times called, "A Family for Me." It features a child who is seeking parents to adopt him or her.

About a week ago, I noticed that it featured a 17-year-old--and a white boy, to boot.

So, if you have a nagging conscience to help the children, but are looking for a commitment of less than a year, here's your chance!



>Re: Jeff Smoker. This whole conversation has gone to pot.

That about sums it up: Blunt and to the point.


DAILY LIMERICK 11/21/2002:

A man and a dame smoking grass

both started to playfully sass

and soon felt a tingle

and, both being single,

were soon engaged in smoking ass.


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/21/2002:

I only occasionally catch "The O'Reilly Factor" because I enjoy a "journalist" yelling at people and conservatives are the only fun partisan peabrains these days. But last night, any "qualifications" necessary for hosting a cable news gabfest were proved woefully inadequate when Bill claimed, regarding the uproar over the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show, that it was the first time he'd seen groups like NOW on the same side as religious wackos.

Er, Bill? This has been happening since the women's movement lost the "free love" momentum and was co-opted by pre-political correctness anti-sex hee-haws. Have you ever read about any "obscenity" court rulings?...

Speaking of the Victoria's Secret thing, it once again proves that every silver lining has a dark cloud:

Phil Collins performed.

Where are these people who like Phil Collins? I think his whole rise to fame was an early al-Qaida plot...

Okay guilty white liberals--proceed to bash Jesse Jackson without quivering nervousness. An African-American activist group is suing him now for selling out black issues...

Laura Bush is decorating the White House with a pet theme for the holidays. I saw a list of pets to be represented, including, naturally, dog, cat, alligator... Huh?

Alligator? Who had an alligator in the White House? Or are they symbolically representing Clinton's attitude toward interns... HeeeyOh! (Sorry for lapsing into Jay Leno there)...

A new poll finds that 43 percent of Britons support the Royal Family Circus.

That's less than half. Ax 'em and get with the Twenty-First Century... Actually, get with the Ninteenth Century...

Parisian can-can dancers are calling in sick and demanding things of their employers because, among other gripes, they claim the job is too dangerous.


I saw a sticker emblazoned on a car window the other day carrying the strong message: "Notary Public."

Now there's a driver who lives on the edge. Rock on, Notary Public!...

Can-can dancing, dangerous? Huh?


DAILY LIMERICK 11/22/2002:

A redneck Witch doctor had billed Jim

for hose to his rectum, which filled him

while play'n Lynyrd Skynyrd

it blasted his innards--

did I say rectum?--Damn near killed 'em!


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/22/2002:

An American nurse living and working in Lebanon was shot yesterday.

Lebanon has recently seen an upswing in Muslim vs. Christian violence and authorities are still "working" on the motive, although it doesn't take Miss Cleo to figure this one out.

Oh, and the clinic she worked for has been criticized for trying to convert Muslims to Jesus.

It's commendable, working to help people in a dangerous area. But, sorry, it's butt stupid to make things more dangerous by trying to "convert" people from their own backward way of thinking to your personal backward way of thinking.

We've only recently begun to understand the dangers presented by people who view anybody with a different religious persuasion as "infidels." Having nicer stained glass in your houses of worship doesn't make it any less pig-headed...

FCC chair Michael J. Copps (perhaps maladjusted and out of his mind from growing up with "Michael J. Fox sound-alike" jokes) is blathering about TV being too "indecent," especially in light of the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show--which spotlighted the type of thing he doesn't get too often, I'm guessing.

How long has it been since I mentioned that, with cutting bureaucracy being a hot new trend, we should whack the FCC down to small-town-arts-organization size?

The frothing yahoo is claiming that shows like that violate "community standards."

Yo, loser boy: Porn is a multi-billion dollar industry in the U.S. The Victoria's Secret Fashion Show fits right in with our "community standards"...

Harvard University is considering placing "restrictions on offensive speech." Some chowderhead in favor of this, whose name is not worthy of space in this column, claims they are "not trying to stop free speech."

Slappers and Yappers, whip out your dictionaries. Look up "restriction"; then look up "free."

