Daily Limerick
Archives: January 2004

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


NOTE: DL has not yet taken the time to put "anchors" into the archives. Translation: You're gonna have to scroll all the way through the long-ass documents (use your "find" commands, squatlicks)!


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As prom'nent do-gooders implored

a ban on ephedra's been scored.

Forbidden fruit grooming--

so, course, sales are booming--

new failure for hopeless drug war!



Here's a new trend to look, er, "forward" to in 2004 (I'd say it's a new trend to look BACKWARD to, but, well, that wouldn't make sense exactly):

Employers are now discriminating on the basis of your name.

That's right. Usually those afro-centric kinda names is what we're talking about here, but... Well, we certainly need to crack down on ANY sort of individuality whatsoever in the workplace.

S&Y, as you should well know, celebrates odd names. (See below for an example.)

Sort of.

Ridicule, celebration... It's such a fine line...

What the hell. Here's some good news to kick off a new year:

"Branding" (marketing) experts are now starting to say that celebrity endorsement just doesn't help sell products.

Nice to hear that the public isn't quite as butt stupid as they normally appear, but this has gotta worry a lot of athletes with toilets made of gold...

Long-time readers know that I often reap sleazy thrills in reading and noting "massage" and other questionable "adult" ads in publications.

So, my question is, what's a "REVERSE massage"? Is that kinda like a chiropractor gone horribly, terribly wrong?

Or does it start with a "happy beginning" and... I don't know. I just don't know. And now I'm curious.

Personally, I may just prefer a SIDEWAYS massage...


You know the old phrase, in which someone makes a statement or observation and ends with, "...if you will."

If you will... WHAT?

It's always good to start a new year with questions.

And I'm sure that, in between barfing off your hangover and posting bail for friends and kin, answering S&Y's questions will be at the top of your list of things to do today...

Laughing at Strangers for No Real Good Reason:


Ah-ha! One of those guys discriminating on the basis of names!


Broncos coach Tony Dungy.

That's not candy, my friends. It's Reese's Feces.


Canadian food inspector Tom Spiller.

Cry over his milk, or don't.



Around this time, most press ink's spent

relating last year's "big" events.

But each year this lists

grow more frivolous

low'ring culture's intelligence.



I hate to admit this, as we welcome a new daily reader today (see "Letters to the Idiot," below) but... Well, this is another of those days when I open my notebook to find nothing new written there for S&Y fodder.

As long-time readers know, this oft-lost-and/or-misplaced notebook usually brings many nuggets for S&Y consumption--on days when the edition waxes cheezy, it's because of MY schedule and not a lack of fodder. As I go about my day, I write down ideas (and other things) in this notebook and... It's rare that I end up with no new fodder when I sit down to pen S&Y--in fact, I think it only happened twice in all of 2003 (although sometimes I fake it, as I'll do below)...

I saw a photo of Jennifer Love Hewitt wearing thigh-high, white boots in the newspaper today.

After I picked myself off the floor, all the my blood having rushed from my head to...somewhere else, I read that it's a promotional shot, as she's playing Nancy Sinatra in an upcoming TV movie.

So, "These Boots are Made for Stalkin'" has been running through my head all day.

Huh? "These Boots are Made for WALKIN'" you say?

I know THAT.

But my original statement stands.



> John, when I was back in New Hampshire visiting friends, one of these

> friends, Matt Talbot, marveled at how funny the Sunday Slappin and Yappin

> was. He says he keeps meaning to add himself to the daily pool, but he never

> gets around to writing the e-mail. Feel free to add him with my compliments

> -- sort of a really cheap gift subscription.

I myself often look back at the DL/S&Y editions and marvel at the level of funny. (You'll have to think about that for a bit; I'm not being self-complimentary here.)

But Daily Limerick gift subscriptions... Now that's a delightfully delightful idea.

Like herpes, it's the gift that keeps on givin'!



Far off, where they make candy bars

there's trouble landing craft on Mars.

Was once thought insane

but that Mars terrain's

perfect for our SUV cars.



Welcome to the Cheezy Saturday Edition!...

Laughing at Strangers for No Real Good Reason:

Helen Bonk.

Not quite as amusing as a girl I used to call "Helen A. Handbasket," but you know just how to shut her up.


Houston Nutt.

Yup. They're everywhere.



Pat Robertson says (this seems odd)

God told him he's giving the nod

and Bush he's endorsing;

so rule I'm enforcing:

is vote against Robertson's "god."



Recent flight meddling by the Dept. of Homeland Security has prevented the following frightening folks from boarding planes recently:

A 5-year-old girl.

An elderly Chinese lady.

And a Welsh insurance agent.

I have yet to hear of a tot/dry cleaning/al-Qaida connection, but the other guy might just qualify as a terrorist, especially if he's involved in health insurance...

Speaking of doom, recording industry sales, while still being less-than-boner-inducing for the execs, were up slightly for 2003 over 2002.

So either sales can't get much worse or there's an increase in demand for the same six acts recycled under different names and visages over, and over, and over again...

Which reminds me: I'm still highly amused whenever I see or hear a Subway worker referred to as a "Sandwich Artist."

I mean, come on! It's not like they're given free reign to work up original "sandwich works." They create sandwiches in the same basic form over, and over, and over again.

Hmmm. Not completely unlike major label "recording artists"...

I've been reading about the impending end of "Sex and the City"--which I found a bit titillating at first, not to mention a rare excuse for seein' a little tittie with the wife's approval, but which became far too chatter-filled and annoying, not to metion suitable as a drinking game whenever the word "meanwhile" is muttered--and critics are actually hailing it as some sort of step toward the empowerment of women.

They say that it has spurred women to be unafraid of sex; to feel free to pursue careers; to not feel obligated to have a steady man for societal approval.

Had these folks not read of the Sexual Revolution--or did it not count because it wasn't fictionalized on cable TV?...

Just an observation:

Nobody follows ice-cube tray etiquette.

I use a lot of ice cubes. I have four trays of them, in various states of frozenness, in my freezer. When I empty the top tray, I fill it with water and place it on the bottom of the stack. Etc. Etc. That way, I need never go lookin' for ice to find EMPTY FUCKING TRAYS OF ICE SITTING IN THE FREEZER AS IF ONE CAN GRAB A REFRESHING CUBE OF FROZEN AIR!

But I am foiled, again and again. I thought this was a simple, universal system.

Don't mind me, I'm just bitching. But, to coin a phrase my dad has in heavy conversational rotation, it really frosts me...


Er, there's not much today.

But today's limerick is true.

Or "based on a true story," to use a phrase we can all easily grasp...


Laughing at Strangers for No Real Good Reason:

Jennifer Few.

The distance between me and her is far between...


Sunday Story Time: Captain America Smokes!

I live in a condo building, filled with fussy types. (Just take a peek at your newspaper's "Home" section to find the constant letters bitching about condo folks and condo associations.)

I have a back deck, connected to a stairway, which is shared with a neighbor.

One day, the neighbor complained about cigar smoke coming from a stogie sitting in an ashtray on our shared area.

So I moved downward to a stairway platform for my smoking. Taking my paranoia over P.C. a step further, I took on the habit of keeping my ashtray inside my grill. It's a little grill--a portable smoker. That way, it hides my ashtray/stogie from condo eyes and keeps the smoke from dissipating as it sits out there in between my mini-puff breaks--while it remains on a lower deck, away from Fussy Boy.

When I lift the little round cover on the grill to take a few stokes, I end up holding the round cover up in the air.

Recently I noted that the grill cover looks about the same size and shape as Captain America's shield.

So now I pretend I'm Captain America as I puff.

That's enough now, Slapper Yapper Grasshopper children. Go to sleep.






TODAY'S POEM: Painting her

With smooth, bright stroke and fine-tipped brush

I float your eyes onto the canvas.

Hanging there, two berries without stems.

I shape your lips, the light upon them.

Supple curve and fruitful fullness.

Not just of them, to them. For them.

Light falls ray-bright through the window

onto objects' form and structure.

You're waiting. Watching from the chair.

Table edged with ornate carvings,

bowl of fruit in fecund plumpness,

a golden locket at your throat.

Dark drapes pulled back from the window.

The light is full. The clouds are shredding,

spreading blue and gray high up the pane.

I need to mix in more bright dye.

Its easy, potent smell of attics

cramped and close with other practice.

Scraping lines onto the canvas,

scratching color, smearing blotches,

working out perspective's place.

Should this be the base surrounding,

swirling out from depthless gaze?

I'll work that out, but first I must

paint the hollow of your throat.

How to match your flesh for flesh.

Close-glowed hue of candle-coins.

The chain is formed with precise hand.

I want to feel the warmth of girl

against the jewelry's cold glow.

The seam is just the right concoction --

lead and gold. An alchemy?

You will know when I am finished.

Just a bit of frothy collar --

a tide licking in from the frame.

Small white daubs along the locket.

Now your hair. First the wedge

that goes from temple to left ear,

finely stranded, musical.

Stray strand curls against your cheek,

I'll web them right into the surface,

silken spools of fine-lined light.

Falling dark onto your shoulders.

Perfect weight. But which paint's best

to capture shampoo's dark, damp scent?

