Daily Limerick
Archives: August 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 fifth 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!

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New York's launched a high school, all gay

a spot for those different to play.

Exilin' those smokin'

Old School fires they're stokin'--

they feel segregation's the way!



Daily Limerick is returning to the practice of Limericks Made to Order!

It all began with me writing a limerick each day and sending out the limerick written that day ON that day.

Then I realized that, occasionally, I would be out of town and away from the ol' desktop and would occasionally have to send a few limericks at once. So I got into the routine of being a week ahead with limericks.

Then, as I got into writing "News Limericks," I'd occasionally happen upon a limerick that I'd have to "switch"--for instance, I'd write a limerick for, say, next Friday, but would realize that it's a bit timely, so I'd switch what was originally the day's limerick with the one I wrote that for the next Friday.

Confused? So what?

Compound this with the fact that I recently got a new computer and thus became "mobile" and it was natural to return to fryin' 'em up, fresh to order!

Recently, however, I stumbled across a possible problem. When I went camping, I had to send limericks ahead of time anyway. I've recently enlisted the aid of Mr. Accursed Verse to become temp editor for such situation in the future, with a secondary "office," and that will entail occasionally writing ahead, I suppose. And I'd like to do a Slappin' and Yappin' for each day away, too, instead of one "big" one, but we'll figure that out; I'll jump off that bridge when I come to it.

Enjoy! And realize they're now especially hot--don't drop these limericks into your lap!...

The University of Florida released a guidebook to the university recently, as universities are known to do. The mascot of the school is the gator and the guidebook featured a photo of a crocodile, although it took a while for anybody to notice this flub.

The PR department contracted out the job of finding a gator photo and this is what happened.

This is no major fuck-up, of course. But it's the little things that frighten me.

The university followed the typical corporate system in putting together this guidebook. You'd think that any higher ups in the organization would have basic knowledge of alligators, with it being the school's mascot and all, but the system demands that such work be farmed out and it's considered below any higher-ups to actually take a peek at PR materials in any event.

Our government (speaking of rigid but often ineffectual systems) is farming out much of the duty of protecting us from terrorism to corporations, you'll recall.

"I thought we were seeking a guy from JORDON," says the PR guy. "It looks a lot like Yemen"...

How do you show off an actress' acting chops?

There's a new show planned for the fall called "Hope and Faith." It's to star Kelly Ripa and Faith Ford and threatens to overtake "Sex and the City" as the show with the most annoying characters known to humanity. (But, on the plus side, promises to spur some killer fantasy sequences inside the heads of men world-wide.)

Faith Ford, however, plays the character named Hope.

The show just may have been written before they knew who the stars were--but given Ripa mania, at least among stay-home moms, it's more likely that the show was written after a bunch of execs said, "We've gotta capitalize on this Ripa thing!" Given that Hollywood has no artistic integrity, it's curious that the names Faith and Hope weren't viewed interchangeably. In any event, you'd think it'd make things a bit easier if they just let Faith play a character who already has her name--and, at the same time, avoid putting Kelly in the position of getting used to being called the actual name of the actress she's co-starring with.

So here's the line of Hollywood thinking that I imagine led to the situation:

"Hmm. Now the world is in love with Kelly Ripa, but there are bound to be those cynics--you know, people who actually think, those damn bastards always interfering with our plans for world entertainment domination... Anyway, so what we need to do is show that Ripa is a legitimate comic actress."

"Hey! I got it! Let's have FAITH play the HOPE character!"

"Why, that's preposterous!"

"No, hear me out! This will drive home the point that Faith is a brilliant actress--I mean, c'mon, she's playing a character that has a DIFFERENT NAME--and can act around the confusion of having the other character named Faith! And, if people are thinkin' that Kelly can't act, this will prove that she can handle the awkwardness of playing a character OF THE SAME NAME AS THE ACTRESS SHE'S CO-STARRING WITH!"




By the way, since this is our fifth year of "service," cruising toward that big five-year anniversary, here's a DL historic nugget for you:

I introduced Letters to the Idiot on Nov. 25, 2000. But there were no letters.

On Jan. 22, 2001, I published the first Letter to the Idiot from... surprise surprise... one Mike "Boom" "Accursed Verse" Chmielecki.

Great icebreaker!



The ad folks a-workin' for Fanta

have managed to firmly implant a

filth-filled fantasy

in the head of me--

a rare July visit from Santa!



Just a question for today: Have people forgot what an answering machine is?

Really. It used to be just our elders who had trouble with the concept. "I called, but you weren't home!"; "Well, mom, perhaps I was home but screening calls."

Now, thanks to the cell phone age, there is a younger crop of suckers who are ripe for the day when telemarketers fully attack cell phones (the "Do Not Call" list, by the way, will fail--trust me) and actually ANSWER THE PHONE. Technology moves forward, our quality of life takes a step back to the day before answering machines.

Younger people now say, "I called, but you weren't home... Got your answering machine."

The more things change, the more they get fucked up.



In reference to my leaving you with, um, "historical" facts on Slappin' and Yappin' to use as icebreakers, one of you nutballs writes in with:

>> Great icebreaker!


> The frigate has sunk.

Hillary Clinton has sunk? Huh?

Oh. Frigate. Not frigid.

Huh? What?



If falling asleep is a chore

and you'd pay good bucks for some snores

relief is not far

set your VCR

to record some "Big Brother 4."



Headline in today's paper:

"Bush: Recovery Would Look Better if Recession Had Been Worse."

Logic is SO last millennium...

And here's a partial headline, actually a partial deck, about Chicago White Sox player Bartolo Colon:

"Colon Cruises..." Hmm.

Perhaps my jalopeno/honey chicken recipe is making its rounds...

The Pope, seeing that the world has few problems worthy of "divine-aided" attention, is launching a crusade against gay marriage.

If anybody out there is working on inventing a time machine, let's take the Vatican (along with the Taliban and many, many others) and send them back to the 16th Century, where they would fit in a little better...

A New Jersey boy foiled an attempted abduction through the use of a camera phone.

It's the little tech-plusses like these that ensure new technology will only continue to destroy our quality of life in other ways.

And I think it's unbearable to have cell phone conversations blaring all around me on the train?

Guess I ain't seen nothin' yet...

Pursuant to yesterday's limerick ("pursuant," he he, big word):

Hail the Fanta ad team!

(If you're a Sunday-only subscriber, just think of all you're missin'!)

That "Wanna Fanta" campaign?

I don't often send a "shot out" (white people should not attempt to be hip, by the way) to marketing folks, but this campaign has certainly increased my quality of life, if only briefly and sporadically...

At "-ist" to a word and you have a very bad thing. "Racist," "Sexist," etc.

Well, that means that my wife's a Jennifer Love Hewitt-ist.

Poor Jenny. Perhaps she'd like me to hold her in my arms as she weeps, patting her back, eventually "accidentally" patting the straps of her dress down her shoulders, then picking her up, carrying her to the boudoir ("boudoir," he he) and... Ahem...

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

Mitchell Rash.

He's allergic to ointment.

And Dr. Irma J. Bland.

An ex-lover of hers informs me that she tastes like boneless, skinless chicken...

And now for Sunday Story Time: Changing phone service to a new location.

My recent experience (and it mirrors past experience) was with SBC, the current Evil Phone Overlord for the Chicago area (and far, far beyond). And I'm sure you have either SBC or your own Evil Phone Overlord.

I call SBC. They tell me the process will take 15 minutes or more. And then it become apparent that the 15 minutes are so that the company can try to sell you every fucking service that they offer.

It doesn't matter if you say, right off the bat, "Listen--I'm switching phone service right now, just transferring the whole package we already have to the new location."

Don't matter. They shill everything on you. And it's a hard-sell, too.

I did get to fire off the line, when the guy was shocked that didn't have a cell phone service to switch to SBC, and he said, "Wouldn't you like to be in reach when you're out": "I'm actually thankful when I'm out that nobody can reach me."

But it still took much longer than 15 minutes.