Orwell was an optimist...

Somehow, a photo of President Bush, distributed by the Agence France-Presse, has caused a hubbub.

I saw it on the cover of the Nov. 14 Tribune--he was meeting with Kofi Annan.

I saw some letters to the editor complaining about the shot. I looked back at the photo. I didn't get it.

Then I actually read an EDITORIAL about how it was a bad photo to use.

I looked at the photo AGAIN. Bush does look a little goofy--he's giggling and giving a half-assed thumbs up.

Still, you couldn't find a more public figure. And meeting with the U.N. head--well, you couldn't find a more public situation.

Aren't there better things to be bitchin' about at this point in time?...

The new TV trend, as far as I can tell, is the "sitdram."

It used to be the sitCOM--but then friends came along and blurred the lines between soap opera and sitcom.

Now, new shows START with a romance, as opposed to waiting for the ratings to drag and making the writers put such a plotline in. And the term "season finale" might as well be changed to "sappy wedding time" and/or "another goddamned guest star episode."

"Sitdram," meaning, "situation DRAMA," for those of you who are slower than the rest of us.

Now you can laugh.


DAILY LIMERICK 11/23/2002:

A family man, name of Phipps

when his wife bore triplets, did flips.

But soon saw no brightness

in her lack of tightness--

or in learning, "loose lips sink hips."


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/23/2002:

Ooh, I know that one's a little touchy, but, hey...

A woman in D.C. walked through airport security and set off the detectors.

Then she kept going. And going. And going.

You think there'd be a priority here of checking out this lady fully at this point. You think the alarm going off would spur screeners into a state of heightened awareness.

But the crossword puzzles were evidently too darn engrossing; or the sandwich too darn tasty and requiring especially attention to the savoring.

This right after airport security went federal and I told everybody to "think post office"...

Chicago alderman Jesse Granato is all bunched up in the underwear over getting charged more to park his SUV in a Chicago parking establishment.

For those not in Chicago, you can see we've solved the city's crime and other problems at this point.

Oh, how I weep for these people who drive around urban areas, with little parking to begin with, in goddamned tanks--most of them not being able to handle the added bulk with their driving skills anyway.

Hey, Jesse: Airlines are charging extra for "large" people to reflect the extra seating space required so, if that's not immediately struck down as insensitive, shut the hell up about a slight inconvenience for choosing to drive a damn boat on wheels.



She may render the phrase contrary

but still, Halle's skin adds some flare-y.

The adage's still cute:

the blacker the fruit

the sweeter the taste of the Berry.


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/24/2002:

'Tis the season! It started in October and will probably run straight through the Big Holidays!

Yep, it's that time of the year again: Prime time for Pumpkin Sex!

Right off the bat: I'm not into pumpkin sex. But a lot of people are--or at least a lot more people than you'd think should be.

A couple years ago, during the Halloween season, I heard a radio news story about a guy caught... Well, boffin' the big orange squash along the roadside. When a cop came up from behind and surprised him--a lady cop, no less--he was reportedly a witty, if perverted guy, as he said, "It must be after midnight."

I heard of another instance of Pumpkin Love this Halloween season... And then ANOTHER, after Halloween.

Does anybody out there know what the attraction is? Er, as I think about the letters I receive from you guys, I take it back--I don't want to know...

NOTE: Before correcting it, I accidentally just typed, "Halloweed" in the above rant. Flashing back to college days, again, evidently...

I read a sidebar to a story on wine tastings this week. Just so you know, experts tell you not to drink wine that has "barnyard odors," as tasty as the prospect may seem...

Those nutty Goo Goo Dolls performed a corporate gig for the employees of U.S. Cellular and... Well, it didn't go so well.

The audience threw stuff at them--although, reportedly, some thought that was the "cool" thing to do while others didn't enjoy the Dolls too much--and somehow the lead singer got on a spectator's cell phone and talked to the spectator's friend who was, shall we say, less than ecstatic at actually talking to a Goo Goo Doll.

If this paves the way, in whatever small manner, to stopping the trend corporate outing rock gigs, I say this is an event worthy of celebration.

