Daily Limerick
Archives: April 2003

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)!


Here's a sample of the Daily Limerick FREE e-mail newsletter! (Now in it's fourth year of "service"!)

NOTE: A limerick is a humorous poem that is generally of a sexual nature. If you are offended by such a thing, please delete this message immediately and realize YOU WILL NOT BE ADDED TO THIS LIST UNLESS YOU SPECIFICALLY ASK TO BE--THIS IS MERELY A SAMPLE!

You'll find a sample limerick below as well as a sample of "Slappin' and Yappin'," our commentary section, of sorts, on our nutty, copiously-corporate-sponsored world! There's also a taste of the "Letters to the Idiot" section! That's right, what began as simply a limerick service is now a full-blown... er, at least a lukewarm attempt at a blog and e-newsletter!

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--namely, 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.

Well, perhaps not. But in any event, you can simply reply to this e-mail and get a free limerick (and "Slappin' and Yappin'")--every day! No, you haven't died and went to heaven! And, no, you haven't died and went to hell either!

Should you not desire a succulent limerick and tender dose of Slappin' and Yappin' delivered to your e-mail box rain or shine (occasionally late, but much more reliable than the Post Office, although that's not saying much) you can simply DO NOTHING. That's right--unless you reply and simply ask for it, you won't receive more! (Although the DAILY LIMERICK is organized a bit like the Post Office, so you may accidentally receive more than one of these sample queries.)

Sign-up today! Be the first on your block to have the DAILY LIMERICK!



Today many play April Fool's

but Spring is near, so, as a rule

we're seein' more flesh--

cool! (Unlike John Tesh.)

so many, too, play April Drools.


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 3/28-4/1/2003:


This news "graphic" exists to let you all know that I will be out of town for a few days--hence, the extra limericks and Sunday special coming early. (Sunday-only readers, consider this a very special treat.)

I'm actually taking an airplane to New York. Fabulous time to be traveling, I know. See, my wife often drags me along on business trips as I have a flexible schedule and hence... I'm going to New York for a few days. And not happy about it.

Poor boy, you say? Well, I've been to New York, seen it, done that, yadda yadda yadda. And I'm at a point of scrambling for extra freelance work and, thus, am not in the vacationing mode. Couple this with the leviathan task of upgrading to a new computer, some extra in-office work scored for next week and... Well, this little trip will serve to put me way, way, way behind. And, financially, we can't really be spending too much money, anyway--and certainly not New York vacation money. Not to mention, I'd rather be boycotting New York anyway, thanks to Bloomberg's Zig!Heiling non-smoking bars into motion...

But I'm digressin' like a politician during election season.

My laptop is not yet loaded with programs and such, as my wife's buying it as an early birthday present has helped ensure that we can't afford to buy software, necessary adapters to hook up my printer and scanner, endless etc. BUT it looks like this is the last "doubled/tripled/etc.-up" Daily Limerick you will receive as, next time, I'll be able to do all my e-mail and crap through my laptop!

A historic event, some might say. I don't know who, but some just might say it, I suppose--it takes all kinds.

And I know, I don't have to send these ahead of time, as we live in a remarkably connected world--I could go to an Internet cafe, or the hotel's office equipment for guests, access Earthlink but, well, I have very good reason for not doing that.

I don't want to...


(And another pathetic attempt at a war-related news "graphic" just like the Big Boys)...

We need to trash the whole "liberal/conservative" thing and start weaning true cynics.

I've been noticing selective cynicism lately--thanks largely to the Iraq war and its protesters.

For instance, a true cynic is always questioning ANY politician. And don't even try to tell me that political cynicism among activists hasn't been booming since we went to a Republican presidency from a Democratic one.

I'm all for being cynical about Bush and his administration. But I've also noticed that cynicism went into decline when Illinois took on a Democratic governor recently. And we're not just improperly directing cynicism on our shores.

It appears that Russia was selling weapons to Iraq. France not only has prime oil contracts there but it also appears that France sold of bunch of "equipment" to Hussein as well.

Don't be cynical only for those you don't agree with.

Stop picking sides. We need to rip government wherever it exists because its mere existence means corruption, bullshit, propaganda and all that other good stuff exists alongside...

I happen to work with somebody who says "wonderful" too much.

She has an educational background and is chock full o' the modern, P.C. educational attitude that spurned soccer leagues where they don't keep score so as not to "emotionally harm" the losers.

My experience is a good, working example of why this attitude is so off base.

I accomplish something--not necessarily anything beyond the normal call of duty, mind you--and it's "wonderful." I'm "so intelligent" or competent. And, by the way, it's not just me--otherwise I might think she were hot for me or something.

I've been called "so intelligent" for things as simple as moving a computer icon out of the "start up options" menu because it was causing problems.

Some words are common and near-meaningless to such a point that you have to make a conscious effort to even notice them in everyday discussion. "A." "An." "The." "Wonderful"...


And now for the Piggish Comment of the Day:

I came up with a good name for a small (but hot) chick. Or, for a sleazy secretary (or the like) who sits on your knee a lot:

A "laptop." Ala, "She's short, but she'd make a nice little laptop."



Celene's got a perfume to sell

expanding her Sensory Hell.

Her screech hits our hearing,

horseface set eyes searing--

and now she assaults sense of smell.




(Not really, but it makes it sound like there's something extra in return for sending this later than normal, which will be happening the rest of this week and a couple times next week)...


(Still trying for that war news "graphic")...

I read an interesting description today, I believe from the Associated Press, possibly from a Chicago Sun-Times writer--too lazy to check--of the recently freed U.S. POW, Jessica Lynch: "The 5-foot 4-inch, 105-pound Lynch..." Why stop there? Might as well go all the way at that point: "The 5-foot 4-inch, 105 pound, 36-23-34 Lynch, who enjoys moonlight strolls and cheese fondue"...

Did you happen to catch that, when U.S. troops paused en route to Baghdad, to allow other units to arrive before proceeding, Central Command actually dubbed it, "Operation Pause"?

By the way, today's edition is part of "Operation Late"...

How many days was it that a major news lead concerned the fact that we were "within 50 miles of Baghdad"?...

Does anybody else find it funny that our soldiers, being, well, soldiers, are smoking away on TV and complaining to the press about the cigarette shortage over there? Considering what's going on here, in the land of civil liberties and all? And nobody's saying a P.C. word against it?

How come I can picture Michael Bloomberg envisioning a new law?...

(P.S. That last nugget was part of "Operation Bash Bloomberg Regularly in S&Y")...

There was a help-wanted ad for a "skiptracer" the other day. Upon first reading it, I thought it said, "skirtchaser," and wondered if I'd been striving to enter the wrong field...

And now for Laughing at Strangers for No Real Good Reason:

The marine going AWOL and trying to be dubbed a "conscientious objector"? Stephen Funk.

He's been gloomy since the war started--feeling like he's in a Stephen...

And now it's time for "Operation Done for the Day."



>Enjoy the trip to the birthplace of .... um .... something, I'm sure.

Pastrami sandwiches are very good there.

I vacationed there for New Year's Eve I 2001. People were really cool.

I think they're back to being rude now, though.