Your nose is simple to construct,

defined shadows slight and small.

Your eyebrows come in quickly, softly.

You are staring at me now.

A hint of teeth behind your lips.

I did not need to paint them in.

[If you'd like to physically thank or berate the poet, e-mail him at b_squirrel@hotmail.com. He won't bite--although he may chew a bit.]



With her fifteen-minute career

long past, there's a prob for Brit Spears.

To keep our attention

her agent should mention

she needs to start baring that rear.



In my Internet travels today, I was besieged by a pop-up ad for:

"The Dr. Seuss Zone Diet."

Actually, that's only how I read it. It was Dr. somebody with more than one "s" in his/her name's diet but it got me thinking.

Just "Green Eggs and Ham"? Atkins-like?

Just fish--one or two, red or blue?

In any event, the diet would probably be just as ridiculous as any other, requiring some form of will power (and thus abandoned by most consumers of its books or whatever within weeks), putting some spin on the basic rules of nutrition and body health we've basically known for ages anyway in an effort to look original, etc., etc.

But, overall, it would be a major improvement. It'd somehow be slightly less annoyed to be barraged with news of goods that are "low woozle" than the foods, breads, beers and kitchen sinks that are now touted as "low carb"...

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

Bam, Iran.

Okay, we all know why this one's been in the news and this may not win me any awards for compassion but... Well, Bam!


Angeline Jerkovic.

Jerk a what?


Mary Louise Cork.

No longer welcome at wine tastings.


Karen Carolin.

I just hope she knocks it off soon. Early January's okay, but Song Rage is gonna kick in around mid-January.



Celebs now are hoping to score

a "People's Choice"--we're all implored

to vote, but few do.

Should change the name to:

"People with No Lives' Choice Awards."



America has won yet another world title.

A new study finds that, of 15 industrialized nations, we have the fattest children.

U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.!...

Many of these children (or, more commonly, their parents) are seeking to blame McDonald's, television--and, what the hell, throw in the smokers for good measure, it's P.C. and doesn't need to be proven--for their own gluttony and laziness.

Which reminds me that the America probably has the most lawyers per capita, as well.

U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.!...

The U.S. Justice Department Web site offers tips for employers to avoid paying their employees overtime. So... Ahem.

What the hell:

U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.!...

I kinda doubt you've missed the latest news that Britney Spears, having failed to attract enough attention kissing ol' Madonna because it'd only be shocking 10 years ago, got married and consequently annulled the marriage hours later. (It is for this reason, only, that I envy ol' Osama and his love goats, because he may be the only man on Earth to have shelter from the relentless coverage.)

Normally I wouldn't waste my time reading about this stuff, but it was plastered all over my newspaper and I happened to note that the temp hubby's name is Justin Allan Alexander.

Which struck me as curious, as it's usually only serial killers (and hyphen-happy married women) who are referred to by three names.

Then again, if my name was, say, Justin Joseph Alexander, I wouldn't want to be confused with the guy who married Britney Spears and DIDN'T EVEN GET THE FUCKING HONEYMOON OUT OF IT.

U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.!...

(Okay. I'll knock it off now)...

Speaking of folks coming painfully close and yet failing to enter a coveted hole (in this case I'm referring to the Baseball Hall of Fame), you may have noticed a big hubbub surrounding whether or not Pete Rose should be inducted into the Hall.

As you probably know, Pete was busted gambling on baseball games he was managing.

And we must be very careful not to tarnish the impeccable reputation of professional sports stars...

Does anybody else recall Scott Peterson brand breakfast sausage?

I've looked, and don't think it's around anymore.

There's a million jokes in this one, I'm sure. But now I'm wondering if it only went out of business since... You know. I guess I'm just optimistic that the PR profession finally said, "uh-uh--we're not touching THAT"...

Laughing at Commonly-Mentioned-Strangers (and Strange Places) for Good Reason if You Only Stop and Think About Them [formerly, "Laughing at Familiar Folks, Places and Etc. Whose Names We've Become So Accustomed to that We Don't Think About Their Inherent Silliness (the feature still seeking a much better title)"]:


He he.

It's quite a place to... He hee.

Er, the city that... Ha ha.

He hee.

Sorry, I just can't stop giggling over it.


Mark Spitz.

And a lot of gays in the '70s wished he'd swallow.



The whack-job, free-market-mad Right

wants less rules to help TV's plight.

What diversity--

four biographies

aired of Martha Stewart last night!



So, I'll go ahead and address one of the most, er, "important" stories currently in the news.

Elicia Battle is collecting a multi-million-dollar lottery prize in Ohio and has a valid ticket.

Now, this should have qualified for a news brief. In Ohio, anyway.

But Rebeca Jemison now claims to have lost what would have been the winning ticket.

This should not have qualified for a news brief. Even in Ohio.

This makes her a moron for many reasons.

One, for using lottery tickets as her "investment strategy." (Now, I know that some of you readers may in fact buy lottery tickets; and one can do "moron things"--in fact, it's only human--without being an actual moron, and I myself have done, and continue to engage in, moron activity, and I don't know why I'm throwing in a disclaimer now, as this disclaimer should be assumed for DL/S&Y in gerneal but... Back to our nugget.) (By the way, if you're going to gamble, you couldn't pick a more boring process than buying a freakin' lottery ticket.)

Two, for either a) losing her lottery ticket or b) making up this story and thinking nobody would check it out.

And (at least) three, for thinking that going public with her rampant moronity would cause officials to just hand her the pot.

So she's once... twice... three times a moron...

Speaking of morons, the Chicago Police Department has joined that model of organizational and fiscal responsibility, the USPS, in buying a load of Segways (brand moron transporters) for use in our airports.

The city's budget is so utterly screwed that there was talk of downsizing the CPD over the last few months.

Segways (brand moron transporters) cost thousands of dollars.

And, perhaps most egregious, the World's Foremost Moron Inventor has been encouraged in his future moron endeavors.

Once... twice... three times a bunch of fuckin' morons...

(This marks two editions in a row with a recurring S&Y theme. Just let me know when your local college's literature department cranks up the first DL/S&Y course)...

Laughing at Strangers for No Real Good Reason:

Beano Cook.

His chili is killer. Literally.



The guy nutty Britney did marry

(a non-celeb, quite ordinary)

hired publicist schmucks

for fame, but no luck--

he di'n't e'en score her place that's hairy!



Happy Elvis' Birthday!...

Speaking of which:

You know how certain cultures extend the Christmas holiday into January, for Epiphany or whatever? Some, like the Orthodox Church and the whole Kwanzaa thing, even wait until AFTER Christmas to start?

Well, since most of us end up with "extra" Christmases, having difficulty scheduling in all the family and friend gift exchanges before Dec. 25, one idea for consideration is extending the whole mess until another King's birthday, meaning through today.

I think that, in some cases, it is meant to be this way.

You see, I've been reading this massive book of Charles Dickens Christmas stories for the Season the last couple of years and, this year, I decided I'd have a "sort-of Christmas extension" until I finished the particular section I was in when the date passed. And I just happened to finish it just after midnight today.

At least I'm sure I believe in THIS particular King...

With all the apostrophes for missing letters in today's limerick, I must say that it looks a bit Irish, or Gaelic, or whatever.

Irish? A limerick? How very strange...

And as long as we're focused on today's limerick, did you notice that I wrote about the same topic recently in S&Y?

Wow. So you've sorta been treated to a multi-installment "Making of the Daily Limerick."

Shiver in awe at will...

A commercial for the DVD of "Freddy vs. Jason," or is it "Jason vs. Freddy," refers to one or the other as the "Biggest Name in Terror."

A stretch in any event, but more likely to have been truthful, say, on September 10, 2001...

Laughing at Strangers for No Real Good Reason:

Mike Mularkey.

That's his name. I ain't bullshittin'.


Demetrius Veal.

His calves are a little weak.


Nipul Shah.

Let me at THAT harem.


Hyman Bloom.

Perpetually around 16-years-of-age.



>If the free market mad right get there [SIC] wish of less rules for T V does that

>mean we can see porn on T V?

I don't think they're messing with THOSE rules. But it's interesting to imagine.

Who d'ya think they'd cast for the slutty version of Laci Peterson?



I once knew a girlie named Jackie

dressed slutty, though girls called it "tacky,"

I found her style killer

yet I never drilled her

but oft think about her and whack-y.



As a progressive limericist, I expect to take some heat from the terribly conservative, traditional limerick community (see "Letters to the Idiot" below).

Perhaps that's why today's entry is a traditional limerick. No news commentary.

Now and again, it's nice to go back to the basics--of cocks, beavers and masturbation...

President Bush announced today that, not only does he want to send an American to Mars (Michael Moore, I'm guessing, although he didn't name anybody), but he wants to establish a colony on the moon.

Now, with everything plaguing our country today, many have had a good laugh at these plans.

But I'm thinking: Perhaps there are some JOBS on the moon...

I read yesterday that Britney Spears' hometown of Kentwood, LA is now embarrassed over her, on the heels of The Wedding.

The story, however, didn't answer my foremost question: What took them so long?...

Now, another older teacher has been accused of sleeping with a markedly underage boy (11, in this case).

Another step on the Road to Equality...