TODAY'S POEM: "No one alive will see this again"

Due to unique orbits,

Mars will closely pass our Earth --

the first time in 5,000 years.

I cannot contain it.

What does that number define?

How many millennia border?

Before Socrates took hemlock?

Before Pompeii, black and burning?

Surely not the pyramids.

I will not find out.

It is good to wonder, wander

within catacombs.

No one worries now

on the dry cold mornings

in line for a crust of bread.

No one stops to feel

the taste of divine sleep

within ancient cups.

It's all sedated knowledge,

full on text and diagrams

without insight's promise.

That will keep me cruel in August

as I train my telescope

upon brightened orbs.

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



The warnings on stuff with olestra

came from prelim FDA test-as.

Now, the Fed does say,

"No warning--okay!"--

free reign for your colon to best ya'.



The latest Osama bin Laden direct-to-video production has Attorney General John Ashcroft dubbing it an "indicator they still hate the U.S."

It's analyses like these that earn one a position of major power...

Speaking of the Bush Cabinet, Donald Rumsfield now has a gay advisor. Make that an advisor who happens to be gay.

He's officially a "special advisor" to secretary Rumsfield.

Given the circumstances of this double entendre magnet, they may want to consider changing that title...

Now, I know what this is really about, and perhaps you do, too, but I couldn't help but chuckle when I read an Internet headline today:

"Amina Lawal to be stoned 27 August."

Well, geez. That's all fine with me, but I wouldn't announce it. And if I did, I don't think anyone would cover it.

You can tell she doesn't live under the attorney generalship of John Ashcroft...

Kobe Bryant has won the Teen Choice award for Favorite Male Athlete.

Now and then, I like to throw you folks a little prime fodder to craft your own jokes with...

Chicago cops are now studying under the tutelage of the NYPD to figure out why New York's crime rate is so much lower.

I'm not necessarily sure that the NYPD is responsible. Have you been to NY lately? Tried living there on a meager wage? There isn't exactly a plague of yuppie on yuppie crime, you know...

As part of the national effort to finagle fat, lazy Americans into not being so fat and lazy--and there's undoubtedly a whole lot more of this to come--scientists have created a hamburger that is mixed with blueberry.

Now and then, I like to throw myself fodder that's ridiculous in such a way as to provide no avenue for extra witty commentary...

I read today that at the "Dead" concert in town recently (what they're calling the remains of the Grateful Dead), vendors were not allowed to provide straws.

Not sure if this was exclusively for the dead, or a general venue policy. Would've looked into it more, but I didn't want to be nosey.

And, of course, I happen to live under the attorney generalship of John Ashcroft...

The FDA is going to let the makers of products containing olestra to stop printing a warning about the substance. The warning? Basically, it makes you poop. A whole, whole lot.

Olestra is a... Well, synthetic goop meant to take the place of cooking oil. It's used in naturally fatty foods, like potato chips, to eliminate fat.

Allegedly, studies have found that olestra doesn't make you poop so much after all.

A friend of mine bought chips with olestra in them, when they first debuted. He wasn't a dieting kinda guy. I think he did it on a whim, to see how they tasted.

He pooped. And pooped. And pooped some more.

And then... He pooped a few more times.

Don't expect the FDA to be of much help in this battle against fat and lazy Americans...

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

Sue Fastwolf.

Porn star waiting to happen.

Margaret M. Kaspar.

Ghostwriter? Or just a pale imitation?

And the Kansas City Royals' Jimmy Gobble.

Perhaps he'll try a blueberry burger.



The FBI and CIA

are TV show heroes today.

Yet not one portray'l

of bumblers who failed

to save our ass, Nine-One One Day.



Happy National Mustard Day to one and all!...

I've recently learned that the Emmy's have a category called, "Best Reality Show."

Do they believe that these shows will be around for a while?

They can't, they simply CAN'T! This can't be, oh please, PLEASE... Just how do I find the words to express the eldritch horror I feel?

(Now and then, just for evil kicks, I like to throw something out to remind you all that, sci-fi and grand ambitions aside, there is no hope for humanity's long-term future)...

This new "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" show, which seems to be intent on taking over the world ("moohahahaha!"), and is doing a good job of it so far, although I haven't seen it because I don't like makeover shows and this one is even worse, lacking the off-chance of obtaining second-hand entertainment by catching a scantily clad hot-chick amid makeover festivities... Well, the guys on this show are now naming names of famous guys who "need" their services.

One such guy? Colin Farrell.

Now, guys, you're missing the point of male heterosexuality here. The only reason to pay a modicum of attention to fashion trends is to get laid.

Mr. Farrell is not having problems in that department, in case you haven't noticed...

Speaking of things queer, I was reading about a new Chicago play today, which relates stories from the lives of the gay youths who are its writers and performers.

I didn't intend this homo-erotic double entendre thing to become a recent theme, but here goes:

The critic reviewing the work called the production "beautifully mounted."

There are many journalists who could benefit from their minds been a tad bit dirtier...

There is a "Petco" park.

I don't even know all the details. I heard the name today. And I am frightened. Although I probably shouldn't be; I should be used to this terror by now.

Things associated with sports teams generally run on a "tough" theme.

Nothin' scarier than a box of hamster pellets.



As role model, Kobe don't gel

(though from the "Teen Choice," who could tell?).

What he should have done

is played one-on-one

ball-handling back in his hotel.



The Latin Grammies.

Their mere existence testifies to greater strides for Latinos overall. Right?

This is one of those signs of progress that... points both ways, shall we say?

It's kinda like that there are more minorities in sitcoms.

Minorities have come so far... As to earn participation at dramatic arts' historic low point. They are major players in the great dumbing down.

Compassionate Devolution...

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

(Although in this case, I'd argue that there is a very real good reason. But that's often the case.)

Lily White.

I did you not.

Of course she enjoys her weekly visits to Chili's.



A man admired a chick's bust-sizing

and picked her up, quite enterprising.

Got her nude, yelled, "Ahh!"

(wore a "water bra")--

'twas done in by false advertising.



Cook County (Chicago) judge Leo Holt let William Ligue off yesterday with probation.

You remember Ligue? He's one of the shit-for-brainses (or is it "shits-for-brains"?) who got all liquored up and ran onto the field at a White Sox game to beat on Kansas City Royals?

The judge, high on political correctness, put much of the blame on baseball itself for Ligue's behavior--blaming those violent, less-than-role-model-quality ballplayers.

I've been to a few ballgames. Glad to learn that I must have some powerful self-control, seein' as I kept those violent ballplayers from causing me to beat on the opposing team...

Jack Whittaker would like to remind the media that he is "a private citizen."

Whittaker began as a private citizen, albeit quite wealthy. Then he won the lottery, which briefly makes you a public citizen.

The he donated his winnings to all these religious causes and such and established his own giving foundation, making himself a public citizen again. But it wasn't extremely exciting, so in quick time he went back to private citizen, until he had a lot of money stolen from his truck outside a strip club.

Oddly enough, he wasn't pointing out his "private citizen" status so boldly when the media was focusing on his charitable giving...

Richard Roeper, "At the Movies" co-host and Chicago Sun-Times columnist, had an interesting column on Chicago and celebrities yesterday.

He astutely observed that Chicago is (relatively) kind to celebrities. See, New Yorkers just poo-poo them, L.A. is so used to them that folks hardly notice 'em, and that leaves us. Not stalking them, but not perpetually waiting for a chance to rip them, either.

Roeper lamented a few recent events that strain this "perfect balance," including Fred Durst going off on a booing crowd and Ben Affleck whining that his little toesies froze while filming here.

I just wanted to chime in my one and a half cents: Rip 'em everywhere. If they can't stand the heat, there's a million more with just as much talent, starving and more than willing to throw on the chef's hat and hit the kitchen...

Seattle is debating the enactment of an espresso tax.

Once again: There's no outcry when the money flushing politicians tax an unpopular vice. But having opened that door, don't be surprised at the future taxes on smiling and sex...

