Daily Limerick
Archives: January 2005

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)!



Hope your New Year's Eve wasn't lame.

Congrats if you scored you a dame!

And if you feel guilt

don't fear, you can still

roll over and ask for her name.



Five years of a Limerick (and commentary) every day! What, do I expect a freakin' medal?...

Let Daily Limerick guide you into a New Year--and help ensure that you break those resolutions sooner than later to stop all the fussin' over 'em...

Oh, I have a few ideas in my Notebook O' Fun, but, really, just as with the Big Boy Publications, you don't expect much from S&Y today, do you? Not only New Year's Day, but a Saturday, to boot.

Is anybody even checking in between porcelain prayers and, well, activities I shudder to even imagine related to the End of the Holidays?...

But I will leave you with this:

Last night MTV's "Iced Out New Year's Eve" only run until 11:30 p.m. last night.

Didn't think it was POSSIBLE to out-lame the "Rockin' New Year's Eve," or Carson Daly, for that matter. But they pulled it off.

And, by the way. I didn't WATCH it. I had something better to do, ya' whackloafs. I just saw it listed in my TV grid that way. And even double-checked it against ANOTHER TV grid.

Talk about journalistic commitment.

But don't tell me that DL doesn't know how to call 'em, for MTV had more important programming to carry its viewers into the midnight hour and a new year.

Oddly enough, "Pimp My Ride."



Gold diggers found cause to be bold

in the tale of Anna Nicole.

Her haul overturned

perhaps some will learn

don't pay to smoke pole of Old Gold.



Five years of a Limerick (and commentary) every day! What, do I expect a freakin' medal?...

Let Daily Limerick guide you into a New Year--and help ensure that you break those resolutions sooner than later to stop all the fussin' over 'em...

Read a brief news story recently, tucked away in the back of the "Nation" section, about a half-dozen or so incidents recently wherein laser lights were shined into commercial airplane cockpits. They weren't able to trace the source beyond nearby neighborhoods and/or suburbs.

I learned a number of things from the story. One, Homeland Security maintains that terrorists are working on firing lasers into cockpits. Two, even a simple laser light, as used in this case, can blind a pilot, at least temporarily. And, three, lasers are sophisticated enough to be operated quite some distance from the actual target.

Yet authorities maintain these incidents are mere mischief. Nothing to worry about.

Just keep gawking at those deaths halfway around the world and be happy you live in a country dedicated to keeping Super Bowl nipples off the air...

India and Sri Lanka have rejected Israel's offer to deploy emergency-seasoned medics to help with the disaster you may have heard about, as their way of objecting to Israel's Palestinian policy.

Wow. They must be over the Iraq war thing, then, 'cause they didn't have any moral problem with the U.S.' $350 million...

I'm wondering if S&Y should carry a warning.

After all, reading my scrawlings could cause one to supper "secondhand schmuck"...

I could've sworn this check was completely staring at me New Year's Eve as I was out engaging in revelry. (A clue to the exact nature of the reverie lies in the upcoming, debut-edition of our Friday Entertainment Section, which needs a better name, but will be glantamerous!)

This brought a much needed shot of confidence to a guy who'd taken a few bullets of rejection, having had an especially Charlie Browny second half to 2004.

Eventually, however, I looked behind me to see one of those damn mounted bar TVs.

At least SOMETHING got mounted as a result of the scenario, anyway...

Here's a painfully honest note I wrote to myself on a pocketed sheet of scratch paper during the aforementioned revelry:

"I'm just trying to look cool"...




TODAY'S EDITION: But One Way Aunt Barb Lives On

During the week of Christmas this last time around, my Aunt Barbara passed away.

Aunt Barb and I shared a special bond. You couldn't call us close in the conventional way--we really didn't talk a helluva lot, but we had a relationship that was stronger than such outside observational measures would indicate.

I think it stemmed from the fact that we'd both been addicted to alcohol.