These limericks, some readers implore

should help us escape what's in store

via constant news

but as I peruse

I can't find much outside of war!




(Continuing my tradition of bad war-related news "graphics"--and the occasional tradition of having no war-related nuggets to follow them)...

Today marks a dark day in history. It is the 30th anniversary of the cell phone.

And, yes. We can hear you now. Oh, boy. Can we hear you now...

Does anybody else feel that Justin Timberlake is fast becoming the New George Michael? Kinda like the "New Johnny Bravo" of Brady Bunch lore only, well, the restroom activities and I don't think I have to explain further...

There are some interesting developments in the War on Smokers.

Illinois has set the amount of money necessary for Philip Morris to appeal one of the zillion "nothing I do is my fault!" lawsuits so high that it may have to declare bankruptcy.

"Hooray!" chants the fledgling New Prohibition movement, right?

Uh, no.

You may have THOUGHT that the lawsuits were in the public interest--for our health, to conquer once Big Tobacco--but, you see, it's more about giving politicians more money to play with.

Philip Morris declares bankruptcy and Illinois, California, New York and perhaps other states will be in serious financial trouble.

In short, they really do want smokers--only they want 'em to pay more and more and more all the time for their smokes.

I also read, while in New York (where cigarettes run over $7 a pack) about cigarette smuggling rings.

Hmm. Where have we seen this scenario before?...

This brings me to my new theory: Vice cannot be destroyed.

Originally, it was, "Vice cannot be created or destroyed," mimicking that physics thing about matter, as that is more "catchy," but I had to change it for reasons of truth. New vices can, and are, created.

Start throwin' that one around at your cocktail parties and such...

P.S. I have a letter appearing in this coming Sunday's New York Times about the topics I've just been blathering on. It won't, however, include one of these:...

The Piggish Comment of the Day:

During my part time work as a grantwriter, I came across an interesting funding opportunity: The Touch 'Em All Foundation.

Perhaps it is better to give than to receive, after all.



Bob Conrad's the latest star guy

to give the hot new trend a try.

The newest sensation

sweeping celeb nation:

accessorize with DUI!




(Still workin' on that "graphic")...

Whether you believe Bush and Friends or not, the idea behind this war is preventing a madman from endangering our country and our freedoms in the future.

In the recent local-level Chicago area elections, in Evanston's 9th precinct of its 7th ward, not one person showed up to vote.

Not one.

Evanston, home to Northwestern University, is no tiny hamlet, either.

Our braves troupes: Fighting for our right to piss away hard-earned freedoms against a foe who presents apathy as the only choice...

And now for Laughing at Strangers for No Real Good Reason:

Read about a woman today with this name: Anita Fagot.

Well, ah-need-a hetero woman, but to each his own...

P.S. It's interesting, considering today's limerick topic, that the spell-checker suggests "celled" for "celeb."



That big action lummox, Vin Diesel

(a character ala Ted Giesel)

will sing "Guys and Dolls"

and empty his bowels

on one more once fine drama easel.




(I don't think I have to explain those anymore)...

Congratulations, Health Nazis!

I suppose we all thought that it was okay that the vice/guilt taxes on tobacco would gain mainstream acceptance--after all, they target the one demographic allowed in fulfilling one's recommended daily allowance of bashing some, ANY minority group.

However--and, again, don't say S&Y didn't warn ya'--now they're moving along with the natural progression of the trend as many states begin to level beer taxes on bars.

Told ya'... I won't say it. But it's sure as hell implied.

And it ain't gonna stop with beer, folks.



A little boy--Petey Dowrimple

whom most assumed pure, sweet and simple.

Gave Willie some whacks

and had a climax--

freaked out, thought he'd popped some strange pimple.




(For Sunday-only readers, this is another of my attempts at formulating a war-related news "graphic"...although I have no war-related, er, "news" today)...

Here's a little story for anybody out there thinking that "liberal/conservative," "democrat/republican" still mean much of anything:

Illinois' governor until this year, George Ryan, cleaned out that state's death row with clemency after many high-profile cases were overturned and an investigation found that the system was almost too broken for fixing.

Ryan is a Republican.

Our new attorney general, Lisa Madigan, a Democrat, is suing to get many of his clemencies overturned.

Oddly, there isn't much protest ensuing...

A Chicago Transit Authority bus driver was accused of throwing about Hispanic slurs. He denies the charges.

There has yet to be an investigation, but the CTA has reprimanded him in writing, "given the nature of the complaint."

Innocent until proven guilty is just not politically correct...

Speaking of P.C., I heard a Sublime song on a local "alternative" station today. I'm not positive of the song's name, but it might be "What I've Got," as that's how the refrain goes.

There is a line: "I don't get angry when my mom smokes pot," which was mysteriously changed to, "I don't get angry when my mom smokes [pause]."

Is my calendar right? No, it must be "1953," not "2003"...

Personally, I believe that therapy is a whopping scam on the order of bottled water.

Oh, sure, some people have been through some horrific things and they need it, blah blah blah. But I see therapy as in about the same place, as a science, as astronomy was pre-Copernicus.

And I think that advice columnists must be getting kickbacks from the therapy industry because they recommend it for almost everything.

I did recently see an advice column, advising a writer on a marital problem, urging the writer to seek counseling or the advice of  "a mutually trusted person in the community."

The local butcher? Village idiot? Used car dealer?...

Here's a little story about The Puzzler.

No, she's not some melodramatic over achiever in a colorful outfit including tights and a cape who's intent on ruling the world, or Gotham City.

She was a fellow student at the University of Illinois in Champaign in the '80s. And, probably unbeknownst to her, the recipient of one of my finest nicknames.

She was a mousy, librarian-esque blonde--actually good looking but, not realizing it, a bit frumpy. Having far too much time and intoxication on my hands, after perusing our New Student Guide endlessly, I discovered that she was the only one listing "puzzles" as an interest.

Hence, The Puzzler.

One time, and I don't know how this happened, I ended up walking The Puzzler to the library or something like that. She actually showed some signs of hoping I'd make a move. Which I didn't.

Other than many instances of fun-making at her expense, from a distance in the lunchroom, I have no other tales to report.

But I still giggle at mention of The Puzzler. And you should, too.

And now for Laughing at Strangers for No Real Good Reason:

On this wannabe hip and youthful society-type page, I encountered one Kelly Swallow.

Geez. That name sucks.






TODAY'S POEM: In a Field of Rotting Flowers

In a field of rotting flowers

wilted by the heat.

Colored pieces, wet and fallen,

curling in the sun.

The stench is sweet and bitter,

acrid without rain.

Bleeding oily perfume scent

thick as crumbled streets.

Too far from the sea,

petals paint the point.

Dropping from their brittle stems,

which become their bones.

A patchwork of dead destinies

quilted on the ground.

There is not one to pick for her,

though I gather what I can.

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



War cov'rin' is often quite dreaded

but Kimmy smiled when Iraq-headed.

Her fetish for soldiers

grew bolder and bolder--

a whole unit got her (em)bedded!




(Again, for daily readers, no need to explain this dreckery)...


(Also self-explanatory and, yes, I lost my notebook again and, yes, again, I know where it is)...