I read about a Gallup poll finding that 51% of the population "thinks" secondhand smoke is dangerous.

Usually, concerning statistically provable/disprovable facts, opinion doesn't play a part. Gallup isn't polling folks on whether or not the stock market is down, for instance.

But, of course, when the facts do not back up the predominant P.C. thinking, SOMETHING is needed to enact laws and influence public policy.

Basing decisions on valid scientific research is SOOO last century, dudesicles...

Speaking of anti-smoking zealotry (I know, a real rarity for S&Y--but nobody else appears to have the guts to question it), let me stress again that I am a considerate smoker.

The other day, for my lunch half-hour at a contract gig, I went to a downtown park to have a cigar and read the newspaper, it being a nice, sunny day and all.

I carefully scoped the area, checked on the wind direction, and picked a spot to sit where I was sure my smoke wouldn't bother anybody. (I do stuff like this, to be honest, partially to avoid fueling the backlash myself--although I am pretty much a considerate guy overall.)

Soon, some guy wanders over with a sandwich and sits near me. Right in the line of cigar smoke fire.

It's not that the park was that crowded. He chose to sit by a guy who, I thought, was quite visibly smoking a cigar. And he proceeded to wave his arms about at the smoke (even though nothing more than faint wisps reached him) and make a big fuss.

Normally, I would've got up and moved yet AGAIN, but something about this particular asswipe and the day's events caused me to stand my ground.

He eventually got up and finished his sandwich in another part of the wide-open park.

I should've moved with him...

And now for Laughing at Strangers (or Strange Restaurants) for No Real Good Reason:

Hung Phat.

Some are hung long, but you take your blessings where you can get 'em.



A mud wrestling lover named Judd

jumped in 'mid two pros out for blood.

One, trained well in porn,

the wrestlin' match scorned--

she went for the "stick" in the mud!



I saw an ad for a job event in the newspaper today, boldly proclaiming: Interview Live!

Cool. I'm gettin' sick of those damn taped interviews...

Laughing at Strangers for No Real Good Reason:

Liberia's vice president:

Moses Blah.

Perfect name for the type of guy who hits the top of the political ladder, don't you think?



New terrorist plots might be born

as you read--but don't be forlorn.

John Ashcroft is on it;

a bee's in his bonnet

so he's gonna crack down on... porn?



For today's Cheezy Saturday Edition, just an installment of...

Laughing at Strangers for No Real Good Reason:

Ralph Eugene Meatyard.

I think I stumbled across a Meatyard during the Gay Pride Parade this year.



A man hired an "escort--high class"

who ended up giving him sass.

So when that guy pounced

turned her, unannounced

and threw it in her sassy ass.



So Arnold Schwarzenegger is now not only in the race for the screwy-as-all-hell California governor recall/race, but he is the front-runner.

Well, at least he's not a "reality" star. (Come to think of it, "star" should've been in quotes, too.)

The plus side of all this?

He appears to be the first major candidate to not only admit to trying marijuana, but to admit to inhaling.

I personally think that any candidate who admits to smoking but not inhaling should be discounted simply for the bone-headed act of (allegedly) smoking it but not allowing one's self to enjoy it...

Holy crap! Schwarzenegger is actually in my Word spellchecker!...

Networks are planning 1-minute "movies" for the fall TV season in an effort to keep viewers from changing channels.

They'll show the first 30-second half, and then the second half during another show.

Very creative. And it helps bypass really rash measures at improving ratings, like crafting quality programming...

There's a general assumption among alleged (and wannabe) bohemians that Western religion is bad, but Eastern religion is delightful.

Hindus in India attacked Coca-Cola offices and machines last week due to word-of-mouth that Coke bottles contain pesticide residue.

One again, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers, S&Y has a fierce commitment to diversity. All religions are equally lame-brained...

Stories that have mysteriously dropped out of the news:

The second hand smoke "finding" that, once Montana instituted a Taliban/New York-esque anti-smoking policy, heart attacks decreased in frequency.

Any news about "studies" "proving" the "negative effects" of secondhand smoke in general (despite the fact that prohibition fever is sweeping the tight-ass sectors of our nation).

Global warming.


I happen to smoke Phillies cigars.

And I'm sick of vendors lookin' at me like I'm some pot fiend when I buy them.

There are rolling papers, kids...

And now it's time for a new Sunday feature that may or may not continue regularly, semi-regularly, or on a constipated basis:

Willie Nelson's "Tougher than Leather."

One of the few "concept" albums that is actually coherent and entertaining--by itself and on the more-difficult-to-pull-off "concept" basis...

Sunday Story Time: Shooters.

My home town is Ringwood, Illinois.

A strange little town. It's rural, but still sorta part of the Chicagoland area, being of semi-suburb status and now getting all the Appleby's and crap.

(Well, Ringwood itself doesn't qualify for the "semi-suburban" tag, but the nearby town is only a 10 minute drive.)

It has a church, kindergarten and two bars.

One bar is named... I'm not sure. The name seems to change a lot. It was recently "Shooters."

I was thinking about it last night and thought up the perfect way to describe the bar (despite the name, it's always pretty much the same, "ambience"-wise):

A bar where Lynyrd Skynyrd groupies go to die...

PS: My spellchecker does not recognize "Lynyrd Skynyrd."






TODAY'S POEM: She Burns Like a Bridge

She floats at inhale.

She breaks at exhale.

She burns of wet timber.

She flickers. She glows.

She wisps of a fire.

She cradles sharp petals.

She swoons in a flame.

She flares to a star.

She births one another.

She watches the water.

She tumbles the surface.

She scars in her smoke.

She trembles the edges.

She floats of white ashes.

She falls softly silts.

She lessens to drops.

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



Will Wonka invented some whoppers--

some life-changing candies--show stoppers!

But his best invention

('round kids, rarely mentioned)

was the everlasting gag-stopper!



US Attorney Mark Quinlivan is comparing California's civil disobedience in ignoring the Fed opinion on marijuana to the Southern States' cd in ignoring civil rights legislation.

Perfect analogy. The Southern States rebelled in order to keep an entire race of people down, contrary to the Constitution, while California rebels to let suffering medical patients obtain a little relief at the cost of... well, er, a bunch of medical patients buying extra Combos and jammin' tunes.

Makes... sense. Huh?...

Speaking of California (and you did note that I gave the state a little praise for a change, didn't ya'?), I know how Gary Coleman can "win" any upcoming debates for the gubernatorial Mess From Hell:

Use the phase, "What choo' talkin' 'bout?" liberally...

Speaking of those bearing questionable celebrity status, Cris Judd was in Chicago for a lame event and he expressed relief that he's not tabloid fodder any more.

Attending celebrity events and speaking to the press are two things you do, evidently, when you want out of the public eye...

Judd actually said that the bad press of "Gigli" has helped keep the media eye off of him, and he said that was a "good side" of the hubbub. (Because we just couldn't get enough of him and relentlessly followed his every move until "Gigli" came in took our attention off Judd, the most important of all American celebrities! Evidently.)

(By the way, I pronounce Gigle, "jiggly," because I get some sick satisfaction in knowing that pronunciation is wrong but using it anyway.)

The "good side" of Gigli for me? It shows that PR has its limits.

Whew! I was starting to think Ben & J-Lo would be appointed King and Queen at some point...

Jerry Falwell turned 70 today.

Time to start praying for his retirement...

And another sign that Americans are just ready to give up:

A Best Buy flyer in my Sunday newspaper featured a chubby kid model...

All the fast food places are rushing to install wi-fi access in their restaurants.


Something to do while waiting for food?

Are they just giving up on the "fast" thing now?...

Why does windows have a "recycle" bin?

I'm an Apple guy, and Macs have a "trash" can.

Can you somehow "recycle" tossed documents? Huh? What?

The only reasons I can come up with are 1) to be different than Mac; and 2) to be politically correct.

All things considered, they should rename it "the barf bag"...

Now, I happen to know some people who have found love, and things that only sorta qualify as "love," on the Internet. So every rule has exceptions.