New studies indicate that asthma is on the rise among Chicago youths, primarily among minorities.

Many reasons were given to explain this, but the strangest one was--and you probably could have seen this one coming--"secondhand" smoke.

So, let me get this straight. By all accounts, the smoking rate has fallen among every demographic, thanks to the Pre-Forbidden-Fruit-Factor-Kicking-In Phase of Reefer Madness II. But somehow, LESS smoking is a factor in MORE asthma.

The credo behind modern health studies: All's well that ends Orwell...

Read a news story about a guy who stayed in some Third World country for some spiritual quest describing his environment as having "too many fleas."

I guess he likes a few of them, though, for ambiance purposes...

Laughing at Strangers for No Real Good Reason:

Mary Lou Pool Demand.

Perhaps... What? A caveman girl who really wants to go swimming?


Ray Drag.

Remember: Look for the Adam's apple.



In reference to yesterday's limerick:

> Aren't y'o'u pu'shing it with the syllables, there, wise guy?


It's sure rough having some of the world's foremost limerick literature experts on the subscription list.

I must be a little more careful in the future. And to think they once referred to me as "The Golden Boy" in limerick lit circles.

Nonetheless, I must increase the level of prizes this year for the Pulitzer committee.



An Indian pal, buzzed on beer

fought o'er a sweater with Samir,

a friend, Pakistany

which we found uncanny

'til we learned the shirt was cashmere.



I figure that a Cheezy Saturday is as good a time as any to unleash this beef. I know that it's a very old beef. I know that it's a silly beef. But... Well, here it is:

You know the Carly Simon song, "You're So Vain"? How the refrain goes, "You're so vain... You prob'ly think this song is about you..."?

Well, this song IS about "him"! Quite clearly! The song is all about this guy, written expressly to address his vanity, so it's a self-defeating argument to argue that, "since you think this song is about you, it only proves that you're vain," because, well, the song IS most definitely about him!

I find it difficult not to bring this up WHENEVER I hear the song. It's impossible for me to enjoy it--no, it's worse than that. I don't think that, even lacking the illogical argument, I would find it one of my favorite songs, but I am propelled into a mood of annoyance whenever I hear it simply because I can't get past this flawed logic I... I know that pop lyrics are filled with double negatives and all sorts of grammatical errors and, despite being a wordsmith of sorts, I'm never bothered by this, I realize that pop music isn't an appropriate source of intelligent discourse and I accept it for what it is; but somehow, in this instance, I... I... I aiyaiy!

Just thought I'd get that off my chest.

I'll leave it at that.

But don't you agree, THE SONG IS ALL ABOUT "HIM"!!!???



The new fad of anti-carb diets

shows me God must think we're a riot!

Eat bun-less Big Macs?

We'll give it a whack--

long as we must not exercise it!




He he. Sorry, but my immaturity never fails to crack me up...

Howard Dean.


I have, of course, in this special, continuing Erection Coverage (he hee) section, already lent my anti-endorsement to Dean. Many reasons have appeared since, but the official word came down after I learned that he identified as a "metrosexual"--fancy word for "girly man," which is not a great quality for a president to begin with but, more importantly, it indicated that he bought into a freakin' MARKETING TERM used by slimeball marketing folks as a pathetic attempt to prompt heterosexual men to be half as gung-ho as their female counterparts about buying stuff like clothes and home decorating fare.

But I realize that I'll likely eventually anti-endorse anybody on the official ballot (and advise many to vote for Alfred E. Neuman, or some other fictional and/or not-on-the-ballot character, as a protest vote is not a wasted vote despite the hype--it's no vote at all, or possibly even a vote for the establishment jokers, that's the "wasted" vote). So, all but the most brainwashed of partisan morons will be voting for the Lesser of Two Evils anyway and I thought that maybe I should explore ol' Munster-face's race to be the least evil a bit more.

Four things that HAVE impressed me (only the first two being unqualified):

He backs gay marriage.

Two, he has continually blasted the Iraq War while the other Dems have remained sheepish about it; gaining even more points in my book, he's had the courage to say that we're not really any safer with Saddam removed--I mean, c'mon! Iraq was a secular government pretty much removed from the Terror Craze, other than as a way to profit by perhaps selling them weapons, and there's still no proof Iraq was either harboring WMD or planning to attack the U.S. or U.S. interests.

Three, he called for a repeal of Bush's most rich-friendly tax cuts.

Four, conservative pundits have dubbed him the most secular major-party presidential candidate yet.

Concerning number three, however, he has also called for a repeal of ALL those tax cuts--even those for the middle and lower classes.

Concerning number four, well... He's done the Politician Wish-Wash on this one. Having had his focus groups point out the "most secular" title, he began getting all religious-talky, to the extent of misnaming Bible passages and stuff. So I may have to take back number four; kinda like with Clinton's pot story: Had he just left it at that, it would have been wonderful to have a serious presidential candidate admit to smoking pot and calling it "no big deal." But instead he pandered to the Moron Majority and concocted a lame tale about "not inhaling"--making him even more pathetic than the typical "I never smoked the Demon Weed!" politician. And this is what Dean has done by trying to "correct" his secularism.

So, what am I saying about Dean?

He's still de-endorsed. But his ambiguous bag of tricks is for each of you to personally sort out.

Expect more confusion every Sunday until the election right here!...

Laughing at Stranger for No Real Good Reason:

U.S. Attorney Lynn Crooks.

At least she's honest about it.

Sunday Story Time Poem:

Admittedly, today's Super Sunday edition is lacking the usual assortment of bajillions o' nuggets. So I thought I'd include a poem that most certainly tells a Sunday Story.

A little background: I took down the Christmas tree today. (Sigh.) Oh, and the woman this poem refers to? She's now my wife.

But it's still sad. And here goes:

Taking down the Christmas tree

wrap ornaments in news

that were made by her and me

this year.

It's the Ninth, the Season's over

I've been putting off this task

I unwrap the Christmas lights

from the top.

And I don't unplug them

not until

I'm at the very floor

'cause when they go out

the corner of my studio

is dark

and around the corner


so they're lying on the floor

and I fin'ly pull the plug

really slow.

Christmas time is over and I stuff the boxed-up tree

in the corner of the closet, close it up and then I see

in the middle of the floor

an ornament, just one no more

wrapping up it rolled unseen

its hand-painted, red and green

and I notice it's her work.

And I make a note to Santa for next year.






TODAY'S POEM: Candle camera

I shoot rolls of heightened light,

teardrop frames of moving flames.

Wax hand-tints the picture's space,

hues the atmosphere in heat.

When wick is gone the film is done,

white crumbs etch the final reel.

Matchheads bring the next scene on,

responding to the theater's zeal.

[If you'd like to physically thank or berate the poet, e-mail him at b_squirrel@hotmail.com. He won't bite--although he may chew a bit.]



I reply to yesterday's drivel, about how I feel that the song "You're So Vain" IS about "him," while the chorus uses the fact that he THINKS it is to help prove that he is, in fact, vain... Which doesn't make sense:

> I always thought the song was about clouds in my coffee, clouds in my

> coffee.

So, you thought the song was about YOUR coffee?

You're so vain!

You probably thought today's poem was about you!

But it wasn't.



A Moon trip is Bush's compunction.

Critics cry, "No practical function!"

I say: Take a crack!

Likely as Iraq

to have Weapons of Mass Destruction.




Here's the Late Breaking News:

I am filing this late as events of the day either unpredictably waylaid me and/or a poor job was done managing the aforementioned events.

Further reports as developments merit...

A breeder of pit bull terriers who, understandably, think the dogs need an image makeover, has announced that he'd like to now dub them, "New Yorkies."

Now, these are dogs that have a reputation for being, er, grumpy toward every other living thing, with the possible exception of their owner(s). Not to stereotype. Some individual pit bull terriers are good people. Or, well, good dog. Or is it good dogs?

Anyway, I could back this name change. If they breed a bit of elitism into the species too...

Illinois Governor Rod Blagojevich would like to give a book every year to every single child in the state aged 0-5.

The cost of this program is estimated at $26 million.

Youth problems of today, namely obesity derived largely from a life of complete and utter inactivity, could be solved by more books. Because, as everyone knows, the mere glimpse of a book causes a child to put down the video game controller, switch off the TV, back away from the computer and indulge in the voracious consumption of fine literature!

But seriously, or as seriously as S&Y gets, here's what Illinois should do instead:

(Oh, and as everybody else also knows, one book is plenty of reading material for 365 days.)

(But seriously... With qualifiers:)

Send a postcard to every family with a child aged 0-5 explaining the nearest location where they can get involved in a multi-million dollar government reading program already in place:

The library system...

Saw an op-ed column today which was decrying the efforts we've made against smoking.

It claims that the government has done a lousy job battling smoking, unlike the job it had done vs. "small pox, cholera, polio..." Ahem.

I'm sorry, but you can't simply catch decades' worth of cigarette smoking effects when the schmo next to you on the bus coughs on you...

Laughing at Strangers for No Real Good Reason:

Curtis Tremble.

He's All Shook Up.


Chuck Guy.

That, you know, Chuck Guy.