About a decade ago, I emerged from an alcohol rehab and had a long talk with her at that point--she then being of veteran "on the wagon" status. She was a good AA/12-stepper, and circumstances led me to run the hell away from that way of doing it--guiding me, via different path, to veteran "on the wagon" status today. This "recovery partisan" situation caused a bit of friction--tying in to a topic that would take many a Sunday Story Time to tackle--but, nonetheless, our special bond was forged. The manifestation of the bond was usually little more than a knowing look from time to time, but it was there and it was strong.

In mid 2004, the discussions and separations that would eventually become my divorce began. Soon after, I'd heard that Aunt Barb wasn't doing well health-wise and I gave a call.

Divorce Train-wise, I was past the point of "don't tell anybody because it's still early and anything can happen." So as the topic gradually came up, I told my Aunt of the marital demise.

She had been through a divorce, and she talked about the situation, both hers and in general. But she did not talk in a preachy or self-indulgent way. It was very helpful and cathartic. Mostly, I remember her saying, "There are going to be a lot of people telling you to, 'do this' or 'do that.' Don't listen to any of them. You'll know when you're ready to do certain things; you'll know what's best for you to do in order to move on."

Some may view that as non-advice but, for me, it's just what the Grand Poobah ordered. Kinda Zen-like, or Taoist, or something--as if from one of those Eastern sorta religions.

That advice helped me make it through the horrible, no good, very bad second half of 2004.

And at my family Christmas Eve party, a friend of the family and noted giver of unsolicited advice gave such advice to me: "Divorce is like a DEATH; there's a grieving period; you gotta take time to do nothin' but grieve; why, you're almost gettin' to a point where you can say, 'Hey, I'm not to blame for everything'..."

Actually friend of the family lady, I'm WAY past that point. In fact, I don't think I ever DID blame myself for most of the key problems leading to the Big D--with the exception of naivety and the whole "love is blind" thing. And a couple others.

Although I am generally a man of high courtesy, I cut the Christmas Eve conversation off earlier than I would have normally. And I didn't let the unsolicited advice bother me--on the contrary, I had been in a bit of a down mood that evening and hearing such blathering while learning I was so easily able to counter it, well... It picked me up.

Perhaps it worked even better than if Aunt Barb had physically been there to do it.






TODAY'S POEM: Background

The man in the background

With the sunglasses and smile

Is going to eat you.

He's writing all your information

On little slips

Of paper.

At the next stop,

He'll produce a gun,

And he's going to scratch off the serial numbers.

His behavior is fully incomprehensible.

And, even for a tourist,

Quite suspicious.

He has a little bug in his ear

That tells him

What to do.

And so he does it. And that's why

The man

Is going to eat you.

[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.]



Since Big D, They say, "Have fun dating!"

But I find those words truly grating.

Awkward, pricey, lame--

net results the same:

Capping the night with masturbating.



Five years of a Limerick (and commentary) every day! What, do I expect a freakin' medal?...

Let Daily Limerick guide you into a New Year--and help ensure that you break those resolutions sooner than later to stop all the fussin' over 'em...

Today's edition actually takes you somewhere that no human being has ever gone before, transporting you--

Behind the Limerick.

On second thought, you really don't want to go there. Trust me...

My New Year's advice to you, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers, is to live life as if it were an Elvis movie.

Only associate with women in big, bouffant hairdos. Break into song now and again. Hell, don't just break into mere song, break into CHEEZY song now and again.

I guess it doesn't work LITERALLY. But take the spirit of those movies, the buried meanings, the way of life.

Buried meanings? Elvis' movies?

It's only the third. Maybe I should crawl back into bed, get a little shuteye and start the year over again...

Actually, this whole line of...whatever-you-call-it derives from the fact that I'm itchin' to have a clambake.

Perhaps entwined with the Launch Party.

I just like the idea of having a clambake.

It's not nice to laugh at a man's...