I just read that yet another "reality" TV "star," I think this one's an idiot contestant on "The Bachelor," has been found to have a criminal record.

On the positive side--although I'm hesitant to put too much credence into it, considering the remarkable survival power of all forms of evil--ratings for "reality" shows appear to be waning.

If this ratings trend continues--which would be a type of litmus test as to whether or not there is a God--this would mean things are coming full circle: "Cops" was one of the early modern "reality" shows. Therefore, the trend begins (and ends) relying heavily on criminals for ratings.

"Bad network execs, bad network execs, what cha' gonna do? What cha' gonna do when they come for you"...



Bloomberg's prohibitionist reign--

let's hope a one-term history stain--

should send legal tender

with big bar-room spenders

hopping after work Jersey trains.



As America gets all pissed off about the ethics of Al-Jazeera, the Bush Administration continues it's Baath party-esque reports in the form of anti-pot PSAs.

Evidently, and I didn't know this, heroin, ecstasy and cocaine have been eradicated, so we're focusing on the wacky tobaccy.

One of these that's been seeing a lot of time lately claims that one joint contains the dangerous tars of four cigarettes.

Which means, of course, that, if true--it's doubtful there's not some statistic magic going on--you'd have to smoke five joints a day to take in the tar levels of a pack-a-day smoker. Oh, and you'd have to do this every single day for many years in order to see similar problems. And, statistically, even then, chances are it wouldn't kill you.

Now, who the hell smokes five freakin' joints a day for years and years? A-ha! Is that why Snoop Dogg gave it up?...

I read the Feds, having been chastised for trying to make virtual kiddie porn illegal, are assembling a database of real kiddie porn, so that they can track which photos are new, etc., and better crack down on those making the porn.

A pretty good idea, I think. Although I do wonder about whoever the hell is working with this database. I hope somebody is assigned to it and people aren't applying specifically to be a Kiddie Porn Czar, because, well you figure it out.

So for all those waxing Ashcroftian on the matter and thinking that even virtual porn--which harms no actual human beings--should be illegal, realize that this database wouldn't exist if the Supremes had waxed Ashcroftian, too. So pppp...

It doesn't take a pop culture professor to figure out that Hollywood, the music industry, etc.'s pandering to The Demographic is having a tragic effect on our culture overall.

The Demographic, of course, is the teen-thirty something crowd.

There are a lot of people and studies questioning the reasoning behind this. And I suspect it's more than just their covetability that's at issue--rather than worry about making original, though-provoking new movies, for instance, it's easier to pump out teen comedies using the same jokes as older movies like "Animal House" for a crowd that won't be aware of the earlier flicks.

And yet I'm sure that there is something to the reasoning, simply because, the older you get, the more set in your ways you become. For instance, I like Coke better than Pepsi--I don't care if commercials show Shakira masturbating; I'm still buying Coke. Not to mention that advertising thrives on the stupid and, as we age, we grow wiser.

But I do have a solution: Stop giving The Demographic so much money. This wasn't as much of a problem until the Baby Boomers and later generations, consumed with guilt over their workaholism and lack of time spent raising children, made up for shortcomings by more or less buying children's affections.

So cut back that damn allowance and help save popular culture!...

Here's an ugly feeling:

"Street Smarts" is on in the other room as you go about your business. (In my wife's defense, she wasn't watching it, but fell asleep watching something else.) Not trying to pay attention, you nonetheless notice some of the questions, some of the answers and perhaps lose a little bit of hope for the human race in the process.

But then you hear a question and don't really know the answer. You wish they'd make a point of giving the answers.

Then you think about the level of questions "Street Smarts" asks.

And you feel like you need a shower. Inside your cranium...

And now for Laughing at Strangers for No Real Good Reason:

Ann Fishlove.

She's perhaps no longer welcome at Sea World.



The "Girls Gone Wild" entrepreneur

charged with treating minors impure

should know underaged

breasts shant be uncaged--

for he's the flashed-breast connoisseur.




It seems that a bunch of journalists are complaining that, well, it's dangerous over there covering a war and the military should be more careful.

Just make all those MOABs in a Nerf version, guys...

I glanced at some "radio listings" today and now think Chicago listeners should keep an eye, or ear, or whatever, on WDCD-FM. One of its shows today was a "discussion on vaporizing planets."

Let's hope no Al-Qaida sleeper agents aren't tuning in...

Attention media trying to be hip: How long ago was "Wayne's World" on SNL? Stop with the untrue statements followed by "Not." Ala, "It is possible to be hip if you're actively TRYING to be hip. Not"...

And now: Laughing at Strangers for No Real Good Reason:

Jonathen Limp.

His family is not well represented in the porn industry.



Now J.-Lo and Ben ponder doin'

their own "Casablanca"--a new'un.

Hollywood's belief?--

there's no masterpiece

that's too much a classic to ruin.




(It looks like I won't be doin' the "graphics" for too much longer...)

Viewing footage of Iraqis beating a statue of Saddam Hussein with their shoes, erudite commentators informed me that hitting people with shoes is "considered a strong insult in the Arab world."

Glad they clued me in--just in case I ever visit Arab countries. I usually beat people with the soles of my shoes to show affection...

Plans are under way for a Broadway musical version of "Rocky."

You know... Ahem.

It would seem... Hmm.

Another one of those things that makes fun of itself too well for embellishment...

The Chicago Bulls, and perhaps other NBA teams, are doing a special promotion whereby ticket buyers earn a chance to win tickets to see Christina Aguilera and Justin Timberlake.

Apparently, those under the age of 13 are big ticket buyers...

By the way, my spell checker suggests "Uglier" for "Aguilera"--which is a common argument in the once hot "Britney v. Christina" debate.

But I'd still choose Christina, given a choice.

For what it's worth.

Which is pretty much nothing.



"The Tempest," by Willie Shakespeare

in video game form is here

to market the Classics

toward Gold Demographic

and sell more games, smokes, clothes and beer.




Reportedly, two Muslim clerics, or imams, in Iraq, summoned for a preliminary meeting on a new system to run the country, were hacked to death with machetes.

One was pro-Saddam, the other anti-Saddam, both Shiite Muslim.

The story goes that a crowd threatened the pro-Saddam cat and thus the other guy whipped out a piece to defend the guy.

And then... Well, it was a real slice. (Ugh.)

Nothin' like a holy guy who's packin'.

Frettin' Catholics: It could get worse...

The Baseball Hall of Fame was planning a celebration of the movie "Bull Durham."

Then, war happened. The event was canceled.

Actually, it had nothing to do with the Amazing Technicolor Terrorist Threat Level or anything like that. It was because stars Tim Robbins and Susan Sarandon spoke out against the war and, somehow, this "endangered our troops."

Now, remember folks. This isn't going to happen over night. You can't expect people unused to the concept to suddenly enjoy a thriving Democracy overnight.

Er... Wait. This didn't happen in Iraq. It was here in the U.S. I'm confusing my stories here.

Then, the President of the Hall pulled out a machete and... I'm still very confused...



So Jess Simpson and her bland hubby

will join the "reality" clubby.