(Now, this doesn't exactly fit the profile of a typical LASFNRGR (which looks a bit like the name of some snooty French dish when abbreviated in all caps, by the way, or its current spin-off with a name I don't feel like looking up right now, and isn't worthy of a new spin-off, so here goes:)

The U.S. treasury secretary is John Snow.

This explains recent economic babble, ala "jobless recovery," "the economy will recover in 2004," etc.

"This looks like a job for Snow! It's a SNOW JOB."




This nut cluster throws in his 1 1/2 cents concerning a poem published in the Super Sunday Edition placed there to divert attention from my lack of material for the beloved feature (or, well, TOLERATED feature), Sunday Story Time:

> That poem was quite touching, and haunted with a sense of moving on.


> The only difference being, instead of it ending up a tortured, piece of

> cinema,

> you get the girl in the end (though y' can't tell from the poem).


> Cool!


> Rambling Man.

Thanks. I actually thought later yesterday that perhaps I shouldn't have published the after-poem, real-life turn of events.

But who the hell cares?

But thanks. I think, coming from one of you... Ahem.

Oh, and I myself was born a Rambling Man, too. Lord, I was born a Rambling Man.

Actually, I take that back. I don't fool around with any old Ramblin' Man...



Just where are elections purloined?

Not florida--look to Des Moines!

After first primaries

non winners are buried--

self-fulfilling kick to the groin.



Now the Department of Homeland Security, taking a shot of confidence from the strange potpourri of indifference and confusion caused by its terror alert system, is going to color-code every U.S. airline passenger.

Green for "non dangerous," red for "dangerous" and yellow for... Probably anybody who's ever had a complaint with authority or his expressed him or herself on anything whatsoever.

Did Tom Ridge once work at a paint store?

Okay, I'll set my natural cynicism aside until I see how this plays out. But there better be a massive outcry when these levels are changed to names like "burnt sienna"...

By the way, this week's upcoming Sunday Story Time will tie-in to the above story.

But we at DL/S&Y are not responsible for any wear and tear around the edge of your seats...

Media "experts" are now announcing that young people, in rapidly growing numbers, are citing evening comedy shows, like "The Daily Show" and "Saturday Night Live," as their primary source of news.

To be honest, "The Daily Show" often does a better job of informing, at least on certain issues, than the mainstream press. And there was a time when intelligent, political comedy was in fashion. But... Well, there WAS a time, anyway.

So this means that a very important function is increasingly put in the hands of (gulp) our nation's comedy writers.

Turn you thoughts away from such fare as "The Daily Show" and "The Simpsons." Think of the far more prevalent, er, "genre"--"Life According to Jim," "Two and a Half Men," "Yes, Dear"... Okay, I'll stop listing them. I realize some of you might be eating.

Even so-called "political" humor today dwells in... Well, suffice it to say, it appears that most young voters will be analyzing the facts presented to them by late-night TV in the voting booth ala: Do I prefer a foreign policy by the guy with big ears who makes up his own words, or one crafted by the guy with the Herman Munster-looking head?...

Headline in today's Chicago Sun-Times:

"A Little Exercise Prevents More Weight Gain."


Perhaps young voters' moving away from mainstream news sources won't make much difference after all...

I have before me a publication called Gravity.

Make that, "gravity," as dropping the cap immediately and irrevocably makes something "edgy."

It's from my Alma Mater, Columbia College Chicago, although it is edited and largely written by professionals. But, still, the college angle gives you a general idea of the content to expect.

There's a story within about four Asian woman musicians. The first paragraph introduces one and mentions she's "got miles or racial, cultural and sexist stereotypes she's been trying to beat down."

The second paragraph describes her as "swatting at the myriad stereotypes that buzz around her."

Then, a few paragraphs, mostly short "quote" paragraphs, take a break before one refers to "prejudging" and "barriers." The next mentions how they all "stare down myths," "battle cultural expectations," face an "uphill struggle" and... It goes on and on. And on.

And on.

And on.

If stereotypes are ever eliminated, I don't know how college writers will construct stories.

Oh, and we all know that were I, a straight white male, to try a music career, I'd be handed a record contract tomorrow. No uphill struggles for me, no sir.

Anyhow, I found it interesting that the writer, who, did I mention, seems a bit upset about stereotyping, identifies the subjects throughout the piece by first name, ala "Jenny said..." instead of "Choi said..." The rest of the publication, as a rule, refers to subjects by last name, as most journalistic endeavors do.

This wouldn't seem like much of a problem unless you know a bit about feminist, post-feminist--whatever they're calling it now--ideology. This happens a lot--even mainstream sources tend to identify the president as "Bush" and his wife as "Laura." And although I'm certainly not one to quibble about politically correct word choice, there is a long history of society seeing male children as more important than female ones, as boys will eventually "carry on the name" and such, and so an good argument can be made about this.

See, I'm technically a type of "blogger," and I've actually put facts and research into an entry! Just doing MY part to blast away at those prejudging-inducing, uphill-struggle-causing stereotypes...

I noted another interesting quote in the story.

One of these uphill strugglers mentions that, if you enter the term "Asian woman" into a search engine, all sorts of porn links arise. This is an argument for the fact that Asian women are "overly sexualized."


If you enter, "black woman," "white woman" or even "green woman" into a search engine, all sorts of porn links come up.

Even if you enter "Asian man," "black man," "white man" or "off-chartreuse man" into a search engine, porn links will come up.

Hell, if you enter "Asian goat" into a search engine, porn links come up!

Christ, just what do they think the Internet is FOR? You enter "furniture" into a freakin' search engine and porn will come up...

At the stroke of midnight, a message popped up on my screen announcing "Ray Kroc's death" on Wednesday.

Ray Kroc, by the way, is the Man Behind McDonald's and... That doesn't matter.

For years, I've been obsessed with keeping birthdays, death days, etc. of people I admire in my calendar, which was computerized last year.

I usually check "off" the "reminder" function on these days. (The program is meant for important appointments and such.)

My point? I don't know. (There I go--reverting to a "blogger" stereotype again!)

But I must stress that Mr. Kroc is ALREADY dead. Otherwise, my little calendar obsession would be downright ominous...

Laughing at Strangers for No Real Good Reason:

Adrienne Slick.

Gotta get up pretty oily to outwit her.


Abdul Butt.

He's a bit cheeky.


Georgia Wanders.

But this guy knows how to take care of that:

Hosst Schmack.



Bush is pissed at ol' Paul O'Neil

who blathered to push a book deal

'bout things "classified"

and Bush says he lied

or is Bush just pissed 'cause he squealed?



A semi-paraphrasing of a next-segment plug overheard on cable-TV news while cleaning up after eating:

"Montel Williams is up next... Montel can tell us why he was depressed. Montel can tell us why he contemplated suicide..." However, the operative question was left untouched:


You know Great van Susteren, right? Fox News Channel host? The one who's show, lately, could be called "The van Susteren Laci Peterson Report"?

Well, you know how she has that... that THING? That... Lip thing? I'd call it a hair-lip, but I'm not entirely sure what a "hair-lip" is exactly.

Anyway, do you wonder what head from Great would be like? Would she work one side more than the other? Hit it at such an angle to nail an especially pleasurable spot? Or would your feller go in crooked and get bent, screwing up the delightfulness of it all?

If any of you ever find out, let me know. Unlikely, I'm sure--but you each stand a much better chance of finding out than does Scott Peterson...

I was reading yesterday about censorship in textbooks. It seems that textbook publishers have gone beyond political correctness and actually have works reviewed by "bias panels."

I read of some real-life experiences in dealing with these panels, including one in which the panel objected to a fictional story that included references to mountain climbing.

Because, for those less "un-biased" than the gurus who somehow find their way onto these panels, this would give the story a "regional bias," hurting schoolchildren who don't live around mountains.

Alarming, yes. But even more so since it's been, what, about two years since VH-1 declared political correctness dead?



That new show feat'ring Donald Trump

shows his true identity's chump--

to 'void bein' dateless

he aspired to greatness--

else, with the hair, never'd get rump.



Saw a bit of the Donald Trump "reality" show yesterday, "The Apprentice."

Let me get this straight: People come home from a hard day at the office, turn on the TV to escape and proceed to watch a bunch of business meetings.

My prediction still stands: Within 20 years, TV execs will literally have us watching grass grow...

The Pentagon reports that U.S. Troops are committing suicide in record (or near-record) numbers "despite special teams sent to help troops combat stress."

These "special teams" undoubtedly include therapists, counselors and the like.

Did they MEAN to say "despite"?...

Catholic school enrollment is reportedly down. At least in the Chicago area, although I'm guessing it's probably everywhere.

The Church blames the rising cost of Catholic education for the trend.

I mean, what else could it possibly be?...

As if to answer the letter writer last week who asked if the FCC's sinister desire to further deregulate the media will result in more porn on the air, the administration is now going retro in yet another way: Upping fees for that 18th-Century crime, "obscenity."

We can focus on this stuff now. We're no longer at "orange"...

Speaking of primitive laws, do you think that the whole War on Drugs is a plot to keep our law enforcement folks busy with SOMETHING while the slow business of tracking down real criminals unfolds?...

If you know anything about biology whatsoever, you know that we are, and every animal on the planet is, "carbon-based" life.