Though you should know that S&Y has a marked suspicion of these activities.

But I have noticed something even more pathetic:

Internet friend-finding.

Yup. People are doing it.

That should make you feel better about yourself...

You should also be well aware of S&Y's "Sissy Laws." That is, S&Y has taken it upon itself to become a judge of manliness in our increasingly wimpy society, and I encourage everyone to enact their own personal rules.

Also, let me state once again that I am sensitive in some ways--my rules are not meant for gay men. In other words, if you're keepin' up on all the latest fashions (for purposes other than simply enough to get laid), you're a big, fat sissy--until you come out of the closet and I lose my jurisdiction.

Some may complain: Well, how do you KNOW whether or not a stranger is gay before you go callin' him a sissy in your screwed-up little head?

Well, I don't always. And when I do... So what. I'm not pressing for actual laws, nutball.

Here's an example of how this works:

It being summer, I see gay guys paradin' all around my neighborhood shirtless and in skimpy shorts. I just avert my eyes and ignore 'em. Doesn't bother me.

Saw a neighbor the other day. He's married and with child and thus, obviously, either straight or in an iron closet. But he was jogging in skimpy shorts and no shirt. It wasn't even that hot out--mid-80s.

I wanted to take him aside and remind him of The Rules. I was deeply offended.

Flamin' girly man, my friends...

Saw a letter in USA Weekend--you know, one of the flimsiest excuses for print journalism on the planet--in which the writer inquired as to the sexual orientation of some actor, proclaiming, "If he's gay, I'll cry."

Because, as we all know, a woman who somehow makes time to write (not to mention read) USA Weekend's pro celebrity ass kisser about an actor's sexual orientation has a prime shot at dating a famous male actor...

Laughing at Strangers for No Real Good Reason:

Philip T. Reeker.

Awww, Philip!


Jeremy Shockey.

It's interesting that Shockey, who is a pro football player, recently called Dallas coach Bill Parcells a "homo" in an interview.




In "proverbial car back seat"

when 'bout to receive oral treats.

I offer my schlong

with word spelled quite wrong

in speech balloon: BONE appetit!



I don't think my above use of "proverbial" is correct. But I like flinging the term about--and are not things like the "back seat of a car" the equivalent of modern day proverbs? In any event, who cares because...

Today is the historic 4th Anniversary of my winning the 1999 National Limerick Slam. The prelude to which birthed this mess you're now reading.

That slam returned to Chicago this year, limerick-slam less.

Some heads are gonna roll. (If I get a sudden burst of testosterone and guts, which is unlikely to happen.) But some eyes didn't...

Al-Qaida has copped to the Jakarta hotel bombing.

Just now.

Again: Can you be THAT afraid of a group whose very PR department is even stuck in the 16th Century?...

Kelly Rowland is a guest tonight on Leno. Simon Cowell is a guest tonight on Letterman. Now, isn't that show on Fox?

That's neither here nor there. But this question is what's here AND there:

Is this to remind us that they're STILL celebrities?...

New American Bar Association rules make it easier for lawyers to tattle on corporate clients who might be involved in Enron-esque activities, which is a real shake-up for an industry that prides itself on attorney/client privilege.

And we're given yet one more reason to distrust lawyers...

Speaking of the destruction of all fun that stems from lawyers, some schools are now issuing "fitness report cards."

Let's hope our education system is just as competent in this new endeavor as it is in teaching our children!...

Numbers can, and do, lie:

The Hopeless Cubs' pitcher Kerry Wood just became the "fastest to reach 1,000 strikeouts."

And, again, no mention of the fact that the number of games played per season today made a huge difference in obtaining the title...

In recent years, toothpaste has been reinvented.

There's been "tartar control" and "whitening" and "extra whitening" and "breath freshening" and on and on and on.

I opened a new tube of toothpaste yesterday to find that the latest new-fangled thing is "cavity protection."

Wow! And have you seen the hip new liquid laundry detergents? No more scrapin' flakes off a big ol' bar!...

Read a description of jazz musicians yesterday describing them as "organ improvisers."

I'll let your imaginations provide the punchlines...

Tweety Bird in a promo: "I tawt I taw a putty! I did! I did tee a putty!"...

Laughing at Strangers for No Real Good Reason:

Evelyn Fink.

Don't trust her with any secret.


Joshua Tickell.

I tried fooling around with a half-sister of his. But she was too darn Tickell-ish.



A gay man found himself in jail

but his first sex partner did fail

to work That Cock Magic,

which didn't seem tragic

(he'd learned "cooler head will prevail").



Chicago Public Schools CEO Arne Duncan is enacting a new plan to attack rampant student truancy: Free sports tickets, and other prizes, for good attendance.

Coming soon to a city near you: Tax breaks for folks who don't break the law...

An organization called One Day's Pay is clamoring to make Sept. 11 a day of volunteering. Curiously, the group suggest naming this day, "One Day's Pay."

Good cause and all, from what I can tell, but... While we're at it, let's change "Pearl Harbor Day" to "The Great American Exercise Off"...

There's a reality show called "The Restaurant," in which viewers are treated to the excitement of someone starting a new restaurant.

Apparently, "Big Brother" wasn't dull enough. In keeping with today's "Next up!" theme, I guess next up will be, "The Accountants."

But anyway, I read about the restaurant in question (no free advertising here) receiving health dept. violations, which first appeared on thesmokinggun.

I would think that the health violations might lend some excitement to the snooze fest.

Silly me. That's why I'm not getting the big network producer bucks to beat a decomposing horse...

Paige Davis, of "Trading Spaces," was photographed wearing nothing but some strategic wallpaper for the latest cover of TV Guide.

The Learning Channel cried foul, and now most of the country gets a different cover. The original photo offended TLC's, er... their... I'd say sensibilities, but that would be misleading. It offends their rigid corporate code, or something.

I'd think that showing that hot little number half naked could only help bring in hetero male viewers.

But I'm not paid the big bucks, once again... 

I'll take this opportunity to state that I'd gladly engage in wife-swapping with Paige's husband (I know she's married because, being married myself and, thus, having a wife, I have ended up seeing the Bore Fest myself).

Now, let me explain my definition of wife-swapping: One-sided. If you've got a fetish for other men bangin' your woman (and, well, my wife would approve, which is the harder facet of this equation to accomplish), I'll gladly bang her. If she revs my engine, anyway.

Thought you'd like to know...

Earlier this year, a pig was disqualified from some county fair for positive drug test results.

Now, a steer named Mongo has been disqualified in festivities at the Illinois County Fair for drug use, as well.

PETA is strangely quiet on this one...

And now: Laughing at Strangers (and Strange Places) for No Real Good Reason:

Butts Farm.

It's in England--and a prominent proving ground for future gay porn stars.



Paige Davis makes dumps seem palatial

and, somehow, her sex appeal's glacial.

Why, I can't deduce

yet fantasies loose

a show with her called, "Trading Facials."



The Vatican has announced that it will be announcing its position on genetically altered crops (or perhaps it has already).

This is exactly what the debate has been missing: The 16th Century perspective...


How strange: It was just announced today that the guy attempting to sell shoulder-missile weapons for use in taking down airplanes happens to be an Arab.

But, thanks to political correctness, it is expected that airport security workers will continue to remove the shoes of old ladies while politely passing on the Muslims for fear of civil liberty trouble.

I wear a buzz cut. And I'm white. If another Timothy McVeigh were to act, I'd put up with the extra hassle in airports because, well, some level of profiling is how you catch the mother fuckers.

But common sense is, of course, politically incorrect...

By the way, this wannabe terrorist-helper is looking at the possibility of 15 years in jail. His associate? Five.

We need to save that jail space for the long terms of those who really threaten society: People snortin' lines and listening to tunes in their basements...

The Chicago 'burb of Rolling Meadows is considering enacting "recall" statutes, ala California.

This marks a move toward greater government efficiency. Why just repeat the mistakes of distant history?...