Once shows were investing

in stars interesting--

now just courtin' teens and their chubbies.



I saw an ad for a singles event, which was geared toward men, exulting how they can meet "professional women."

Now, this type of ad makes perfect sense when the genders are revered--heralding "professional men" for the ladies--because men, by and large, don't give a shit about a woman's career/profession/level of "success." As long as we're stereotyping, let's just say an ad would better attract single men if it were to advertise "young" or "attractive" or--what the hell--"busty" women.

Unless they're connotating an old-fashioned meaning to the term.

In which case "amateurs" might in fact be more appealing...

PS: "Conotating" appears to be my own invention.



"Xtreme Volleyball's" nerd boy gamers

for the game's electronic damers

are trading game "patches"

showing boobs and snatches

seeking to make their lives still lamer




(A pathetic attempt at a war-related news "graphic" for today)...

Just read today that U.S. "faith-based" groups are looking to get involved with Iraq's rebuilding.

It's disturbing enough that the whole "faith-based" craze initiated by President Bush is capable of serving as an eraser for the "line" separating church and state.

But haven't we learned by now the wisdom of pushin' Jesus in Muslim countries?

Looks like we may be hailing knuckleheads as "heroes" again soon...

Congratulations (sort of) to Mikelina's (SIC?) for somehow managing to make "The Macarena" even more annoying...

I was thinking yesterday about the idea of "pulled pork." The term refers to a type of shredded pork, with the shreddings "pulled" away to make the final product, which is usually put on sandwiches.

But the idea of "pullin' pork" cracked me up.

He hee.






TODAY'S POEM: The Smell of Snow

Snow melts in the lake,

painting wet rocks white.

Building trees with weight,

dark pine -- softened scent.

Flaky stars of night,

falling through the sky.

Melting in the heat.

Touching snowy skin.

Dripping from her lips,

laying out her hair,

spotting up her dress,

shivering in flare.

Watching yellow light,

dancing swaying beat.

Fire eats the sparks,

wanderers and heat.

Writing out new shapes

in the flame's slow rise.

Breath disintegrates

in the lowered air.

Two mouths warm a seal

as the sky expands.

Fire gone to coals

as winter demands.

Broken on a hill,

breaking through the sky,

boughs shadow the break

of rain's slow reply.

Frozen water breaks,

running down her face.

Buried in our breath

and the weather's pace.

Rain reshapes the lake,

glistens on the rocks.

Softening the trees,

dark pine's waiting scent.

Falling from the moon

through wet beams of light.

We drown on the ground.

Muddy and alive.

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



The war saw ol' Saddam dismayed

that "infidel" suddenly prayed!

Hid milit'ry dealings

'neath civilian ceilings

in one final, grand mosque-erade.




A New York City bouncer was stabbed to death as a result of a melee that ensued when he tried to stop patron(s) from smoking.

The cops, in case you haven't heard, have nothing better to do.

Thanks, Bloomberg! Now not only does government policy cause needless deaths through illegal drugs--by pumping up the monetary stakes, feeding organized crime and leaving such drugs and sales unregulated--but now we're causing needless deaths over government policy toward legal drugs!...

The second--or at least the first--Horseman of the Cultural Apocalypse has appeared!

Bolstered by the success of "reality" TV, MTV is bringing "reality" to the Big Screen with "The Real Cancun."

Next up: "Reality" fine arts, "reality" music, "reality" education and so much more!...

And now for Laughing at Strangers for No Real Good Reason:

Ching Chan. Happens to be one of the alleged murderers in the N.Y. Smoke Nazi Stabbing Case.

Stereotypical and mean-spirited laughs, for sure. But laughs, nonetheless.



As war with Iraq is now nearing-a

close many are quite frankly fearing a

fresh rampage of Bush's

to kick nations' tushes--

with World War III starting in Syria.




If you haven't read a newspaper or turned on the news lately, here's all you've missed in the last week or so:

THE WAR IS OVER AND SUCCESSFUL... (Actually, it's not REALLY officially over yet, if you read under the headline)...

I've been invited to a "couples shower," and I'm alarmingly frightened over this trend.

A shower, for those who don't know, is a festival of boredom that occurs a) before a wedding or b) before a baby is born. The shower is given for the bride or mother-to-be. It entails this woman's opening of gifts from all attendees and faking surprise, despite the fact that, today, she already knows exactly what she's getting thanks to the insidious, marketing sinister trend of "registering."

Shortly before I was married, I was hooked into a precursor trend of this terror--being forced to tag along because, as the husband-to-be of the bride-to-be, I have to carry all the crap to the car. But this evil development doesn't even make that much sense--we're talking about the boredom-destined attendees--not just the bride or mother-to-be--hauling their men along.

I have no clue as to any logic behind this wave of horror. Perhaps it ties into the prominent, womanly wish that men could go through pregnancy--an attempt to make the overall suffering of life more universal among the sexes. Or, having hideously failed to make the derivative "bachelorette party" half as exciting as the original "bachelor party," mean-spirited women have decided that men should share in the overall tediousness of pre-wedding red tape.

Be forewarned, Slapper Yappers...

In the subway today, I heard a moochin' musician playing, "What Child Is This?" As I started to think that perhaps this was just a fluke, and I wasn't aware of the non-Christmas relevance of the song, he next launched into "Fur Elise." Now, I believe "Fur Elise" is another not-necessarily Christmas song but... This is too much.

I can kinda, halfway forgive the lingering Christmas lights when it's still Winter. I can even kinda, quarter-way accept folks in the depths of summer, during sweltering heat, visiting Christmas revelry out of goofiness.

But this should just not be...

Pass it along: If you're walking a sidewalk, subway tunnel or any other width-challenged pathway with a friend or two... NEVER, EVER WALK SIDE-BY-SIDE, YOU ASSWIPES!


Anti-war protesters, anticipating a longer run and now bored and starring at their bongs wondering what to do, may consider tackling sexist spell-checkers. I just discovered that mine knows "bachelor" but not "bachelorette."



While freeing Baghdad and its petro

caught Abu Abbas in the metro.

Like administration

and pres. of this nation

this war--and its villains!--went retro.




(The war news angle, and media consumers, respectively)...

If you've laid off your news watching/reading because you've become sick of hearing "It's over (butnotreallyyet)!" in news coverage lately, and I don't blame you, I may need to explain today's limerick.

Abu Abbas is a terrorist who was just captured around Baghdad--infamous due to '80s misdeeds.

And, damn it all, somehow this morning I got a song called "My Abu Abbas" in my head. To the tune of Stevie Wonder's, "My Cherie Amor"...

Perhaps this has been going on for some time and I just haven't paid attention, but I was reading about a band today and, as the story ticked off the band's accomplishments upon its rise to fame, it trumpeted the band's appearance in some big commercial--and actually listed it last, as if the commercial shows they've really "made it."

Is this the Second Horseman of the Coming Cultural Apocalypse, Slapper Yappers?

Use to be, a band did a commercial only once it was completely, utterly washed-up.

Now there's a "retro" trend I'd welcome...

An important announcement: Chesty Lareau is back! And I also spotted Scraggles J. Spillmeister yesterday!