Laughing at Strangers for No Real Good Reason:

Max Boot, conservative expert at the Council on Foreign Relations.

Evidently, Max is pullin' a lot of sway over there.



Between the Quagmire and Tsunami

you've prob'ly missed news that cries, "Mommy!"

Lasers at cockpits

will give you pants shits

so's "shush"-ed by Press and Homeland's Tommy.



Five years of a Limerick (and commentary) every day! What, do I expect a freakin' medal?...

Let Daily Limerick guide you into a New Year--and help ensure that you break those resolutions sooner than later to stop all the fussin' over 'em...

Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers who are on the ball--if such a thing exists--will note that I ranted on the topic of today's limerick recently in this space recently.

Today, I open my newspaper and... Actually, yesterday I opened my newspaper, as these editions are written the day previous. But it's today, for me, as I type this. Hope I didn't shatter any of your illusions about instant Daily Limerick.

Anyway, and anyhow (while we're at it), I was going through the newspaper and noted a story about a cockpit/laser incident at Chicago's O'Hare Airport, adding another airport to the list of those victimized by the "mischief" (as TSA/FAA folk have been referring to the growing trend).

It was a metro brief.

Not that the story warranted front-page or anything, but at least the space of a metro boxer...

Especially as of late, DL/S&Y periodically ponders the separation of Real Life and Art, mostly as it concerns the S&Y Psychiatric Couch. That is, real events and situations influence the blatherings herein, and while I myself am fair game as an object of fun-making and for exemplary purposes, I try not to drag others into my personal Web of Ridiculosity.

And this here story is pushing it. Oh, it's doubtful. And any recognition's likely consequences would be little, if any, to any involved but... Well, let's just say that I now find myself often in crowds where, compared to the average crowd, a large percentage of DL readers is present--although that percentage is still pathetic. And let's also clue in new readers to the fact that, in case you haven't already assumed it, this site contains a lot of exaggeration for comic effect and/or to the effect of making the Chief Limericist look either cooler or more lame.

So, I met somebody at a certain venue a while back whom I dubbed a "stalker." Now, there's some of the good ol' fashioned exaggeration I was just talking about. Although, of course, there's usually SOME kernel of fact to be exaggerated in these cases.

Anyway, I've ranted on and I've ranted long of stalkers, or more likely "stalkers," in this space. In short, I like the idea of having a "stalker," as long as she doesn't do anything dangerous--a light stalker, I suppose--and I have had "stalkers" before.

So the other night, I spy this lady chatting up another poet.

Naturally, I have no further details. They could've been talking about anything. But that's enough for me to conclude that she's CHEATING ON ME. Or perhaps stalk-cheating on me.

Is it right to feel jealous when a stalker's attention strays?

Ah! How many hearts have been pieced by the Stalk/Love Triangle!...

Something that recently occurred to me:

Daily Limerick was around before, and outlived, my marriage.

There's damn good reason we call it the S&Y Psychiatric Couch...

Hear Sloop read his crap LIVE on Internet radio, www.fearlessradio.com, and sit in/pipe-in for the whole "Ghetto Boy and Bill and Monte" show this coming Friday, Jan. 7, 11 a.m. - 1 p.m. And call into the show at 312-757-1957!



They now don't cause smiles, they cause frowns

so please take your Christmas crap down.

Get a grip--a handle--

or I say, "Yo, vandals!"

C'mon--least 'fore freakin' spring comes around.



Five years of a Limerick (and commentary) every day! What, do I expect a freakin' medal?...

Let Daily Limerick guide you into a New Year--and help ensure that you break those resolutions sooner than later to stop all the fussin' over 'em...

Sen. Lindsey Graham (R-S.C.), on an upcoming request by the Bush Administration for $100 billion to flush down the Iraq toilet: "We need to show our enemies that we are not doing this on the cheap."

And if there's one thing that turns off our enemies as they're hiding in caves, boinkin' camels and eatin' dirt, it's penny pinching...