Many scientists think there is no other form of life possible. Others, and many sci-fi writers, disagree.

For the sake of anybody who loves, has ever loved and will ever love food, I hope scientists aren't one day discussing the exotic yet extinct "carb-based" life...

Laughing at Strangers for No Real Good Reason:

Director of Defense for Health Affairs Dr. William Winkenwerder.

No pun necessary. Actually, no good pun quickly possible. Just giggle at it.


Pat Superczynski.

Can easily be replaced by a brat, extra large fries and extra large drink.



At least one of the Enron rubes

is jail-bound--MAY need to pack lube

for his prison housin'

for screwin' o'er near thousands

is light--'snot like he smoked a doob!





Aren't you lucky?...

I've been noticing that, after fading mostly out of view for a while, Alec Baldwin is in all sorts of Hollywood fare these days.

Is this because of all the "runaway" filmmaking--you know, studios shooting in Canada because it's cheaper?

Because, of course, he MOVED to Canada, as he said he would if Bush became president.

Didn't he?




At Dr. King's grave, Bush was booed--

a bit harsh, this could be construed.

He had good intentions

though he'd never mention

he wondered if the ground held crude.



Merry Christmas! From all of us, to all of you, God bless us every one!, Jingle Bell Rock, clip the mistletoe on the ol' nutsack... Holly jolly, um, er... Ahem.

Perhaps some explanation is in order:

Today is the day of my last modern Christmas.

You see, with the sister marrying some guy who's unrelated (the nerve!--negatively stereotypical Southern behavior has some merit), and the cousins doing likewise, and every family having its own Christmas celebrations... Well, we couldn't fit in a Christmas with my sister and her immediately family.

And it's probably the best of the Christmases, as young children will be opening gifts and there will be fun stuff, instead of socks, sweaters and freakin' gift certificates.

Actually, this process will drag on for some time. There is at least one other couple we haven't exchanged gifts with. Although, of course, that will be very low on the Christmas Excitement Totem Pole. Last year, I didn't finish my final "Christmas" until April.

It's especially hard to be In The Spirit in April.

And it's a little pathetic now. But that's modern life.

So Merry Christmas!

If you have a tough time getting into it, realize that we only have 344 days until the REAL Christmas! (Well, there's also the little matter of the fact that you don't HAVE an extra Christmas today, so I'll give you a pass--but you very well might have extra Christmases coming up yourself in this day and age! I'd ask for stories on the matter but a] DLS&Y isn't some tear-jerkin', Chicken Soup for the Soul-esque rag and b] you never answer my calls for input anyway, bastards.)

But only 344 days? That's almost Last-Minute Shopping time to the marketers!...

Long live CHEEZE!



Many treat celebs like they're holy;

I bash them and yet--Holy Moley!

Online got some kicks

this week, seekin' pics--

let's just say that I had my Jolies!



You'll note that today's is a "traditional" limerick; a little, um, gift for Sunday-only readers, as recently I've been under fire from the traditional, conservative limerick literature community and, well, become a subscriber to learn more about this exciting, soap-opera-esque tale...

Do you recall how mixed nuts, religious and otherwise but mostly not otherwise, were all irate about the fact that Ellen DeGeneres, an avowed lesbian, voiced a major character in Disney's "Finding Nemo"?

Well, I was reading about a new Disney animated feature, "Teacher's Pet," and noted that one Paul Ruebens, AKA Pee Wee Herman, is voicing a character in this one.

Reubens has recently been under investigation for possession of child pornography.

No uproar, however.

This new millennium is all about getting priorities straight, right off the bat...

Speaking of confusing philosophies, Olivia Goldsmith has died.

Goldsmith is the author of "The First Wives' Club" and is generally known as an active, semi-Old School feminist--especially for her bashing of the perceived male obsession with physical appearance.

Goldsmith died during cosmetic surgery.

If you're gonna die, die with your boots half on...

Funny, but you don't hear a lot about the dangers of plastic surgery, which has become an outright mania among the population, despite living in a country where the money and power of lobbyist groups takes a back seat to The Truth. But I digress...

Sepp Blatter, president of FIFA, which somehow stands for the international organization of women's national soccer teams, has come out in favor of players wearing "sexier" outfits to help attract a larger fan base.

Which has, in this case, caused an uproar. Especially among the players, who don't appear to agree.

Of course these chicks, er, professional women players, have a point.

A bunch of pro women's tennis players got sexy and it's not like THAT'S gotten more popular...

Speaking of PR in limbo, I'm sure you've heard that the Nation of Islam is now firmly in Michael Jackson's camp, as far as the "alleged" child molestation charges are concerned.

Now, the Nation has a minor role in the overall world of Islam, of course. But Islam, as I sure as hell hope you've noticed, has had some PR problems lately.

So I guess they're taking "no PR is bad PR" to its extremes.

Might as well get Farrakhan to voice a character in the next Disney animated feature, too...

Saw an ad for a big ol' family event in the 'burbs trumpeting its policy that "Kids are Free!"

I think they meant that kids' ADMISSION is free.

At least, I THINK Neverland Ranch is not holding events in Illinois' McHenry County...

I don't know why this didn't occur to me earlier, but haven't we had real "reality" TV--live, what-happens-happens TV--for decades?

Called, well, "sports"?...

Just a question:

The economic boom of the '90s was mostly dependent on the tech and Internet sectors.

So, in reality, although nobody obviously wants to trumpet the fact, wasn't the new economy really a Porn Boom?...

Here's a Sunday Blessing for you:

May you not fart during sit-ups.

'Cause, of course, every time you come back up, you hit the cloud and... Well.

May you not fart during sit-ups...


In hearing news of the Democratic Iowa Primary race tightening up, the following quasi-parody song came into my head:

"And then Along Comes Kerry..."...


"Young Americans Have Lost Trust in Their Government."

I can't imagine why a group of people that votes in such stellar numbers could be so jaded about a process dependent upon their participation...

Carol Mosely-Braun (SIC?--does she use the damn hyphen or not?) dropped out of the race before I was able to, er, "endorse" her. Or not.

But you can feel free to postulate on how DL/S&Y would have weighed in on her candidacy.

I saw her on "The Daily Show" earlier in the week. She stated that "Illinois doesn't have a lot of African Americans."

I had just read earlier in the week that Chicago has a larger black population than even LA and New York.

But Chicago readers will know, Chicago is not of much importance in greater Illinois politics...

"And then Along Comes Kerry..."...

I'll get that in your heads, just you wait and see...

And now for another anti-endorsement:

Wesley Clark has said that he thinks we should make abortion legal right up until pregnancy.

'Cause what this country needs is more divisiveness...

But why, at the same time, is Clark's assertion that, "9/11 was preventable" considered taboo?

It wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that Congress (and government overall) enjoyed its highest historical approval rating right after the attacks, would it?...

I did read this week that John Edwards drove a Plymouth Duster as a young man!

I drove a Dodge Dart as a whippersnapper!

Not enough for an endorsement, I know, but, well, we don't have much either...

Laughing at Strangers for No Real Good Reason:

Rosalie Superfine.

I think she was born in some weird experiment involving a laboratory and a "blaxploitation" film director...

"And then Along Comes Kerry..."

Sunday Story Time: The Ugly File.

Earlier this week, I wrote about the Dept. of Homeland Security's new scheme to color code every air traveler.

Which reminded me of my "Ugly File."

It's one of my physical, manila files.

There was a time, long ago, when I was an alcohol-abusing, largely politically ignorant whippersnapper (not long after my Dodge Dart finally failed)--but that didn't' stop my from writing my legislators, ready to quote the Declaration of Independence about "the people rising up" as it applies to modern situations, such as the legalization of drugs.

The remnants of this period are in my Ugly File.

And quite possibly in an FBI file, which brings me a sick sense of pride...

"And then Along Comes Kerry..."






TODAY'S POEM: A nest of balloons

A nest of balloons

uncurls in the wind,

dangling near her above the black water.

As she sails out of frame,

they jump-bob their heads.

Rhythmically drooping and spinning.

Bouncing higher, they glide to the sky --

her laughter replete --

to snap in the sunlight.

A shriveled purple bulb

falls to the deck.

Grinning, she toasts it

then turns back to her friend.

[If you'd like to physically thank or berate the poet, e-mail him at b_squirrel@hotmail.com. He won't bite--although he may chew a bit.]



The legacy of Martin King's

brought many more reason to sing.

Today's Civ. Rights leaders,

like Jesse, have teetered

to less progress with more bling-bling!



Happy Martin Luther King Jr. Day!...

Is "happy" the right greeting? It seems somehow wrong. But "merry" is already taken...

Cubs pitcher Kerry Wood is being made out as some sort of a hero for signing with the Cubs for less money than he might obtain elsewhere.

There's a prevalent attitude that pro athletes, the stars of "Friends," recording stars and other celebrities make too much money, especially considering that folks of more direct importance, like teachers and cops, make so little money.

But nobody ever thinks about where the money goes otherwise. It's not like some baseball team is going to take the extra money saved and give it to homeless children.

It goes into the pockets of executives.