If I'm working for a big corporation, I'd prefer a raise, or at least a bonus, to the goddamned Goo Goo Dolls...

Michael Jordan's restaurant (in Chicagoland) is closing. Reportedly, they are "rethinking the whole concept" for this place.

Will they be re-naming menu items? Say, the White Cheddar Blonde Pasta? The Adultery Burger? Gonna put a nice letterhead saying "pay off" on top of the guest receipts?

Oh, there's all sorts of fun to be had with this one!...

Just read that Dean Martin, during his live performances, didn't really drink alcohol but instead sipped apple juice.

So, for any people who remember much of the '80s, as much as they try to forget, this is eerily reminiscent of a Quiet Riot scandal.

And very, very sorry for mentioning Dean Martin and Quiet Riot in the same nugget...

NOTE TO OUR NEW, SPECIAL SUNDAY READERS:  As far as I know, you still cannot access them on the Web, but I have been writing daily News Limericks for the Chicago Tribune's new, public transportation-sized, youth-targeted publication, RedEye. You may want to go to the Trib's Web site and bookmark the RedEye link as, hopefully, at some point you'll be able to access content there. Or, if you're ever in Chicago, pick it up Monday through Friday.






TODAY'S POEM: Plastic star (after K.C.)

Wrap me in your hollow legs

so I won't look at sky.

Tempt me with your galaxy,

but it don't help my eyes.

Destroy focus and the feeling.

The sun is bright and skin is peeling.

I stay up when I should sleep

to listen to you sleep.

The pillows there were angel-soft.

Our wings were torn on wire.

I wrapped you tightly in my sheets

and lay you in the fire.

Destroy focus and the feeling.

The sun is bright -- its moving, reeling.

I stay up and count the trees

moving in the breeze.

Love the plastic stance of men

and the plastic stares of sun.

Love the plastic stares of men

and the plastic star, the sun.

With your gun you shot the sky.

The sun is kneeling in the sea.

And I stay up when I should sleep

to listen to you weep to me.

[If you'd like to physically thank or berate the poet, e-mail him at b_squirrel@hotmail.com. He will bite.]


DAILY LIMERICK 11/25/2002:

A big-time director named Crouch

was known in the biz as a grouch.

'Til, like Scrooge, re-born

(Dikensian porn)

once he mastered the Casting Couch.


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/25/2002:

Before a star-studded concert in South Africa, P. Diddy chastised journalists for letting the African AIDS epidemic fall from the headlines.

What? An African AIDS epidemic! I've only seen about a jazillion stories on that--we need a bumbadillion to drive the point home!


But this is coming from a guy who goes by "P. Diddy" now because his previous moniker, "Puff Daddy," evidently wasn't silly enough.

Of course, neither of these cartoony names were his given names--he chose them himself.

Sorry, but even if you could argue that "Puff Daddy" was borderline, anybody who voluntarily goes by "P. Diddy" kinda gives up his right to be taken seriously...

A Muslim group is trying to disbar Alan Dershowitz for making some hawkish suggestions on how Israel should deal with politicians.

Dershowitz shot back, saying they were wrong and calling the action, "unlawyerly."

So, let me get this straight. "Unlawyerly" is an insult, somehow?...

I've got some bad news and... Well, some bad news and then some bullshit to report.

First, the bad news: Both A&E and PBS are planning to air shows featuring "improv." So, careful with that remote, Eugene.

One of these shows is reportedly first seeking the "best" improv-ers from stages like Chicago's Second City and then having them all get together to "create" a show. Which, of course, by definition, makes it non-improv.

Second City likes to label its shows "improv" when, in fact, the shows are pre-written (although the rough ideas for the show were initially found through improv).

In other words, we live in a world where it's beneficial to market something as completely unrehearsed and unwritten--even when it has went through a process to edit and shine it into comic gold.

Can I get some suggestions from the audience? A profession, a place... and another word for "aaaarrrrggghh!"


DAILY LIMERICK 11/26/2002:

A man's secretary, he hunched

boozed up at noon instead of munched.