By the way, I was happy to see the Chicago Sun-Times today refer to the place the White Sox play as "Sox Park" in a headline...

If you haven't heard the annoying radio spots for Trim Spa (SIC?)... Well, you lucky asshole.

Trim Spa is allegedly some supplement you take that helps you lose weight without exercising or altering your diet. Without side effects. Again, allegedly.

New commercials are touting the fact that Anna Nicole Smith is now taking Trim Spa.

Er... You guys may wanna wait and see if she... Well, really ends up not looking like Anna Nicole Smith anymore first.



That damn "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy"

proves for gays, "Guy Code" don't apply.

They spur all our women

to crave those gay trimmin's

hanging us straight guys out to dry.



The Chicago Cubs' Corky Sosa has now been nailed for driving without a license.

The long, slow crawl out of media darlinghood is well underway.

No word yet on whether he played the race card this time...

There was a letter to the editor in the Chicago Sun-Times yesterday maintaining that Sluggo--you know, the "boyfriend," of sorts, of the comic page's "Nancy"--has clinical depression.

At first, I thought this letter was meant to be humorous.

It wasn't.

This is what we need: Our daily comics pages becoming even more mass-market friendly...

Jewelers are now marketing "right hand rings" because, evidently, it isn't enough that we're scammed into a blatantly materialistic prerequisite to marriage for the left hand.

Well, if we can get people to buy into tax cuts during a toilet-swimming economy, I guess this has hope, too.

But still, there's strangely no outcry from authorities of how the diamond market finances terrorism...

Laughing at Strangers for No Real Good Reason:

Nancy Coffin.

She gives 'til it hearse.


And the MLB's Milton Bradley.

He got game. A whole lot of it.



A man with nude pics of Cam Diaz

(undoubtedly nice to self-plea-az)

did try to blackmail 'er--

and might meet the jailer

(should've tried sellin' them to... me-az!).



Laughing at Strangers for No Real Good Reason:

FBI Inspector General Glenn A. Fine.

Perhaps telling that he'd fit in with Fine, Howard, and Fine.

And the teenager in legal trouble over the media-circus "Powder Puff" football hazing in suburban Chicago:

Marnie Gaule.

She's got some... Marnie.

(By the way are you sick of that LASFNRGR pun pattern yet?)

And, finally:

(I feel a little bad about this one because... Well, I won't tell you why her name was in the newspaper. But, then again, I've picked a lot of these from obituary pages--not this one--not to mention that I still speak of all in present tense--so why get all sensitive now?)

Tiffany Eunick.

She just doesn't have the balls. (Would've worked better with a male first name, I know.)



A pizza place let its work slide--

Ms. Jones found a plain cheese inside!

But deliv'ry boy

did earn his employ--

threw her a sausage on the side.



Masses of people watch "reality" shows because they're supposed to be focused on... Reality, as opposed to "reality."

So what gives? "The Bachelor," "The Bachelorette," "Joe Millionaire"... Their point was that somebody would get married. Nobody has.

Please, stop watching them!

Now, the trainwreck, "Who Wants to Marry My Dad" has produced at least one couple who appears to have no intention of getting married (I've thankfully not seen the show, but this is what I've read). Also, when the reality led to one dad proposing in a less-than-TV-friendly manner, which included putting the ring on the wrong finger, it was re-shot to make for better "reality"--complete with the dad in question on bended knee (he just stood there in the reality version).

But if any of the dad's got a good slap and tickle out of the deal, all was not lost. Although I'm not Good Samaritan enough to watch for the charitable purpose alone...

Sometimes, you'll find me treading on recently (or not so recently) tread-upon material in the Sunday Edition because we have some readers who don't have the, er, privilege of reading DL on a daily basis (which is the recommended way to follow DL, if the "Daily" tag didn't clue you in).

I've recently been speculating on the economy and why it's bad--and I don't have a lot of hope for it recovering anytime soon. I've held this opinion for some time but will admit that much of my basis was "a hunch"--although I've little by little stumbled upon some solid reasons to back up my theory.

One thing I stumbled upon early was the fact that the US economy mostly functions on bullshit. Not food, water, housing, transportation, necessities--but crap like bottled water, teeth whitening products, overpriced coffee, cigarettes, etc. Even the "necessities" manage to metamorph into bullshit--transportation becomes ridiculously overpriced vehicles with ridiculously low mileage, marketed for "image" rather than practicality; homes bigger than the families within can actually afford, etc.

Bullshit buying is down--tax refund checks and such have went toward PAYING OFF credit card bills, when the economy needs people living far beyond their means.

Then I noticed how we are in a rather puritanical period of history--less questioning of authority, less drinking of alcohol, cracking down on other vices like smoking--and thought, "Hmm. When was the last time that happened..." and my answer was, "early last century--until after the Great Depression."

I understand that the markets today are more "insulated" and a depression of the same nature could no longer occur today. But the modern version of the Great D is coming.

So my refined theory is: What's good for us is bad for the economy. What's bad for us is good for the economy.

So do your part for America! Take up smoking, max-out a few credit cards, throw out that home coffeemaker and get Starbucks all the time!...

Corporations, as private entities, aren't subject to the same restrictions as government agencies. Which makes sense. A publishing company, for instance, can decide that a book is too "dirty" for its tastes, but the government can't say a published book is too dirty. (Well, they can under ridiculous obscenity laws, but you know what I mean.) A cop can't just stop you as you walk down the street and make you pee into a cup--but a corporation can make you do it for merely applying there. (And having a job and paying bills is, duh, essential, so it's a fuzzy argument that "it's a private company and you can refuse to do it if your principles are against it.)

There are many theorists who believe that a bit closer attention should be paid to corporations--and there is evidence supporting the idea that some Founding Fathers, namely Thomas Jefferson, intended "private" entities to be held to higher levels of restriction.

Never have discussions on this theme been more relevant as larger and larger corporations have greater and greater interest in government decisions, becoming a form of quasi-government agencies.

Lately, I've been noticing that we really don't have true "free speech." Oh, we can technically demonstrate radical opinions on the most divisive of issues any time, anywhere, according to our government. But I've never had a good friend who, in knowing them well, didn't eventually relate some opinion that we be considered "offensive." (Thus, I argue that DL really isn't any more "offensive" than the average guy--it just makes this "radical" opinions public.)

Can most people appear on the front page of the local newspaper, say, protesting for the legalization of pot, and still keep their jobs, feed their families, etc.?

So corporations aren't allowed to discriminate on your facade--race, sex, etc.--but are more than welcome to discriminate based on what makes you a distinct individual...

Words cannot describe how sick I am of the idea that any portrayal of women as sexy is somehow "objectifying" them. (This idea was basically argued into the ground in the late '70s/early '80s but, c'mon, society pay any attention to history?)

You know what? We all objectify everybody else--and women are no exception. So, ladies, the guy you get your coffee from every morning is more than a "retail object"? Do you care about his deepest fears? Urge him to go back to college? Is that guy you're dating never, ever a "success object"? I mean, you never, ever even spend half a second thinking about showing him off to friends?

I'll admit it: I see women as sex objects... sometimes. I respect my wife on many, many levels, but there are times (lucky times) when I still see her purely as a sex object (like the first time I talked to her--although she became multiple "objects" as we got to know each other better). And any woman who poses for photographs in a bathing suite (or, for that matter, is involved with porn)--you bet your ass I view them as sex objects! Am I supposed to care about whether Nina Hartley's in a productive relationship while I'm whacking off to her, er, work?

My boss is a woman, but she's no "sex object" to me. She is, however, a "boss object," actually. Okay, we've gotten to know each other better, and she is more than that, but she's still often a "pain-in-the-ass" object.

So take that--reader objects...

A hint of what DL may one day become, many years down the line, has come through my occasional accidental mistyping of the "subject" line for these, which has almost spelled out: Dialysis Limerick...

And I thought up a good parody version of a Lionel Richie song to use some day when there are TV commercials for Daily Limerick (don't hold your breath)--especially for the Sunday version (you know how the NY Times does those special Sunday NY Times commercials?):

"'Cause I'm sleazy... Sleazy like Sunday Morning..."