So, in the above-named cases, I am in favor of that "extra" money going toward the talent instead of going to those who make a living off of those who have talent, often out of bitterness because the execs themselves discovered, at some point, they didn't have the talent or persistence to be on the other end of the financial negotiations but wanted to lord power over them anyway.

In this case, Wood's decision mostly benefits the Tribune company--extra money toward lobbying the FCC to allow them to eventually, mooo-ha-ha-ha!, rule the world!

Well, the Tribune Company benefits indirectly, I guess you could say, in some slight increase in Cub Mania by retaining Wood, and another team (or teams) pockets the money because they won't have to shell out for him. Thus the Tribune doesn't DIRECTLY profit on this one.

Knock on Wood...

There's now a growing concern among government yahoos about "Little Tobacco."

See, in socking Big Tobacco with all these taxes and financial requirement toward stuff like PSA to encourage, er, discourage youngsters from smoking, and line the pockets of lawyers and government, er, fund public health concerns, government effectively opened a path for small tobacco companies to thrive on the free market.

And now the government is wondering what to do about the fact that it's harder to balance the budget on the backs of a politically incorrect minority--er, I mean, they're placed with the dilemma of having all these new tobacco companies not contributing to the pot of public welfare.

I shouldn't say it but... What the hell: I TOLD you so.

The most amusing aspect of the story I happened to read was the graphic. It showed a pack of cigarettes from a Little Tobacco company called "Grim Reapers."

The skeleton on the cover looks disturbingly like Michael Jackson...

I don't know about YOUR local paper, but the Chicago Sun-Times was lacking its usual lame-brained USA Weekend supplement this week.

An explanation in the main section of the paper said it didn't carry the waste of paper due to an "offensive word."

Although I'm curious as to what this "offensive word" was, I took strange pleasure in seeing the section bumped. But what I'm REALLY waiting to read in a future Sunday paper is this disclaimer: "The Chicago Sun-Times has decided not to carry USA Weekend today because this week's edition is just too damn lame..."...

Laughing at Strangers for No Real Good Reason:

Greg Favors.

Shell of a man. More like party hats and noisemakers than flesh and bone.


U.S. Dept. of Defense official Richard Lawless.

Kinda makes sense, no?


Frances Harm.

No pain, no gain. Nor Frances.


Ben Kite.

I hear he's pretty fly.


Julius Peppers.

Just another face in your daily grind.


Jim Lites.

Let's hope he takes himself down soon--it's almost freakin' February.


Mary Massingale.

I hear she's kind of a douche.



The Dem caucus Boredom Machine

kicked in for the ML King Scene.

(A dis, some blacks say.)

Got carried away--

least they can't say, "I have a Dean."



You've probably heard of the World Health Organization. And, no, despite the acronym it forms, it is NOT a classic rock band whose primary songwriter got into a little trouble with child pornography recently.

The WHO might as well be called the EHO, anyway, as only the budding Big Mother nightmare European Union appears to pay them much mind. Actually, EEEHO might make the most sense--the European Everybody Else's Health Organization.

The WHO gets its bureaucratic panties in a bunch knowing that some people make less than healthy choices in their lives--hence, draconian measures to protect people from themselves. It started with tobacco.

Despite the U.S. aversion to much of WHO's agenda, the WHO is largely responsible for the philosophy of slapping extra taxes on tobacco to protect people from themselves. This has served, truth be told, to lower smoking rates--but it's also served to separate folks from their money, affecting mostly the poorest and least able to afford the "for your own good" cost of life increases.

Now the WHO is proposing draconian taxes for foods.

Here's the argument that helped propel the (seemingly) human need to tell other people how to live into a Festival of Big Mother: If we stop people from smoking (etc.), it will lead to lower public health costs for all of us.

But now, thankfully, some are starting to question this argument: After all, if smokers (etc.) go ahead and continue, they die early, lowering long-term nursing costs, social-security-esque public retirement costs, etc.

As much as I bitch, I have also noted that many of the problems created by the Moron Majority (and multiple Moron Minorities) take care of themselves in a process similar to the Balance of Nature. For example: The recording industry has given one big swirly to American culture by focusing solely on the bottom line and feeding us complete and utter disposable crap; now, however, the recording industry is finally seeing its self-inflicted financial hell.

And as more question the Big Mother New World Order, WHO policies are backfiring.

In the end, of course, it always seems to boil down to money.

So perhaps the love of money is the root of all good, as well.



This is in reply to... Well, a bunch of stuff, I think, from yesterday's edition:

> Speaking of the Chicago Sun-Times and the power-hungry.....


> Chicago Sun-Times chairman accused of stealing $200 million

> Associated Press

He then goes on to paste the entire story in his reply.

Well, I didn't say the Tribune was the ONLY power-hungry newspaper in town. They were just "grandfathered" in when they already owned a TV station (and more) in the same town.

The former, or soon-to-be-former, Sun-Times chairman certainly seems to be a follower of En-Ron Hubbard.



Blath'rin' about space and the Moon and

alleged economic boom, man--

saw Powell and Cheney--

it felt like the '80s!--

should call it "State of the RE-Union."



So the Feds have announced that they believe they prevented the wannabe "20th 9-11 Hijacker" from boarding in Orlando.

So don't be sad. One out of twenty ain't bad...

As you well know, becoming a celebrity in any way, shape or form now allows you a free pass to become any other form of celebrity as well--singer, actor, children's book author, politician, novelist.

And now we can officially add "journalist" to that list.

Sean Penn has been given assignment(s) for the San Francisco Chronicle. (I've been published in the SFC, too, so I guess you can include me in those "Six Degrees of Separation from Kevin Bacon" games.)

By 2010, if Madonna so desires, on the basis of her celebrity alone, she'll be performing your angioplasty...

Spain's Catalonian High Court has ruled that a company improperly fired a worker for alleged on-the-job marijuana use because a) the guy only smoked during breaks or after work and b) he was never sufficiently stoned enough to affect his job duties.

The treatment I read of this story was kinda making fun of the ruling, but I see it as perfectly sensible. I have a Zero Tolerance policy toward moronity in all its forms...

A variety show I frequently perform in here in Chicago is held at Phyllis' Musical Inn--which has one of the more frightening men's bathrooms I have witnessed (which is saying a WHOLE lot).

Recently, I noticed a container of "anti-bacterial" soap by the sink in the men's room.

And I wondered, "If you spilled that soap, wouldn't the entire bathroom be destroyed, leaving some strange gaping dimensional void?"...

Seinfeld introduced the term "sponge worthy" as another moniker for use by women in making men jump through hoops to get at their goods.

Yesterday, I thought of a counter-term for us guys to use on women: "spooge worthy."

Oh sure, you laugh now. But once it's made famous by "Porn on Ice"...

Last night I caught a bit of some old James Bond flick on cable.

And, as testament to eternal optimism: Do you ever find yourself watching a movie you've seen many, many times--and yet you STILL hope the camera will pan to show the actress' nipple?



"Todd TV's" guy will listen to you;

whatever you want him to do!

The "man needs" of chicks

are filled if this clicks--

sex as we know it could be through!



Happy Chinese New Year!...

By the way, this now being the Year of the Monkey, it is notable (depending on your definition of "notable") that I was BORN during a Year of the Monkey, so this should be a good year for my banana, or something, no?...

I read today that Catherine Zeta-Jones enjoys playing bingo.

And I know there's a joke here.

"69-D"... Hmmm. "I'd give HER a chit!"... No?... Aw, shucks.

When I found out a former college teacher of mine, whom I lusted for, enjoyed Scrabble, I invited her to play with me.

The results were less than stellar.

Still no joke, but it IS a teasing little hint of what's to come this Sunday Story Time...

In doing some publication research for a book project today, I stumbled upon "In Touch" magazine.

From the cover, "in touch" means knowing all about Trista and all the other "reality" "stars."

Somehow, I'm more than content being "Out of Touch"...

I have "Geekdar"!

That's right! Gays have "gaydar" and I've discovered geekdar!

I can often tell whether, say, somebody used to play a lot of Dungeons & Dragons in junior high/high school.

I don't know what good geekdar is, other than as a useful tool in determining who to avoid. I guess I could rent out my ability to chicks but... Well, I like geeks. Sometimes. I think. Single guys will no doubt argue that we need more of them...

Today is not a good day for punchlines to my little nuggets...

Cigaratherapy is my new service.

I won't tell you the details of how I arrived at this watershed invention, but suffice it to say that there is SOME demand.

Smelly bathrooms. Folks who enjoy the smell because it reminds them of a grandfather or something. People who need something to cover up that bong-o-rific fragrance that somehow hit their apartments.

There you have it. Make me an offer.



The "Fit Patrol" of Sara Lee's

a van that travels the country

bringing perfect fit

in bras to dames' tits--

sounds like a career path to me!



Bush is prepared to sign the latest Congressional budget--or may have already.

Being amid troubled economic times--despite the "jobless economy" that, according to pundit predictions since mid-2002, will explode at any time--there's a lot of belt-tightening going on. Yup, expect funding for only the most important of functions, like job-training programs, Homeland Security, the $200,000 Fist Tee golf program to teach youngsters golf... Ahem.

That's right. First Tee is a Florida program that House Majority Leader Tom DeLay deemed absolutely necessary.