So he intervened

with something between

his legs--switching her Liquid Lunch.


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/26/2002:

Welcome to today's edition of "Duh! Factor," S&Y's "reality" show featuring actual headlines!

From today's Chicago Sun-Times: "75 Percent of Women Living with Men Expect to Marry, Study Finds."


Now considering recent events, here's a funny headline, concerning Michael Jordan, from yesterday's Chicago Sun-Times:

"More Playing Time on Horizon for MJ."

Strictly on the road, I assume, as he won't see a lot of playing time at home for a while...

There is actually a National Preaching Championship every year.

If you really want details, you're probably not on this e-list.

Anyhow, this year's champ, surprisingly, thanks God for the win...

Some outdated, modern day Donna Quixote feminist, still bitchin' about the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show (because, of course, all the real problems for women in America were solved last week, evidently), cites an incident of "thigh licking" in last year's show as evidence to back up her whacked-out cause.

Sex itself is "sexist," I gather...

In true Hollywood style, the new Anna Nicole Smith bobble-head doll has been released, with ultra large hooters and a curiously thin waistline...

Have you read/heard about the Disney Magic cruise ship that became infested, sickening dozens upon dozens and needing to be docked for a good scrubbing? (Which, come to think of it, kinda describes Disney features overall--except the scrubbing comes before the epidemic of nausea.)

Love that Disney Magic!...

(P.S. The spell-checker suggested "Nassau" as a replacement for my intial mis-typing of "nausea." Nassau is a Disney cruise destination. Coincidence, or...

Probably just coincidence.)



>    Pre-written Improv?  What's next?      Reminds me of Xmas shopping last weekend...looking for  something for Mrs. Goethe...ran across "genuine cubic zirconia" earrings.   Almost as genuine as "real margarine."   Happy  Thanksgiving.  One thing I'm thankful for, and I'll be sure to mention this  as I carve the turkey, is the Limerick of the Day.  


>Everything has been thought of before, but the problem is to  think of it again. -Goethe

There is quite a black market for sub-standard, counterfeit cubic zirconia, I hear.

And there's quite a tradition of Thanksgiving and limerick. The pilgrims and Native Americans sat down and traded limericks. They also slapped and yapped.

So I heard.

Well, I THINK I heard--or read, somewhere on the Web.

Actually, I... Okay. I made it up.

But you never know. You weren't there! There is no recording of the events!

So spread the rumor... Er, word.

>Another word for aaaaarrrrrgh? How about


Well, we're hitting the long-winded pirate demographic, it seems.


DAILY LIMERICK 11/27/2002:

There once was a fellow named Blair

who got breast implants on a dare.

He'd have 'em removed

but, with 'em, he grooved--

now, leaving his house's rather rare.


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/27/2002:

I thought I'd mention this today so as to not screw up your Thanksgiving mood tomorrow:

Some evil, evil man has invented the "On Key Karaoke Player," which allows any old schmuck to sing along to popular songs with the machine even correcting one's sour notes, as the name implies. Naturally, this technology will be used to bolster the sinister plans of the Entertainment Industry.

The removal of talent as a prerequisite for celebrity will soon be irrevocably, 100 percent complete.


DAILY LIMERICK 11/28/2002:

Suit up for the feast with some bibbing

thank who'ver you wish that you're living.

But don't be too haughty--

perhaps get quite naughty

and make it a Happy SpanksGiving!


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/28/2002:

For the Thanksgiving edition, I thought I'd give you something to be thankful for.

Although I haven't heard it, I've read a lot about this so-called "Ketchup Song." (SIC?) I was reading all over the place about how this was the "New Macarena" (a compliment?), ready to sweep the nation at any time.

When a song gets this much press as the "Next Big Thing," there's only one or two possible explanations--the band has one kick-ass PR department or its label is ultimate owned by one of the three or four Media Conglomerates that own 90 percent of the Music Industry.

But I recently glanced at a list of the Top Ten songs, and this "Ketchup Song" was not on it!

So include this one in your prayers.

(On a personal note, I'm happy that I've never had to hear the song--which is undoubtedly at least slightly Godawful.)