What a day for S&Y nostalgia!...

Oh, okay, since most of you don't pay attention--but beware the first "S&Y Trivia Quiz"--Chesty Lareau is my name for the chick who gardens in a tight shirt around my apartment complex in the warm weather, much to my viewing pleasure, and Mr. Spillmeister is my name for a psychopath who, well, it's a long story and... Screw you if you don't share in the excitement of it all.



Two guys went barhopping, male bonding

a slutty blonde gave each a fondling.

They fulfilled her dream

of a double-team

in an exercise in male blonde-ing.




I was reading a bio today of that Abu Abbas character and learned that he headed up the PLF, Palestinian Liberation Front, an off-shoot of the PLO. This nugget related some of his terrorist activities, including a couple "attempts at air assault" on Israel.

One attempt entailed a hot air balloon.

Picture, if you will, terrorists in a hot air balloon.

Laugh as necessary.

I've said this many time before in this space, and undoubtedly will many times again: There is a ray of hope in the fact that those who are our sworn enemies are also thankfully a bunch of knuckleheads.



The big sis of Joe's best friend Kurt

suddenly looked hot in a skirt.

Joe thought long about her

in the room of powder--

and matched her with his own "growth" spurts.





In my defense, YOU try rhyming something with "Interim Governin'"...

Then again, considering that we're "advising" those involved in Iraq's new government process, perhaps Dr. Joyce is appropriate...

I'll be a little curt with you today--and hopefully a little "Kurt," as in Vonnegut, but not "Kurt" as in the character from today's limerick--because I'm amid this horrible process of switching computers.

But I will give you an edition of "Duh! Factor" (my own "reality" feature wherein I present real media headlines for your fun-making)--and its been a while, so you should be excited.

Not in that way!

Anyway, here's "Duh! Factor":

From yesterday's Chicago Red Streak: "Woman Fingers Her Captor."

The news nugget this graced was actually about a woman identifying the guy who kidnapped her--it's NOT some S&M lesbian prom story.



>You hockey puck.

Hmm. I've spent a little bit of time--not too much, mind you--trying to discern why this Rickels-esque insult was directed at me as a reply to yesterday's edition.

Not that one needs a reason to call me a hockey puck. Perhaps it's a bit like lovers saying, "I love you." They both know that they love each other and yet must remind each other of the fact regularly. It becomes a mantra.

Or maybe our letter writer is just getting into the Stanley Cup spirit.

Who knows? But thanks for sending a letter--they're rare these days. Ya' Wolfgang Puck.



A pervert chef out of New York--

a prank-playin' loaner and dork--

played games with erections

on sandwich selections

bringing new meaning to "pulled pork."




Regular readers know that I'm not the biggest fan of the NHL. I'm a hockey fan, and I would love to follow the NHL more, but a couple of things happened to embitter--but not embed--me. Hell, regular IGNORERS of this dreck know this.

When I was a child, I watched Chicago Blackhawk games until... The stupid management decided to stop broadcasting games--under the theory that this would cause more folks to head out to the Chicago Stadium to see games live.

This move led me to consider "boycotting" the games (not that I, myself, would have any economic impact). But I didn't give up that easily--I started hopelessly trying to follow hockey on the radio.

Then, the NHL decided to make a mockery of the entire season and enact some crazy formula whereby half or more of the teams made the playoffs--again, reasoning that this would bring in more money (more playoffs, more games with "special prices").

This solidified my reservations to such an extent that I did give up on hockey at that point. And I haven't went back to it.

Now, this is not exactly a new development, but yesterday, I saw a playoff game in the background at a friend's. Looking at some of the playoff schedules posted on the screen from time to time, I noted the Anaheim Mighty Ducks.

The NHL actually has a team named after a Disney Movie.

So, if you were looking for a good reason to start your own boycott of the NHL...



Two Star Wars geeks found they were neighbors;

she asked if he had a light saber;

he brandished one proudly;

she praised it, quite loudly;

and in nine months, went into labor.






(Double ugh)...

Let me tell you what most disturbs me about Easter, and Good Friday, and Nutty Thursday, and all those festivities... (Sorry, but I'm not so up on the religion I was baptized under but not really raised under.)

But here it is:

That ritual where the pope goes washin' all those guys feet. The Bishops or whatever.

In order to update this festivity for the modern age, at LEAST wash the feet of some hot, young babes. I can give a thumbs up to the kinky factor in that case, if nothing else.

I suppose that the whole thing IS kinky without my suggested angle but, well, some things are kinky in a good way, and let's just say that this isn't one of them and leave it at that.

(P.S. On a side note, I made a "subliminal funny" by originally typing, "...without my suggested ANKLE." Hee Hee. Triple ugh.)

I could go off on a whole rant here, but I don't like thinking about it any longer than I have to...

I don't THINK I've ever related this story here, but not knowing for sure has never stopped me before and... Well, here goes:

In junior high and high school, I knew this guy named Troy. He was a big nerd. Not that I wasn't, but he was the type of nerd to make most nerds feel good. The King Nerd. If popular kids were making fun of you and Troy walked in, you were off the hook.

I played Dungeons & Dragons with Troy, although I hated playing with him--he was one of those Dungeon Masters who managed to let the players get TOO much. His game wasn't exciting because it was too easy to obtain filthy levels of power and treasure and... Well, I won't go into Dungeon Mastering skills because it's not relevant and, I must add, it makes me feel a bit pathetic to wax on such subjects. But suffice it to say that he was a nerd and couldn't even be a "good" nerd by having a decent Dungeons & Dragons game.

He was one who used a "hit location chart." Nothing wrong with that by itself but... Okay, a hit location chart is something that adds a little color to the game. When you're "hit" by a monster or opposing soldier or whatever--bit, clawed or hit with a sword, etc.--the chart tells where you were hit. A good chart takes into account the number of hit points--amount of damage--inflicted. In other words, if you just suffer a minor injury, it isn't likely that you were hit in the head or chest, for instance.

One of the first times I played with Troy, my character was riding up on a horse to attack the enemy, the enemy fired an arrow and it hit me... Of all places, "in the left nut."

In the left nut.


Most hit location charts would simply indicated that you were hit in the groin. His went into painstaking detail about this one region of the body.

I soon noticed that, 50 percent of the time, it seemed, well... It'd go like this: "You take a sword to the shoulder... Ax to the right nut... Sword to the shin... Sword to the mid-shaft of your penis... Ax to the upper right scrotum, missing the nut."


But of course.

Last I heard about Troy, my mom, as she's wont to do, had saved newspaper stories about him. He eventually became a cop and was offering up nookie to women in place of traffic tickets.

But somebody sang and they got him.

In both nuts.






TODAY'S POEM: Good Friday radio ad

I have been informed

that this is a good Friday

to head down to your local Toyota dealer

and test drive a new Corolla.

Corolla, by the way,

defines a flower's inner whorl,

which is not usually green,

according to the dictionary.

Does this mean the green Corollas

spotting the nation's freeways

in leisurely lime resplendence

are paradoxes?

Am I witnessing miracles

of modern engineering?

It is almost Easter,

after all.