Some club owner/promoter/developer/whatever named Robert Waxman, who's allegedly famous by the way, is opening a '90s-themed club in New York.

Nope. Not 1890s. Not 1790s. The 2090s is a good guess, I suppose, but he's opening a club to celebrate the far off, simpler times of the NINETEEN-FUCKING-NINETIES!

You wait and see. Eventually, Instant Retro's gonna get cha'...


"It is hereby decreed that appearing on 'American Idol' does not make one a celebrity and/or newsworthy."

You may proceed with normal life now...

At one time, long ago--even longer ago than the (gasp!) '90s!--the traditional use of the titles "Miss" and "Mrs.," to label married and single women, respectively, went out of favor. It was popularly deemed a sexist way of getting the "Is she available?" question right out on the table, no need to ask.

And women largely rejected those titles in favor of the universally feminine "Ms."

Today, women have decided for themselves to advertise their single or married status by the use of a simple last name or a Godawfully unwieldy, hyphenated conglomerate one.

Take THAT, Mr. Man!...

Laughing at Strangers for No Real Good Reason:

Bulley & Andrews Contractors.

Where pre-job quotes do NOT include lunch money...

Hear Sloop read his crap LIVE on Internet radio, www.fearlessradio.com, and sit in/pipe-in for the whole "Ghetto Boy and Bill and Monte" show this coming Friday, Jan. 7, 11 a.m. - 12 p.m. And call into the show at 312-757-1957!



Today I'd like to sing the praises of a product called "Taste of Thai." The actually company name is long, unwieldy and, as happenstance would have it, Thai. But "Taste of Thai" is apparently one of their lines and I'm here to sing its praises.

The product I enjoyed recently was "Pad Thai for Two." It was tasty and all, but what I really have to brag about is that it was really, truly FOR TWO! That's right. It fed me twice. How freakin' romantic!

Usually, all the crap in your frozen food aisle calling itself "Family Size" and stuff lies--and somebody at the FDA oughta be lookin' into it. I polish off a family-sized encore selection, regardless of what Al experiences, in a sitting. A long sitting, perhaps, but a sitting nonetheless.

So, there ya' go. And if I'd had a date, I would've actually gotten a little extra with that package.

A little more than half of the chow, too.



Critics say it just isn't fair

when U.S. post-tsunami care

is few hundred million;

Iraq? Hundred billions!

Hey--there ain't no oil over THERE.



Five years of a Limerick (and commentary) every day! What, do I expect a freakin' medal?...

Let Daily Limerick guide you into a New Year--and help ensure that you break those resolutions sooner than later to stop all the fussin' over 'em...

Women are fond of complaining that too many men are "assholes."

Then again, there is no authority mandating which men women need associate with. And it is the men that women decide to associate with that lead them to their general assumptions about the male sex.

So if there is any lesson to be learned from a certain news story we have heard WAY too much about--in fact, if there is anything worthwhile at all to be gleaned from it--do not forget this:

Scott Peterson never appeared to have any problems getting women. Even AFTER he was freakin' charged with murder.

But keep up the good fight, guys, because... You know, if I could give you a reason that wasn't total bullshit, I would.

For it's own sake, I suppose...

Speaking of what women want, some new survey or study or money-wastin'-academic-tower-exercise of some sort has found that women with higher salaries are less likely to get married.

The reason? Why, of course! Men must be uncomfortable with women making more than them. What else could it be? It takes one to tango.


Now, I'm not saying that a lot of men don't feel that way. Nor that all men or women are alike in any one manner. However--

Do you see a lot of rich famous women marrying "regular guys" with regular salaries?

Do you really think I'd have a problem with, say, Angelina Jolie making more money than I do?

What's okay with the gander ain't necessarily okay with the goose...

Laughing at Strangers for No Real Good Reason:

Rosemary Large.

Of course she's not the only one, especially comin' off those holidays...