TODAY'S POEM: Drawing twilight in one breath

We sit on the blank face of the hill.

The same clouds skirting the same moon

preside over us.

Below, the city glows --

its light is no match

for the glowing end.

A cigarette nestled within your lips,

scribing shadows in the sky.

You draw the light out.

I watch you blow a halo,

imagined around the moon.

Soft twining twists, lighted silver.

Will they reflect in the streets,

across all the city's structures

rising to meet the sky?

This light.

Theirs to see.

Ours to keep.

I watch you watching me,

then reach across the space between us,

pull your cigarette free.

The only glow, now in tremble,

the passage that my hand defines

as the light travels from your lips

to mine.





Your subtle taste



From our hill,

we watch the city,

as twilight's glow fades from the sky

(the same stars come into focus).

We break into night --

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



A sheltered, spoiled priss-girl named Klapper

went fishing with 10 men un-dapper.

For those who were doubting

her luck on first outing:

She came home with one big red snapper.



Happy Birthday to my wife, Rhonda, who... If you've been following this literary train wreck at all, deserves some sort of award for, well, you know...

Right now, a group of network execs is brainstorming and occasionally breaking into maniacal laughter as it crafts the "perfect," "original" TV show.

It will be a "reality" show featuring bunch of gay guys, guiding various attention-starved, curiously pretty contestants through makeovers (both home and personal), courtships leading to marriage proposals, gross stunts for the Gen Y crowd--all wrapped up in a contest that eliminates one or more contestants per week--with a dollop of stolen premises from overseas shows and...



The Golden State's turned in direction

t'ward a bizarre recall election.

With porn stars a'running

old voters are gunnin'

to turn toward a recall erection.



It's official:

America--not Iran, not North Korea, not Cuba, not Communist China--has the highest percentage of its citizenry currently or formerly imprisoned.

Go USA!...

I saw this headline on a tabloid while checking out at the grocery store:

"Why Do Men Cheat on the Most Beautiful Women in the World."

Once again, a painstaking study, which obviously had to have analyzed every single woman in the world, has found that the most beautiful women in the world just so happen to be famous--right out in the public eye where the studiers can easily find them!...

In these times of a toilet-swimming economy, states are being forced to make the difficult decisions regarding which budget items to cut and/or pare down and which to leave alone (or perhaps beef up).

Rarely are these decisions easy. But here in Illinois, an entity receiving state money has just stood up and said, "Cut me, I'm useless!"

The Illinois Institute for Technology is launching a campaign to get students and faculty buying and riding Segways. What's more, they're planning ways to make the campus Segway-compatible.

Pass the scissors the governor's way...

How WOULD you make a campus more "Segway-compatible"? Start by lobotomizing students and faculty and giving them thousands in extra spending money?...

I read in the paper that Smashmouth played at one of Illinois' state fairs.

Smashmouth actually performs?

Who the hell would go to see that? All you need to do to hear Smashmouth is turn on the TV and wait for commercials...

Headline in today's Chicago Sun-Times:

"Killer Says He's Reformed--And Wants to be Lawyer."

This is what activists mean when they caution that prisons often make criminals into worse people instead of reforming them...

One of the bazillion credit card offers I received in the mail this week touted the new translucent Visa card.

Hmm. I spent years paying off the financial stupidity of the past. I regularly toss these offers immediately. But what's one's financial health when an sinister-interest-bearing card is so darn pretty...

Why do human beings refer to themselves, and other human beings, as being "male" or "female"?

I find instances of this all the time. Is the reasoning behind this the same as when a homosexual dubs somebody their "partner"? Do people not want others to know their species?

I was spurred into remembering this pet peeve by browsing over an advice column today. In which case being non-human would explain the lack of intelligence inherent in writing to an advice column...

Laughing at Stranger for No Real Good Reason:

Dave Bliss.

Knowing him is just... Dave.

(There's that annoying formula again!)


James D. Rocks!

It's too bad some label hasn't signed James D.


Brian Kibble-Smith.

Kibbles and Smith, Kibbles and Smith, I'm gonna get me some Kibbles and Smith.



There is a big nerd boy named Scooter

makes virtual beavers and hooters

to quench sex'u'l stirrings--

he's often referring

to his personal home com-pooter.



There's been a hubbub lately about how gay marriage can harm the "sacred" institution of marriage.

Yet, so far, no mention of "reality" TV's effect on the institution...

In tribute to the late Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. (sort of), I engage in a regular act of civil disobedience.

The Chicago Transit Authority (CTA) has a policy of no smoking on its property--even on the open-air, elevated train platforms and in the spacious subway tunnels (where you'd think a tobacco smell could only be an improvement over the potpourri of urine and God-knows-what that currently treats one's olfactory experience).

On work days, when I exit the train station in the open air, I light up what's left of my stogie stub from earlier in the morning for my six-block (or so) walk to the office.

It would actually be easier for me to just wait until I'm off the platform. But as some old cat said, "an unjust law is no law at all."

I encourage others to flout these and other ridiculous laws and regulations. I'd actually rally for this purpose, but what kind of rally could result from a crowd that can't even send regular letters?

I have a (dirty) dream...

Is it just me or... has anybody else found that smoking has become especially sexy in this Age of Taboos A'Plenty?

(Well, I know it isn't just me--there's actually a new genre of adult fetish video featuring smoking! I'm not quite ready for that but...)

I hope you realize, those of you of child-rearing age, or soon to be child-rearing, that the Rebel Factor our Puritanical Era has added to cigarettes is going to make our kids about twice as likely to smoke as kids are today...

Today, I bid farewell to my old computer. The Power Mac that was new in 1997.

I hadn't used it in some time, but was glad that I kept it around for a couple more months as I DID forget to transfer something from it and only remembered it about a month after I declared myself "done" with it.

Some people get choked up saying goodbye to an old car. And I suppose that I do, too.

But it's much more tear-jerking to say goodbye to an old computer. I never named the last one. But the new laptop (unfortunately, not super new anymore, as Apple's come out with G5 now) is "Beyonce Jennifer" or "BJ."

I really need coddling at a time like this. Does Destiny's Child recall my dinner invitation? Remind 'em, if you see 'em.



> Please add [e-mail address kept anonymous to spare a poor guy from nutball readers] to your list

> He needs something to masturbate to.





(Notice THREE "m"s in that "hmmm.")

Glad to be able to lend a hand. But, for these purposes, DL CAN be beat. But I hope this'll keep your fried just boppin' along through life, happy.


Would somebody really... To DL?... Yecch.

But, I'll commend this nutslap... Er, reader, for doing his job and bringing in more subscribers!

Hail to... That guy!



A witch friend proposed hocus-pocus;

her target then threatened to choke us--

for the spell she called

would remove his balls

which Stephan found scrotally bogus.



Ricky Martin is on Jay Leno tonight. Undoubtedly putting himself on display for "roles."

Ah, the advances of modern life! Five years ago, he would be simply washed up. Today, he's still washed up--but is eligible to continue a career, or at least a "career," in "reality" TV!...

I've long been disturbed over the programming on Lifetime.

Here we have a women's network. Call me a bent-over-and-lubed-up optimist, but I originally thought this would mean mini-series on the civil rights movement, profiles of the likes of Susan B. Anthony and great films by female directors!

Instead, it's meant: A haven for the washed up likes of Meredith (is it still Baxter?) Birney and Tyne Daily, "He's beatin' me and somebody stole MY BABY!" movies of the "female porn" variety and hack sitcoms like "Golden Girls" and "Designing Women." (PS--I know that the phrase "hack sitcom" is redundant.)

Now, Lifetime is running "Rear Window."

Not THE "Rear Window" that should have just been left alone. The newer version with Christopher Reeve.

So, according to Lifetime, women are a) nutty for washed-up celebrities; b) into trashy movies; c) into trashy sitcoms (redundant again, I know); and NOW d) into really shitty remakes of classic movies.