The finance plan sounds robust,

and won't cave in for years.

On the way to the dealership

I can stop off at the store

and pick up some green jellybeans,

to sprinkle deferred awe

at the base of green Corollas --

those ripening citrus in the parking lot.

No. That is a ridiculous proposition.

And I am afraid of opening a rift in time.

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



The Lovelace tale for Silver Screen's

a role on which Jolie is keen

while Liv Tyler's goal's

the Betty Page role--

great "rentals"--ya' know what I mean?




The Chicago Sun-Times had an editorial on miniskirts today.

(NOTE: I'm not one of those who throws journalistic terms around willy-nilly--calling articles or columns "editorials," for instance. This was an actual editorial--the opinion of the newspaper's editorial board.)

The gist of the editorial? Don't wear miniskirts if you're not gonna look good in one.

Occasionally, something like this happens and I am reminded of the many reasons I choose the Sun-Times over the Tribune.

Now, if they had only also urged all good-looking women to engage in their civic duty to WEAR a miniskirt, now that they're back in style, I might have called trying to secure a lifetime subscription...

When I was in New York recently, I visited the Metropolitan Museum of Art. While viewing the artifacts from Egypt, I began to hear a song from my past--a song I hadn't even thought of in many years.

The refrain played between my ears: "And the chains were on... yes the chains were on."

It took me a second to recognize what my silly head put on the turntable. And then it occurred to me that it was a song called, "Egypt."

The, er, "artist" behind the song? Ronnie James Dio.

I knew immediately that it would do no good to attempt and chase the song out of my head. As it played on, I wondered just what in the hell Dio's Dungeon & Dragonsy, mysterious lyrics had to do with Egypt. I couldn't figure that one out.

The moral of the story? I don't know.

The point of the story? Not sure there is one.

But it may be the only way Dio will ever be featured in a prominent cultural institution.



A pasty young wimp-ass named Roy

dreamed of being a pro boy toy.

A Moby-esque Vegan

his first old bag, Megan

found his man meat much more like soy.



This is a historic moment.

Or at least it is if you don't have high standards in what can be deemed "historic."

This is the first Slappin' and Yappin' written on my new computer. And the first Daily Limerick sent on it, as well.

So it looks like DL will be mobile on its upcoming journey to Denver, Las Vegas, Los Angeles and, briefly, assorted town along the way.

Today has brought to mind an image of Hades. For eternity, somebody there gets a new computer. Then he has to integrate to it from an old computer. After the harrowing, gut-wrenching, blood-curdling-scream-inducing process nears an end, and the Promised Land of sanity nears... He gets a new computer. Then he has to integrate to it from an old computer...






It's mild to say you'd hit The Pits--

You may, in fact, get Instant Shits!

Cruising the Web site

of CNN might

just find yourself in the obits!



Unless you're a joke writer for the new and allegedly improved "Watching Ellie"--or some other breed woefully out of touch--you've certainly heard about the handful of knuckleheads who jumped onto the filed at the Chicago White Sox game and engaged in drunken chowderheadism.

Now, do recall how, a while back, S&Y argued that legislators are predominantly engaged in the act of enacting stupid legislation? That, despite the fact that we have more folks legislatin' than at any other point in history, as society moves forward we have less use for them and, when important issues they SHOULD do something about are considered, well, they avoid them, because its much easier to prattle on about bonehead topics than it is to be useful.

Well, U.S. Rep. Bobby Rush, of Chicago, is proposing Congressional hearings on the matter.

Aren't there laws in place to punish this sort of behavior? Hasn't the security business been invented?

How 'bout a Congressional hearing on preventing us from curiously not having umbrellas on hand when it rains?...

There are many tales of mysterious creatures prowling this earth. Some swear by their existence, others write it off as mere superstition and events that can be explained scientifically, one way or another. Usually, of course, the former are raving nutballs.

Well, I saw (and heard) a mythological creature in the subway yesterday: A subway musician whose playing I actually enjoyed-one who didn't simply annoy the hell out of  me with his off-key renditions of Neil Young songs and such!

Now perhaps I'll rethink the whole UFO thing.



Lewinsky has scored her own show

("reality" type, wouldn't ya' know).

Seems hack and absurd.

Described in one word?

Like the dame herself, it will "blow."



An important panel met in Chicago on April 2. It featured FCC folks and focused on impending rules to free up media conglomerates by allowing them to own more stations/newspapers/etc. in any one market city.

Curiously, it received absolutely no coverage in the Chicago dailies, which happen to be owned by behemoth media conglomerates.

Was the meeting canceled? Turns out it wasn't.

But we ban Al-Jazeera for an alleged lack of objectivity...

Speaking of the press, Entertainment Tonight--well known, of course, for fielding those hardball questions to celebrities--is taking their ass-kissing up a notch and having the boyfriend of Jennifer Lopez' sister interview J. Lo herself.

As Joeseph Pulitzer goes into an epileptic seizure in his grave...

Do you recall how, months ago, S&Y heard about protestors stripping for the cause at demonstrations, and S&Y called for this to become a new trend, and it has happened many more times since?

Now comes word that one Cheryl Laws flashed members of a soccer team, which was amid a match against her team of choice, in order to get them to screw up.

That's the way, ladies! (Guys: Please refrain from joining the bandwagon on this one.)

Behold the Power of Slappin' and Yappin'...

(So that those outside the Midwest "get" that last gag, there is an ad campaign by the Wisconsin dairy folks with the slogan, "Behold the Power of Cheese." So, perhaps the above slogan is a bit redundant)...

Perhaps you've heard about this Vegan couple who is being prosecuted for the negligent homicide of their child.

They fed the poor infant a Vegan diet--and even as the child descended into malnourishment and the pathetic shell of an infant, they kept the diet up.

Vegetarian Argument 101: Humans weren't meant to eat meat.

Why They're Idiots 101: If god meant people not to eat meat, he wouldn't have given us the resources to make spears and take down tasty animals!...

Just an observation: Today, I threw something in my garbage can--which contained no McDonald's-related trash--and noticed that the garbage smelled like McDonald's.



Those who were protesting the war

felt protests helped open the door

to identity

and now, secretly,

some hope that Bush starts up one more!



I know that this is coming pretty late, but this is a historic day! And considering that I'm in Mountain Time (which I like to dub, "Mountin' Time"), it's still before midnight, so it's not TOO late. You'll probably be getting your Saturday edition early, as usual, so look at it as an extra Christmas morning. Or at least a Christmas morning for deviants.

Why is this historic? The first time I am typing a Slappin' and Yappin ' away from home! Yes, I'm typing this in Nebraska and I will be sending it in Denver!

You know, I find a sort of beauty to Nebraska and the Midwest. Yeah it's flat and all but... The people seem "real." I mean, nobody grows up and moves to Nebraska or Kansas after a lifetime of having its coolness trumpeted by the Entertainment Industry!

Oh, now I'm getting goofy, so, on with the dreck!...

Bad news first: Kelly Clarkson's CD hit number one.

By my count, this is at least the Second Horseman of the Coming Cultural Apocalypse...

You know, Jessica Lynch is hot.

I'm not sure if that's an appropriate thing to be thinking but... Well, it's honest.