DAILY LIMERICK 11/29/2002:

There once was a nerdy young elf

with D&D books on his shelf.

The others' play orgy

while poor little Georgie

would stay home and play with himself.


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/29/2002:

As you've probably noticed, I'm once again going back to the cheezy tradition of crafting Holiday-themed limericks throughout the Season again for this year. So prepare to exercise those groaning muscles more, even, than usual...

As the economy continues to swim around in a dirty toilet, many companies are canceling their holiday parties.

I, for one, see this as a positive.

I am mostly working from home these days, but I recall the horror of attending office holiday parties. I do not need an excuse to spend extra time with people I already spend almost a third of my waking time with. If the office party occurs outside of business hours, the office is infringing on free time; if the party occurs during office hours, I'd rather be let free early.

In any event, I'd rather receive a larger holiday bonus than see corporate excess extended to some lame excuse for a party.

Can you really let loose at a "party" with the people who constantly drive you nuts with their "outside the box" bullshit? Or, I should say, can you actually afford to be yourself in such a situation?...

I read this week about Pennsylvania Supreme Court Judge J. Michael Eakin, who is pissing off a lot of his peers.

Eakin, you see, writes all of his opinions in rhyme.

I think Eakin belongs on the highest court in the land...

Prominent freak of nature Michael Jackson whined to a German magazine that he wishes he could just go shopping and be left alone "like a normal person."

First off, to be treated as a normal person, Michael, you'll have to lose the surgical mask, quit treating your face like a giant egg-full of Silly Putty, stop dangling infants from hotel balconies, get rid of the carnival on your property...

Michael Jackson: Shop like a normal person

And here's more fuel for my theory that The Terrorists, as frightening and dangerous as they may be, can never win in the end because they're stupid, goat-fuckin' chowderheads who are anti-knowledge, book-burning nutty and stuck in the 17th Century, and thus at a disadvantage over well-adjusted folks:

Richard Reid, the Super Moron wannabe shoe bomber, had help.

Yep. French authorities are rounding up a whole cabal of stoogery involved in his Adam Sandler-esque attempt at terrorism. Last I read, they've found about seven others involved.

None of whom told him to make sure he had a working lighter.



>I've heard the Ketchup Song is quite saucy.

I suppose it is. I should run out and get a copy, but my music listening lately has been falling beHeinz.


DAILY LIMERICK 11/30/2002:

A couple, while trimmin' the tree

turned on by the tinsel, knocked knees.

But her beaver tickled

filled with his popsicle

so soon they were trimmin' his wee.


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/30/2002:

I'm sick and tired of people bitchin' about all these things that should be "non-bitches."

I'm actually more sick and tired of politicians catering to the "non-bitches" because, of course, politicians just love doing things about things that are inconsequential so they look like they're doing something important and people don't catch on that they have no clue as to how to fix real problems, which they're really not interested in anyway because politicians aren't interested in anything but their own money, ego, power and hookers.

It started with junk mail. Now, don't get me wrong, junk mail is annoying--and it's ironic that groups like Greenpeace kill so many damn trees with their mass mailings--but it's a non-bitch. I get my mail, it's pretty obvious what's junk, and 90 percent of my mail hits the trash. Are there people who have to open all their mail and read every word before they can judge it as junk mail?

In the modern age, this has extended to junk e-mail. I check my e- mail, it's blatantly obvious what's crap, and I waste a whole 3 seconds deleting it all.

The modern age has also brought us telemarketing--another non-bitch. Who the fuck gets up and answers the phone while they're eating dinner? For that matter, who the fuck doesn't screen their calls? (P.S. Caller ID is one of the biggest scams since bottled water--you can screen answering machine calls from another room but you have to get up and look at the fuckin' Caller ID. And even if you have it built into your phone receiver, you still have to pay extra fees so, if you have Caller ID, I hope you at least lubed up for the phone company-provided royal ass-fuckin'.)

So bitch about something that means something, morons.

Just gettin' into the Holiday Spirit here.


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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 a few times! 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.


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