These TV rays are beamed into outer space.

So, WHY haven't intelligent aliens approached us?...

It's time, once again, for a sporadic Slappin' and Yappin' Special Consumer Report:

Do not do business with JC Penney.

My wife ordered some damn chandelier for our new condo from JCP. They fucked up the order and, evidently not hearing of the toilet-swimming economy or that "the customer is always right," are making us return the wrong chandelier to some markedly inconvenient suburban location AND pay the shipping expense to send it back.

Some day, these Special Consumer Reports will really have an effect. Execs at the likes of JCP will quiver in their boots at the mean mention of a Slappin' and Yappin' Special Consumer Report. (And not only due to the frightening content!)


For now: Avoid JC Penney...

Laughing at Strangers (' magazines) for No Real Good Reason:

Urban Rearing.

Haven't heard of this one. And I live in the vague neighborhood known as "Boys Town."



Once "Buffy," Sara Michelle Gellar

is with the wrong girly-ass feller.

I'd boost her career

if she'll let me steer

her to co-starring in "Young Yeller."



I read today of a road in Cook County, Illinois with a speed limit of 8 mph.

Authorities say they will write tickets for 9 mph and up.

It gets weirder.

The road, in question, is a bike path.

I suppose we're entering an age that is the exact opposite of the Wild West...

I saw a picture in my newspaper today of Sammy Hagar being honored at a St. Louis Cardinals game.

There was no other explanation, just a photo caption.

Hmm... Whoop! Just went back to double check. He was, in fact, "honored." Thought that maybe I'd misread and he was just "horrored."

Anyway, getting back to the pointless ridiculosity, why in the hell was anybody honoring Sammy Hagar?...

You may notice things getting extra cheezy in the near future. It's hard to tell, I know. One need practically be a cheezitologist. Huh? What?

Well, anyway, I'm moving Monday and will then descend into a period of darkness known as Painting and Unpacking and Crap. This will be a period of great suckitude. An edition may be late. I am at the will of the phone company (as is my modem), and there is nothing good about that situation. And cheeze will increase during this era. Well, era-ette. Brief era. What have you.

So prepare to be cheezed.



In footsteps of the Onion's Zweibel

hon'ring privacy and sans libel

I'd like to publish

pics of celeb "fish"--

and I'd call it my "Jolie Bible."



Today's limerick is an example of DL creed in action:

Quantity above quality...

Oh, and the Zweibel family is the "publishers" of the fabulous Onion newspaper...

By the way, I don't think I need to remind you that the Saturday Edition is, well, cheezy, anymore...

Just thought it was interesting that my Citibank bill, which is almost paid off, happens to be due Sept. 11.

Terrorist minds think alike.



A girl pause 'fore shavin' her kitty:

"But all the world won't know it's pretty!"

But, ah, my young lass

your beauty and sass

shows when it counts--the nut-ty gritty.



The Parents TV Council has come out with its regular list of "Best" and "Worst" TV shows for "family" viewing--confirming  my theory that the categories "Best" and "Worst" for "family viewing" and quality are inversely related.

All of the "best" family shows are, frankly, Godawful--with the exception of "Life With Bonnie" (and concerning that show, the scenes involving family are the not so hot ones--scenes of her on the set of the imaginary TV show are what makes the show rise to the top of the sitcom toilet).

Perhaps symbolic of the TV scene overall, even the "Worst" "family" shows are, well, "Big Brother 3" is an example--but halfway decent shows compose half the list, anyway, which is more than one can hope for with a "best of" sampling of TV quality...

Confused? I don't care!...

There's a common assumption that Martha Stewart really needs to get laid.

In picking out paint colors with my wife at Sherwin-Williams (which, on a side note, once had a theme song, sung by a girly-sounding singer, that turned me on), I found confirmation of this. I think.

One of the swatches names was "Bone Folder." That sounds dirty. Perhaps an unusual sex position? Perhaps a name for the ol' coochie-cooch? (Where do you put your bone? Why, in the Bone Folder!")

Or perhaps it's a man-hating thing. Think about it.

Another swatch that threw me for a loop was the "Crawling Jenny." Lesbian reference? I don't know, but the obvious guess is an allusion to Jennifer Love Hewitt crawling all over me... er, Martha right?

I'll give you a moment to let that vision sink in. (Not that I need to give you one, as this is written and... Well, you know.)


Here's the clinching swatch name: Nutmeat.

Exactly what Martha needs...

I noticed today that one of those quite-next-to-useless "jobs columnists" is in league with The Man.

Her column preceding the "Help Wanted" ads cautioned folks against going the self-employed route. Heavily cautioned folks.

Then I looked to her "qualifications" that followed the column. She was selling a few books about landing The Job.

Take your dictionaries, folks, and just cross out the word "trust"...

I've figured out the primary use of cell phones: an aid for the irresponsible.

You see, my wife occasionally moans that we really "need" a cell phone.

When does this occur? When we're running late. (And not to brag about my anal organizational qualities, but it's very rarely me who's the cause of this tardiness.)

Get it?...

More proof that women aren't really attracted to men:

When a guy is (allegedly) physically attractive, how is he described?


How is a friend's new hairstyle described? How is a furry, cuddly animal described? How is even a decorating trick that a woman admires described?...

We need a word for those people who wear any old T-shirt they happen to come into possession of, regardless of what it's advertising or whatever impossible-to-be-excited-about whatever-the-hell it trumpets...

Okay, this is probably blasphemous, but here goes.

The other day, I had the song, "What if God Was One of Us?" going through my head. (Or, more truthfully, a Dr. Demento-ish parody, "What if God Was Mexican?")

As I tend to make up my own, sick lyrics to songs, in my head the lyrics, "If God has a cock, it's sure a twenty-incher.")

Geez! I mean, of COURSE God has a cock! And possibly a vagina, too. (I'm guessin' he's up for a little lesbian action now and again.)

And then, I thought that God would have a "retractable cock." Nice and long for pleasin' the ladies through humpin', but able to shrink down a bit for a little oral, so that deep-throating  would be possible.

Enough of this, right?

I will add, however, if I may wax Dave Barryish, that God's Retractable Cock would make a great band name...

Note that Mike's Accursed Verse for today was sent to me labeled "Mike's Accursed Verse 6/24/2003."

Mere association with DL warps one's mind.

Or is he trying to be "old school" (and, PS, I'm really, really sick of hearing that phrase at this point in time)?






TODAY'S POEM: Icedrop soliloquy

The icicles will speak their peace;

preparing their soliloquies

in crystal drops of roofmelt,

the light's dance through small prisms.

The interplay of two or more

sliding past the frosted panes,

a small, simple facsimile

of the buried summer rain.

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



Today's limerick does really suck

in fact, I might change name to "Chuck."

For readers and minions

with a pissed opinion:

put the word "off" before a "fuck."



Moving today. Don't know if I'll have fuckin' phone service on the other end.

How's that for a cheezy edition?



In waiting for the cable guy

(who gains nourishment when folks cry)

I'm quite enterprising

in my fantasizing

the most painful way he could die.



The limerick tells it all.

Well, perhaps not.

I'm also waiting for the phone company guy. I am able to send this because the former resident's phone service is still on.

Have I ever mentioned that I hate the phone company?

Would any jury in the land convict me for the double murder?

I suppose the limerick also doesn't relate the setting: surrounded by boxes. Typing on a computer, stretched out across my desk because boxes are at my feet and the cord (plugged into the first outlet I could find) barely stretches to the far edge of this desk. About to go across the room to the first phone outlet I could find to send this, standing up, leaning on a stack of boxes. Still unfinished with the old apartment; looking forward to cleaning that up and painting one more room there as a fine celebration of my wedding anniversary. Have to paint a bedroom in the new place today, since I'm the one stuck home. Found out I have to have a major story I'm working on in "soon" and facing the delightful prospect of a vacation all next week (I can work on the story, but need to make some in-town calls with my "free time" this week). Oh, and almost forgot about ANOTHER deadline, too! Oh, the joy! Not to mention that I need to come in one day this week to finish up some in-office work deadlines and, of course, I can't do that today.