(By the way, since I typed "bad news first" in the last nugget, you'd think that good news would be coming next but... Well, it's good news if you're a pervert, I suppose.)

And there's that whole rescuing scenario and... Well, the whole thing gets me thinking in a whole possibly--inappropriate  direction, let's leave it at that...

I also discovered today--since the Chicago Sun-Times redesigned recently and gave all columnists new headshots--that Cathleen Falsani, the religion reporter, is quite hot.

I don't know what's gotten into me, by the way. Perhaps it's spring's onset.

But anyway, I know she's not a nun or anything, but it seems at least semi-taboo to think deviant thoughts about a religion reporter.

Which makes it all the more appealing. Which makes it seem more taboo. And on and on.

And now you know what happened with Catholic school girl uniforms.



> Yes! The power! I am beholden to it.

Hmm. I've heard of William Holden. But Bea Holden? Doesn't ring a bell.



A seductress who felt unbeatable

would spread for free--like cheese to Wheatable.

But she met her match--

not from rival snatch

but from what docs say may be treatable.



I was reading recently about how some mountains were named after boobs.

I can't remember an example, and I'm too lazy to look it up right now, but it's usually in French or something--there is no "Majestic Hooters" mountain range, for instance.

So I wake up today, in Denver, walk out on the balcony of the hotel, see mountains, and think "Dolly Parton."

That's going back a while, I know, but they remind me of natural boobs, and how can you tell these days which are and which aren't?

I'd only think "Pam Anderson," for instance, in seeing a man-made structure like a domed stadium.



Do you recall "Facts of Life's" Tootie?

At the time, a top-rated cutie?

Us white boys would dream

of squirtin' some cream

into that coffee colored booty!



As I'm writing this, I'm on the road in Utah. My wife does not agree that, as a matter of etiquette, I should pick up an extra wife, at least for the drive...

I have finally gotten this one song out of my head! It was playing through my cranium during most of my time in Colorado! As am I not aware of any Utah-centric songs, my brain is now mostly quiet. Perhaps I am forgetting a tune, somewhere. There is a "Green River" Utah, but I'm not sure if the song has a connection.

What was the song the haunted me, you ask?

I don't want to send it through my head anew, but I'll give you this hint:

Many were the times I exclaimed, "Curse you, John Denver, wherever your soul may be!"...

Amid all the war- and villain-chasing-related chatter of the past couple of years, you may or may not have heard about a federal prohibition the U.S. has on assassinating world leaders. Many other countries follow this rule, as well, and I think it's also a U.N. thang.

Now the reasoning behind this rule is the idea that assassination does not befit modern civilization. That it is simply not humanitarian.

It is apparently  more humanitarian to declare war on a country, bomb the living shit out of its infrastructure and inflict the inescapable civilian casualties than it is to just take out one man. For instance, Saddam Hussein.


Perhaps this is just an outgrowth of our wannabe kinder, gentler world. That is, it's insensitive to single out just one guy. Think of what that does to his self-esteem!...

Occasionally, S&Y brings you tidings of hope. Which is not to say that I no longer believe the human race is doomed--because I do believe just that. I mean, c'mon, we're a race of morons!

But this philosophy doesn't depress me or anything. I just worry about my own life and do little things to help the world, perhaps putting off the doomsday a little bit longer.

Getting back to the tidings of hope, I read that since the "Dude you're getting' a Dell" Dude was retired from advertisements, and new, less "memorable" spokesman/men have taken over, sales of Dell have actually been better.

There's a general rule of PR that says "all publicity is good publicity." And, unfortunately, the truth behind this saying has allowed corporations to profit by annoying the freakin' hell out of us all. Because, of course, we're a race of doomed morons who won't take action against the lameitization of our culture, but let's not go back to that.

So this is good news. About the Dell Dude, anyway. Could it be a trend?

I doubt it. As I've said, we're doomed and I'm not expecting an eon-spanning tradition of moronity to suddenly be reversed.

But it is a minor victory. And, considering what we have to work with, that's a big deal...

I took a brief glance--and I mean a REALLY brief glance--at a Denver guide book that was in my hotel.

I'm sure you've seen these things. They are glorified yet surreptitious advertisements for the establishments that pitch in to print them, mysteriously steering tourists to pricier options in dining, entertainment, etc.

Well, I took a look at the back of this book and saw that it was produced by a company called "Cityspin."

It's bad enough that we're a race of morons, but must they flaunt it in our face? I suppose it doesn't help that we're so susceptible...

By the way, I didn't sit down to crap out this edition of S&Y with a theme in mind...

A veterans organization in Pleasanton, Calif. is conducting workshops on dowsing for terrorists.

Dowsing, for those not in the know, or those with little contact with the nutball world, is the act of using a divining rod--basically a forked stick--to find something hidden. Originally, dowsing was meant to find water underground. Personally, I have no information on the efficiency of this method, but I can well surmise.

This all sent me flashing back to my days at the Daily News of Los Angeles where, speaking of the nutball world, I met up with Mike "Boom" Chmielecki, of "Mike's Accursed Verse" fame. ("Fame." He hee. That cracks me up.) I was in charge of a number of listings for the weekend pull-out section of the paper and this entailed listing the activities of a number of organizations, including the survivalists, with their acorn-pancake-making demonstrations, and the alien-courting crowd.

I guess we're all concerned about terrorists and ways to sniff them out. So perhaps it's worth a try to "think lightly and carry a forked stick." After all, it's important for nutballs to have hobbies that keep them out of real trouble.







I have watched you, O City,

but I do not know you.

I have been down your streets,

past crowded markets.

So many and yet they flitted by

like smoke in the trees.

I have seen swallows nesting

in the bright, hollow O's

of a red lighted sign.

They did not sing,

but moved warily,

as though they would fall.

I have been down your freeways,

cupping the valley.

Draining like water down slow hills,

in travel and commerce.

I have seen the white-blue light,

powdery, puffing from windows

as your citizens watched the news.

I slipped silently by, O City,

guided by street lights

and dogs behind shivering fences.

A crumpled list in my pocket,

eyes trained on the detritus at the curb.

For I, too, O City, have pasted nickels

into wastrels' palms.

I have sidestepped them

huddled in dirty blankets by fountains.

I have even seen them lying

half in the street. Black feet poking

through remnants of clothing.

Dead to your splendors, O City.

The beach, the pier,

the bacterial waters

that these men wash clean in.

The swallows have not taken flight.

I went to photograph them,

and they were still there, in the arch of the sign,

though the name had changed, the O's were there.

In new places, but there.

And they still did not sing.

As thunder fell from a rainless sky,

a semi navigating the bridge

a few blocks away.

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



L.A. lawmakers, on a run

of tricks--"Politics 101"--

are playing a game:

change South Central's name

(real changes are something they shun). 



I'm writing this poolside at the Mirage in Las Vegas. Which, actually, would seem to make an excellent place for a Slappin' and Yappin' home office.

Now, you'd like to think that Sin City would be immune from the typical S&Y ranting about political correctness, the Disneyfication of America, etc.

But I've noticed an alarming number of "family" vacations taking place.