Now, we already have the potential for fun-making with this item. But a description of the item also notes that the program will teach teens golf "and its values."


Does this mean that future generations will perhaps at least ask, before running you over in their SUVs while yapping on cell phones, "May I play through?"...

Read a "help wanted" ad today for an "Aggressive Liquor Distribution Company."

I think I met the company's owner during college. He was the guy yelling, "chug, chug, CHUG!!!"...

My prediction: The next development in our "reality becoming too ridiculous even for parody" society will be the celebrity XXX fetish flick.

The world of celebrity "accidental" sex videos is unpredictable. But if I had to place a bet now, it'd be on Paris Hilton.

Perhaps co-starring Osama bin Laden...

Speaking of predictions... Have you noticed that people are becoming downright nutty about using those check-out lane dividers to keep their groceries away from yours? As if you're just dyin' to take their selection of low-carb dinners just for the pleasure of theft--as you still have to pay for them?

So I'm predicting the next media-induced anger phenomenon will be: Check-out Rage!...

Why do people say, "Good Call"?

You suggest to a group of friends that you should all get a pizza. You order the pizza and, while eating it, somebody compliments you with "good call."

I keep expecting someone else to counter, "What! He's blind! That tip was a foul!"...


Likewise, I'm a bit confused about the phrase "Good People."

Usually, it's used to describe one guy, ala "He's GOOD PEOPLE."

Although it would make sense referring to, say, Shirley McClain.

Ugh. Waxed a little "Bob Hope" on that semi-dated reference.

Okay. But it might make sense referring to, say, Howard Dean.



> I think your idea about cigar smoke stinks. :p

Perhaps you're right.

Perhaps not.

Who nose?



Now Bennifer's dead and they're bitchin';

blaming The Press--who for this was itchin'.

Somehow missed the commotion

in the "Gigli" promotion

when The Press forced its way in their kitchen.



I rarely read those "Antiques Road Show"-esque columns in the newspaper, but I make sure to glance at them in case I have something stuffed away in a box that happens to be worth major cash.

And for other reasons. Like this:

Yesterday, a reader wrote in questioning the worth of his 1967 Sebastian Cabot album.

Sebastian Cabot was an actor, best-known for a character on "Family Affair."

The album consists of Cabot's dramatic readings of the work of Bob Dylan.

I guess we have room for only one person being famous for that type of thing--and Shatner has already landed the, er, "coveted" spot.

You see, the columnist placed the album's worth at $8-10.

He he.

I don't know about 1967 pricing, but I do know that in the mid-'70s, a brand new album cost about $7-8.

In the long tradition of Cheezy Saturdays, this edition, like many others, really has no point...

I take that back: It's a "post modern" entry today. "Ooh" and "aah" at will...

Okay, I'll give you one of these, too:

Laughing at Strangers for No Real Good Reason:

Berglind Icey.

Actually, she's a St. Pauli Girl model from... One of THOSE countries. But while viewing her may make you feel warm, for all practical purposes, if you or I were to meet her... Well, she probably wouldn't act "Berglind."



A news dame in an-Ohio city

was caught showin' wet-T-shirt tittie.

Was fired--ethics reasons--

but local news legions

just read from a screen and look pretty!



There's been evidence, er, recently that acetaminophen, the aspirin-esque drug in over-the-counters such as Tylenol, is dangerous and, albeit rarely, deadly--at least in large quantities.

The FDA states that it hasn't gotten the word out so well yet "work on labels is still underway."

The "recent" word on the A Drug debuted in 2002.

It's not like these labels need to be produced ASAP. We're just talking life and death here, after all--not album content...

A woman has had a 176-pound tumor removed from her back.

One of the more interesting facts of this story is that the woman lives in TRANSYLVANIA.

Take a moment to wax all gothic about this.

Now, you may be thinking that the most interesting fact is the 176-POUND FREAKIN' TUMOR. How was it allowed to grow so big before its removal?

But, then again, they probably have HMOs in Transylvania, too...


The silly song in my head last week was oddly prescient, so I'll remind you of it again: "And then Along Comes Kerry"...

What's the whoop with Howard Dean's "howl"?

I mean, when I first heard it, I giggled. "What the hell was THAT?" I asked my wife, who had the TV on in the other room. She informed me of the source and since, I've had the pleasure of hearing the whole rant. Many times. Many many times. And I'll probably be hearing it many, many, many more times, especially over the next month or so.

But... What's the big deal? The content of the "speech," or rant, or whatever, was simply naming states and optimistically proclaiming that he'll win them.

We can't concentrate on those pesky ISSUES, I suppose. We just wait for somebody to do something that's not very TV/sound-byte friendly.

I will leave you with what I consider to be a clever assessment of The Howl.

Through my continued amusement in hearing it, I've struggled to describe the nature of the bellow.

And I can only conclude: It's quite Flintstonian...

"And then Along Comes Kerry..."

Laughing at Strangers for No Real Good Reason:

Liberal, Kansas.

Hmmm. This is the state where they mandate teaching "creation" in schools.

Then again, with the fluctuations in the definitions of "liberal" and "conservative," it may yet be an accurate moniker.


Babs Fell.

Geez. I hope she's all right.


Jewel G. Frisco.

Another one of those names that doesn't lead to "good" punnery but is in the style LASFNRGR was originally intended.


David G. Rest.

He was created on the 7th Day.


August Zemaitaitis.

I hope he's not contagious.

Sunday Story Time: Teachers I've Lusted For.

I've only included this "installment" because I kinda sorta plugged it earlier in the week.

But I'm not doing that topic. I'm saving it for a poem.

Sunday-only readers: Sorry for not letting yet in on the puzzlement. But you know how to stop it from happening in the future...

Sunday Story Time: Pardon My Pot (???).

Once, years ago, I was smoking pot out the door of my apartment.

I've long smoked cigars "out the door"--that is, leaving the ashtray outside and periodically wandering by the door to have a few puffs while keeping them from tainting the indoor air. (How I long for the days of George Burns' prime--in some ways, anyhow.) So, in the paste, when I've made the naughty decision to smoke wacky tobacky, I've done it as part of the outdoor ritual.

The way the apartment buildings were configured, there was a neighbors door right next to mine.

So one day, the neighbor girl was exiting her apartment, unbeknownst to me, as I was preparing to blow out a big, honkin' hit.

BAM! (As a stoner Emeril might say.) Right in the kisser! (As a stoner Ralph Kramden might say.)

I just retreated back into my apartment. I uttered no word of apology.

I wasn't sure what to say.

"Pardon my pot"???






TODAY'S POEM: Ashes in the river

There are ashes in the river.

What building burned down

to supply the water this new color?

Ink, but no pages; clay, but no hands;

paint, but no canvas;

love; but no


[If you'd like to physically thank or berate the poet, e-mail him at b_squirrel@hotmail.com. He won't bite--although he may chew a bit.]



So "Fulla" will take Barbie's place

upon Arab-world shelving space.

If Barbie, we leave her

without nips or beaver

will Fulla be lacking a... face?



Our legal system was designed to protect us all. Beyond criminal cases, our civil courts were designed to bring justice to those who might not see it through governmental prosecution, as government does not have the time and resources to enforce every contract, for example. The actions of the civil courts often find their way to the criminal courts, too, helping us historically to define civil rights abuses, for instance.

It is with this long, important tradition in mind that lawyers in Nashville are taking aim at a societal villain that heretofore has been allowed to run rampant:

Honor rolls.

First, the lawsuits helped clamp down on a similar evil The Pep Rally--and they're not going to stop at honor rolls--oh no. Exemplary Student Work Posted on School Walls and Spelling Bees are but two of the Monstrosities these good solicitors have in their sights.

People tend to focus on the accidental good that these Sinister Practices bring, but what of the kid who DOESN'T make the honor roll? The student at the pep rally who DIDN'T make the basketball team and is thus bitter at any mention of school hoops?

Early on, Communism was the governmental system that promised everyone equal treatment, regardless of skill, talent or work ethic.

Lady Liberty: Tear down this tort system...


I just read today that ephedra, the evil performance supplement that's becoming the current whipping example for the Quagmire of the War on Drugs, only became so popular because its makers gave a whole lot of money to and did a whole lot of lobbying of politicians--including one George W. Bush.

I hope you see the pattern here: The mess a politician creates today can have "war" declared on it tomorrow...

Today, I boarded a bus just behind a guy who didn't have money for his ride.

Now, this is usually a sad situation. I rarely give money to strangers, but I do occasionally--when I'm partially caught off-guard and/or partially moved by what seems to be a sincere sob story, and somebody boarding a bus and short of the $1.75 fare while trying to get to a job interview, etc., is one of those occasions when I'll "spare" some change.

But this clown was telling the bus driver, "I don't have the money; I have twenties but..." "Hold it, hold on!" (I told my conscience.) "So this guy actually has plenty of money to ride the bus but didn't think ahead to actually have change ready or, more intelligently, obtain a fare card so he could just add money as needed and not worry about the proper change?"

Oh, and I was most certainly not in a touristy part of town. So that couldn't be the guy's excuse (and it would be a flimsy excuse even then).