Oh, and it's also a great help that that "sobig" or whatever-the-fuck "worm" or whatever is sending me zillions of useless, in-box clogging e-mail.

A pre-labor day celebration, I guess. Heavy on the labor.



Martha Stewart's damn cheap-ass paint

called for multi-coats--I felt feint!

I'd seduce that lout

and then eat her out

and bite that bitch right in her taint!



If your bra is holding some whoppers

fueling many bologna boppers

your honkin' hot bod

is a gift from God:

Flash freely and share those show stoppers!


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 8/27-28/2003:

As I type this, the August 27, 2003 edition, I have no idea whether or not you'll be reading it on August 27, 2003.

You see, SBC, my regional, sinister, Jonesin'-for-a-monopoly-with-a-practical-monopoly-already phone company has not hooked up my service.

The SBC guy came out to cut off the old service and turn on the new. And I should be happy, as he was only 1 hour and 1/2 late.

Yesterday, I sent DL through the former resident's line. Now, his is shut off.

But mine has not been switched on. The mandatory immigrant with poor English skills who came out told me it just had to be turned on "in the office." (I'm all for giving immigrants, even those with poor English skills, all the opportunities available to anyone else, but, as has been duly noted (can you do anything but note in a duly manner?), I put nothing past the phone companies and wouldn't doubt that they put all the English-challenged  employees in the field, to be of greater uselessness to the customer and utterly unable to answer the most basic of questions about the customer's account.

Oh, I could run out to some swanky wi-fi place. Or go to a friend's. Or something. I suppose. That would entail seeking out a pay phone and using this calling card I get for free through my bank.

This is too damn exciting. End of story...

By the way, today's limerick is quite ugly, if I must say so myself...

Well, well, well. August 28.

Might as well fully de-regulate the phone companies. No monopolistic behavior, ala "don't like it? Well, where the hell else can you go? Mooo ha ha ha!" no siree...

As you've probably deduced by now, I found my phone service finally working on the afternoon of August 28, 2003...

I am going to be camping over Labor Day weekend, so despite being mobile, I will not have power and thus will be sending you a few editions all rolled into one. (I'm not going to go out and buy 18 more batteries for the laptop.)

I know I said I'd put a system in place to avoid this--having the God of Accursed Verse sending them when I'm in a situation like this, etc.--but with the move and all, that hasn't been worked out.

So ppppppppppp...

Recall my predictions about a coming New Great Depression?

The Dow was down 6.66 yesterday, for those looking for superstitious confirmation of my prognosis...

Perhaps those outside of Chicago don't know this, but there is a HUGE hubbub about the Cubs doing half-way decent this year.

Funny, but I didn't receive the memo about a certain place freezing over...

Only 1/5th of Americans have signed up for the $16 million "Do Not Call" list our government saw as one of the most pressing needs of our times.

I read a story where some idiot reporter concluded that "most people must be okay with telemarketing."

Er, no. Most people know how to screen calls and/or hang up on the mother fuckers and do not need government money spent on the "crisis"...

A big screen version of "The Honeymooners" is in the works.

That's pathetic enough, right there, but there's more:

The main characters will be black.

Hmm. Is some Hollywood exec right now planning a re-make of "I Love Lucy" starring all Hasidic Jews?...

"Magician" David Blaine is going to be suspending himself for days above the city of London.

Isn't what he's engaging in now pretty much "Extreme Fear Factor"? Every bit as moronic, without the gross-out stuff?...

Businesses are now using art as a method of accomplishing corporate deeds.

Mangers and such are being guided through the conducting of symphony orchestras, for instance, as a way to... As a way to... See how a group of people can work together for a common objective, or... Hmmm.

This probably costs money. But no need to give employees raises or anything when there are hare-brained schemes to explore.

And the fusion of art and corporate America is, again, near complete...

More proof that our major enemies, while scary and capable of some damage, are no real long-term threat:

Mr. Druce, the prisoner who killed the child-molesting Boston priest in jail, was a member of those "white power" hate groups. He was once convicted of threatening Jewish lawyers through the mail.

Well, lawyers with "Jewish-sounding" names.

If he ever does become a free man, there's a job waiting for him in al-Qaida's research department...

Auto manufacturers are exploring the idea of armored cars for average consumers.

And you thought parking went to hell with the Hummer?...

I saw on today's TV grid that the Family Channel will be re-running "See Jane Date," an undoubtedly horrible movie showcasing the acting "talents" of "Joe Millionaire."

I know that violence, drug-use, blah blah blah, are all big concerns with children's TV watching, but does anybody have an interest in showing kids QUALITY fare so that they might... Oh, of course not...

Just as pop stars have their cliché rhymes--"desire" with "fire," for instance--the allegedly alternative now have their own. Most recently noted: "waiting" and "anticipating"...

Couldn't you refer to a lesbian as "boneless"?

Think on that for a bit...

Laughing at Strangers for No Real Good Reason:

John M. Krass.

Sworn enemy of Miss Manners.


Richard Ruff.

He's half Doberman.


Cathy Kilboy.

Could very well be boneless, herself.



Britney got a kiss from Madonna

(a kiss--they looked like two piranha!)

which brought viewing pleasure

through the desperate measures

of two sixteenth-minute hot mamas.



Few know Cinderella's true fable

is too spicy for basic cable.

'Twas foot fetish prose--

the prince sucked her toes

while mounting her up on the table.



A man who sampled countless asses

banged all the fat and ugly masses.

Smoked Mexican red hair

and any chick seemed fair

through his hazy, rose-colored grasses.


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 8/29-8/31/2003:

I was utterly shocked in a "what's this world coming to?" kinda way reading of a frightening convention about to take place.

Earlier this week, there was another office shooting, this one in Chicago, and reading of the convention got me to extra thinking:

For those feeling the urge to go on a spree killing, leave the innocent workers alone (who, by the way HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH YOUR FIRING TO BEGIN WITH, LOSER) and hit the Segway owners convention.

I don't really think these Ultra Morons should be killed, mind you. But if you simply have to go a'killin', start with the lowest of society's low...

In trying to cross the street today, I was thwarted by an SUV.

Followed by another SUV.

Followed by another.

And another.


A regular SUV convoy!

Because we all know the rugged streets of DOWNTOWN FUCKING CHICAGO necessitate an all-terrain vehicle...

A met a gay guy who lives in my condo complex named Braiden (SIC?).

The question is: Are gays given gay-sounding names at birth, or do they adopt them later on?...

My new condo has an electronic oven.

I have registered my belief in this space before about technology: We're addicts. We just keep inventing, whether or not it's needed or even wise.

Turning a knob for the oven's temperature takes a whole, grueling two seconds.

Last night it took me more than 10 minutes to figure out how to pre-heat for a pizza.


Sunday (Holiday Weekend?) Story Time: Screamin' Eagle.

In junior high, I obtained a contraband video game for my Apple IIe, a strip poker game.

One of the women you played in the game was fairly easy to beat. The other was especially tough.

It took me many tries to finally get the computer "babe's" clothes off. Many sneaky nights where I sat at the computer, ears pealed for any hint of somebody coming down the basement stairs, pants off and... Well, damn.

A profound geek moment.






TODAY'S POEM: Learning the scales

I need a song,

she said.

Something to cover my skin.

Something to fall with the rain.

Something to walk down the road.

Something to tremble the edges.

Something to recall his eyes.

Something to burn up in ribbons.

Have you watched a ribbon burn?

A festive snake curling in,

boneless, smoldering and gray,

the color of the tide?

Smoking on the summer walk,

the sound you stepped from board to board,

the sand between the seams of wood,

the sun sparking the water.

The nature of the waves, you'd asked,

the push and pull, the back and forth?

Formation and disintegration.

Always piling up, he'd said.

No, she said. No, no, no.

That's not the song I need.

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


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 an 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!


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