With everything, from our hockey stadiums right down to our bars and taverns, being groomed into watch-your-mouth, check-your-behavior, intoxicant/smoke-free, kid friendliness these days, I'm frightened over the implications of this.

Folks, every square inch of this fuckin' country is NOT meant to be family friendly. Makes you kinda wish that Vegas would enact groundbreaking legislation banning children from its borders...

I know that Vegas is pushing a campaign to get more families vacationing here, but figure as long as they're going to do that, they should just go ahead and let minors gamble.

They already do--but "protecting" minors takes on a strange connotation here. For instance, kids can spend all the money they want at places like Circus Circus--playing carnivalesque games for a chance to win stuffed animals.

So, in other words, its kid friendly to take children's gambling money--but not to give them actual money if they do happen to win...

This all reminds me of a childhood geekitude story.

My parents took me and my sister to Reno, Nevada once. For the most part, we were left back in the cabin when they went to gamble. But one day, they took us to Circus Circus.

I was in junior high at the time, and it was a high priority of mine to meet some chick to somehow hang out with while I was on vacation. This could lead, hopefully, to some boobie grabbing or something, at the very least and--I'll sheepishly admit--perhaps a pen pal relationship.

Well, I engaged some girl in conversation and tried hanging out with her. Too nice to tell me to get lost, she followed me around a bit as I made stupid, boring small talk. I went to play a game, to win her a stuffed animal or something, and asked her to hold my winnings, which included this Uncle Sam the Bald Eagle statuette, while I did.

When I returned from the game, she was gone. And so were my trinkets.

Life has a way of providing you with little metaphorical lessons to guide you on your way. Nonetheless, it wasn't the last time I was cruelly de-trinketed by a dame.



This is the first DL I've written

On my new laptop--I'm not shittin'!

The Web now seems new

with update o'erdue--

as if "Porn Again," I'm re-smitten! 



I'm starting to get the feeling that I'm somehow a rare creature who's outside the gambling demographic.

As I understand it, casino odds and such, at least for poker machines and slots, are figured in a manner that teases gamblers to suck them in. You win a little bit early on, then break even for a while, so you get the mistaken impression that "this may be my lucky day," and this is followed up by a period in which you lose everything and then you dump more money because you're convinced that things are going your way overall.

Well, I've never got any of that. I lose it all quick and hard. No eentsy weentsy tease period of slight winnings, no periods of breaking even--nothing. Of course, you could argue that the Master Plan is working anyway since, although I often say I'll never blow money on a poker machine again, I always do. However, I'm not a huge gambler, and you could argue that my case is a fluke because I haven't done it much... But that doesn't even hold up to reason. My wife gambles just as often as I do and every time it's the same: I run out of money and end up hanging around watching my wife continue playing--and we each have the same amount of gambling money allotment! What's more, I usually end up sneaking a little more money into the machines, as I feel like an idiot standing around watching her play, and I can't believe how truly unlucky I seem to be--and on top of that, she always plays the slots while I play video poker, which takes much longer to lose a round!

And my Charlie Brown of Gambling curse doesn't end there. I have never been asked once while gambling whether I want one of these "free drinks" that everybody raves about!

Well, I'm giving it another whirl tonight, which will be the last time for a while. I just have this feeling that, if I do hit a jackpot, the machine will spit out rocks instead of coins...

Being in Vegas reminds me of the "No Non-Smoking" policy I enacted in my automobile many years ago.

See, I'm generally a considerate smoker. If I'm walking down the street with a stogie, for example, and people pass, I refrain from blowing smoke out so as not to bother anybody. I'll keep abreast of who's around me in bars and other places, too. But here in Vegas, I've shown utter disregard--a form of Smoker's Revenge. I'm just waiting to hear a complaint and yell a comeback I've been dreaming of using for a while: "Why don't you get yourself a plastic bubble?"

As an earlier form of Smoker's Revenge, in my early twenties, I instituted the above-named policy in my car. It basically meant that anybody, smoker or non-, was required to smoke the entire time they were a passenger in my car. Of course, there wasn't much Revenge involved, because the only people who ever rode with me were friends who were smokers themselves, but the idea still makes me smile.

In fact, if you ever hear that Michael Bloomberg has been kidnapped and forced to chain smoke the worst tobacco products imaginable--namely Pall Malls and White Owls--you'll know who the chief suspect should be.



An accounting temp--quite fine pooter--

while working for Mr. Zapruter

took many butt slaps

and'd sit in his lap

as his living laptop computer.



The state legislature of Montana recently joined the majority of states in lowering its minimum DUI blood alcohol level to .08. However, the state still refuses to make the transport of open liquor illegal.

This would appear to kick off an open season for Montana jokes--until you examine the state's reasons.

Open liquor doesn't necessarily have a damn thing to do with DUI. For one, open liquor laws make it illegal for you to hit a nice restaurant and bring home the unfinished portion of the nice bottle of wine you had with dinner--which hardly threatens the public safety. Also, drinking alcohol does not necessarily make you legally intoxicated--thus, there's actually nothing necessarily wrong with drinking behind the wheel.

The open liquor laws are but one type in a number of annoying "indirect laws." Another example would be those making 21 the legal age of alcohol consumption--these don't target drinking by 19 and 20 year-olds as much as they seek to keep the 18-year-old high school senior from buying booze for underage friends, in effect punishing a whole category of young people to ensure that a hard-to-enforce law isn't broken quite as much by those fragile youngsters.

I'm glad that we have a Montana to question curtailments of freedom--no matter how slight they seem. As we all should know by now, but of course are predominantly too moronic to consider, is that ANY curtailment of personal liberties should be treated as the utmost evil until the would-be curtailers prove beyond a reasonable doubt that these curtailings will accomplish a far-greater good.

Of course, all this just shows that I'm hopelessly old-fashioned. Only a radical dinosaur considers personal liberties to require constant vigilance.


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!) (And what the hell is the "Limerick Community" anyway?) 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"!

In late 2000, I added the "Slappin' and Yappin'" section of commentary to the endeavor. I've been a humor writer since...well, almost since birth, I had award-winning humor column in high school and college, I write for and interned at MAD Magazine, I've occasionally sold a column or op-ed here or there, but I've had no legitimate home for the things--hence, "Slappin' and Yappin'." Soon, the "Letters to the Idiot" section followed and, in 2002, we decided to beef-up the Sunday edition, just like the Big Boys, by adding outside contributor Mike Chmielecki's poetry with "Mike's Accursed Verse."

We'll probably keep on mutating from here!

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


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


(c)1999-2003 John "Sloop" Biederman. All Rights Reserved.


Send your own Letter to the Idiot and/or e-mail Sloop! (And attach sexy pics, if you insist. Sigh.)


Web Site Sections:

Daily Limerick/ Daily Limerick Archives/ For Advertisers/ Sloop Central (& Stand-Up Poem of the Month)/ Biederman’s Books/ Sloop Services/ Links


Spread the Daily Limerick word! The oral way works best!

P.S.—We’re seeking advertisers—and we’ll take porn and tobacco ads!

(c)1999-2013 John "Sloop" Biederman. All Rights Reserved.