So... Damn, I'm having real difficulties with witty closers to these things today, so I've decided to not even try with this one...

A 2002 survey of corporate executives found 82 percent of them admitting to cheating at golf.

Now, do you recall a recent mention in S&Y of the $200,000 First Tee program in the latest Congressional budget--pushed by House Majority Leader Tom DeLay? How the program was meant to teach teens golf and "its values"?

Well now we see how this crucial program is building the future leaders of tomorrow, knowing how closely the ethics of business and golf are intertwined...

Laughing at Strangers for No Real Good Reason:

Rev. Hannah Jane Hurdle-Toomey.

Maybe afterward, she can hurdle to you.



The N-A-A-C-P will be

giving award to R. Kelly.

N, A, A and C

of course have meaning

but R's gonna double the "P."



I am writing today's edition en route to Minneapolis.

Yeah, I know what you're thinking: Why fight the crowds flocking to the warm and sunny paradise in late January?

I'm once again tagging on to The Wife's business trip.

Actually, I'll be sending this to you FROM the tropical paradise. But I'm waiting with the oh-so-exciting "LIVE FROM MINNEAPOLIS" standing head until tomorrow, when all of the ideas and writing and, gosh darn it, the whole tone of S&Y will be Minneapolian. Or Minneappalachian. Or Minnie the Moocher.

Ahem. So this doubles as a) an excuse for filing late; and b) a damn good reason for you to get excited about the delightful musings, with a different twist, you're about to read...

The big buzz around Sundance this year is over the movie, "Super Size Me," by Morgan Spurlock.

Which leads me to believe that the once-great film festival is a little... buzz-challenged, shall we say?

For this movie, Spurlock ate three meals a day at McDonald's for one month and, among other things, got fat.

This, my friends, is investigative documentary journalism at its finest.

(In reading about this, I learned that Spurlock's girlfriend is a Vegan chef, which leads me to theorize that the guy just craved some semi-palatable food for a change and dreamed up the whole "documentary" scam as a way of getting away from the soy and lentils for a month.)

Quite an inspirational tale, no? Why, I now have half a mind to go ahead with a documentary I've longed dreamed of making in which I hit strip clubs three times a day for a month and, prepare yourself for this--although it's not QUITE as shocking as Spurlock's surprise ending--I DEVELOP MARITAL DIFFICULTIES!

Morgan Spurlock is such a genius, why... Give that man a Segway!...

(But make him pay for it)...

(Actually, make him pay AT LEAST double for it)...

I was reading today about how pregnancy is suddenly hip in Hollywood.

That's right. I know we've been a little slack in our populating duties overall as a race--but feel free and multiply folks, now that Gwyneth Paltrow and Debra Messing have made non-pregnancy SOOO last century!

Julia Roberts, however, is not in on the trend. But, before you go cancel the Lamaze classes, realize that she approves of it.

(Collective "Whew!")

Roberts says that having a baby is something she can't really shoot for; it comes from the "will of heaven."


Now I know that Hollywood isn't exactly a member state of reality but, well, I kinda figured Julia would nonetheless know where babies come from...

England's Price Charles is now publicly defending King George III.

So, he's defending the king who... Ahem.

Do we live in England? No.

Is this a supermarket tabloid? Of course not.

So we don't find one of England's top welfare recipients newsworthy, at least until he shows up in a video with Paris Hilton, now do we?...

I've only done this once before, so it's not yet time to treat it as a recurring section with an allegedly catchy name, but here we go with "Take the First Sentence or Two of a Letter to an Advice Columnist and Even a Segway Rider Can Answer It":

"I'm 22, attracted to a guy I watch play basketball for the National Basketball Association on TV. I wrote him several letters."

Kinda makes you wish the Patriot Act extended to newspaper advice columns, doesn't it?...

I DID say "kinda"...

Laughing at Strangers for No Real Good Reason:

Kevin Chawlk.

(Yawn.) Oh, sorry. Bored.


Chuck Raasch.

Keep that ointment away from him!


Sidney Rockin.

And you thought you were SO cool, telling all the chicks in bars that your middle name was "rockin."



On this Minneapolis stay

it's cold as shit, yet I must say

the chill perks those nips--

breast men here due flips

'cause those puppies stay hard 'til May!




I suppose that today's edition should be chock full o' Minneapolan... Er, Minneapolitan... Er--hey, wait! My spell checker recognizes "Minneapolitan"!

So, anyway, today's edition should be chock full o' Minneapolitan nuggets, but... Let's see. The guy in charge of the state lottery was under investigation and killed himself but, otherwise, the news is just Kerry'd away with primary info and, if you can believe it, news about how cold it is here in Minneapolis in January.

This is Slappin' and Yappin' reporting live from Minneapolis. Back to you, Chuck...

Chuck? Okay. Back to you, Slappin' and Yappin'...

Why thank you... Slappin' and Yappin'.

I noticed in my hotel room today that there is a high-speed Internet access plug right by the toilet.

Is there a demand for high-speed Internet access while on the shitter?

I suppose, given the existence of Internet porn, coupled with the fact that any ridiculous fetish you can dream up is probably topped in ridiculosity by another very real fetish, well... Somebody undoubtedly thanked God, however briefly, upon first stumbling upon high-speed, Internet shitter access.

And I suppose that high-speed, Internet shitter access would explain a few things about Slappin' and Yappin'.

But, no, I am not a member of the demographic responsible for the demand for high-speed, Internet shitter access.

I dwell purely within the realm of e-shit.



Iraq's "Weapons of Mass Destruction"

at least served their intended function:

Gave Bush crack at Saddam

who only had got 'em

in a fairy-tale world construction.




Today's local... er, temporarily local news:

Last night, while enjoying a pre-slumber cigar outdoors, I watched the temperature reading on a bank's lighted sign go from -10 to -11 degrees.

A little slice of life vignette that shows, once again, about all you need to know about the local media's news coverage today.

Now, I realize that bank signs have a well-deserved reputation for inaccuracy. But this one doesn't appear to have been off, or at least very far off.

I mean, sure, they're unreliable, but this could only be laughably so in, say, Arizona...

Now, this is sorta local:

An upcoming condo/retail center being planned in these parts trumpets it's eagerly awaited "Lifestyle Center."

What, you may ask, does a "Lifestyle Center" include? A bunch of cultural centers for all different types of minorities? A square for public debate?

Nope. The public isn't privy to every little detail, but sneak previews note that it is scheduled to include a beauty shop, a barber shop and a video store!

A haircut and a rental copy of "Genital Hospital." Pretty much sums up many folks' lifestyles...

Overhearing somebody else's quick channel surfing tells one a lot about the society we're living in.

"Osama bin Laden has released..." "...moving the Scott Peterson trial to..." "...attributing the missing Weapons of Mass Destruction to..." "...J.Lo blames the media for..." "...while some point to the lack of jobs and..." "although starting to show, Kate Hudson was scene wearing..."

There ya' go.



The Oscars always make a splash

with all of their glamour and flash.

But I rather care for

the one with green hair for

'least he admits he deals in trash.




And, perhaps in honor of Super Bowl Weekend, perhaps in honor of a lazy streak, we present a Cheezy Friday Edition, on top of tomorrow's Cheezy Saturday Edition.

And, if you can believe it, there will be no extra charge!...

The cover of the Metro section of my Minneapolis-St. Paul Star Tribune today boasts a photo of a police officer patrolling the skyway on a Segway (brand moron transporter).

(And another parenthetical: The Twin-Cities do have these indoor skyways connecting most downtown buildings, sparing nonsmoking citizens from the cold.)

The thought occurred to me: "Why aren't citizens up in arms over these incidents of purchases belonging in the Wasted Tax Dollars Hall of Fame?"

Then I read the caption and learned that this particular Segway (brand moron trasnporter) was donated. Or donut-ed, considering they ARE cops.

He he.


But you may recall that Chicago police are using Segways (brand moron transporters) by our airports. And I don't think those were donut-ed.

Law enforcement went from being largely fodder for jokes to being revered after 9-11.

And then they go using tax dollars for Segways (brand moron transporters).

But, concerning the donated Twin Cities Segway (brand moron transporter), the caption did mention that a cop would have to call for reinforcements before making an arrest, so he wouldn't have to leave the Segway (brand moron transporter) unattended and vulnerable to theft.

And so our police officers are finally beginning to look more and more like the "bad guys" on "COPS"...



Upon waking up, my schlong hurts

longing to let loose its pee spurts.

But he's also chubby

'cause he wants a rubbie--

the question is: which to do first?




Looking forward to Chicago seeming downright balmy after leaving this tundropolis...

Oh, and it's ridiculously fitting, this being Cheezy Saturday, that it's time once again to wish a good friend, cohort and DL "reader" Happy Birthday!

His name's Shag.

If I tell you any more than that, you'll know too much. And I'll have to kill you.

Actually, I don't kill.

So Shag'll have to kill ya'.

Softly. With his song.

Then again, once he starts his, er, "song," you'll probably just kill yourself...

Laughing at Strangers for No Real Good Reason:

Ingrid Rumpfhubers.

Yup. Some tush just has some indecipherable baggage attached to it.


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!


(c)1999-2004 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.)


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