Hear Sloop read his crap LIVE on Internet radio, www.fearlessradio.com, and sit in/pipe-in for the whole "Ghetto Boy and Bill and Monte" show tomorrow Friday, Jan. 7, 11 a.m. - 1 p.m. And call into the show at 312-757-1957!



"All men are assholes," chicks complain

but they love jerks--let me explain:

Nice guys dine for one

while Scott Petersons

sit back and ride the Gravy Train.



TODAY--Hear Sloop read his crap LIVE on Internet radio, www.fearlessradio.com, and sit in/pipe-in for the whole "Ghetto Boy and Bill and Monte" show TODAY, Jan. 7, 11 a.m. - 12 p.m. And call into the show at 312-757-1957!...

Five years of a Limerick (and commentary) every day! What, do I expect a freakin' medal?...

Let Daily Limerick guide you into a New Year--and help ensure that you break those resolutions sooner than later to stop all the fussin' over 'em...

"See Inside" headline from my newspaper:

"Mom Who Smothered Baby Gets Probation."

Need to keep prison space open for those who are truly dangerous to society--unlike someone who merely offed a helpless (yet inconvenient) infant--like those with large bags of pot in their parents' basements playin' with their Sega-Genesis...

The same above-mentioned newspaper also trumpets the news that Jude Law is now "taken."

If a guy who leaves his wife and three kids at the drop of a hat can ever be considered truly "taken," that is...

It's that time of the year again!

Yep, kick back and await the annual business columnists' ritual of declaring the economy is most certainly going to recover this year!

You'll need SOMETHING to read while waiting in the lobby for your damn bankruptcy lawyer, anyway...

Today marks the debut of the new--



Check out the Polkaholics! They have a Web site at... Aw, Google it, sliploafs.

Anyway, they're punky/metallic interpreters of Polka. Not only do they put a ridiculously rockin' spin on old polka favorites (their version of "Baby Doll Polka" kicks utter buttocks), but they have ridiculously rockin' originals, too. And they're very Chicago-centric.

For displaced Chicagoan readers: Where else are you gonna find a song about a favorite Midwestern beer, like "The Old Style Polka"?



When I was a horned-up pubescent

craved newness for, er, "self-expression."

I rubbed Icy Hot silly

upon raging Willie

and learned what'd seem obvious lesson.



Five years of a Limerick (and commentary) every day! What, do I expect a freakin' medal?...

Let Daily Limerick guide you into a New Year--and help ensure that you break those resolutions sooner than later to stop all the fussin' over 'em...

Wow! I think we're back in the swing of things with the Saturday Edition.

See, I embarked a "more professional" deadline system for completing this dreck to prepare for the launch of this "real" site (as opposed to the previous long-addressed freebie)--and since, I'd fallen out of the previously established groove.

That is: Saturdays are to be "Extra Cheezy Saturdays," with a half-assed Slappin' and Yappin' and a "traditional" limerick (with more emphasis on the "dirty" and less on the "news," that is). Any excuse to be half-assed about things most certainly needs to be taken advantage of.

Oddly enough, this half-assed edition is also strangely "more professional." Like the beefed-up Sunday Edition, a cheap and paltry Saturday installment is only following in the steps of the Big Boy publications out there.

I have some things to say about yesterday's radio show. If you didn't tune in... Boy, you missed something, er... Hmmm. And if you DID tune in, perhaps you can help with an adjective or two for the experience.

I also think there's probably some Letters to the Idiot that will be inserted nicely into the Sunday Edition, given the radio appearance and the buzz, so far, of folks who were allegedly going to tune-in.

See, I'm typing this while unconnected, so I couldn't include those letters today if I wanted to. And I wouldn't, anyway, because this is, after all, just an Extra Cheezy Saturday Edition.

In fact, I've already worked too hard on this S&Y.

So I'm out.


P.S. I don't think I'm whacktoast intolerant. If I were, most of my dating experiences wouldn't exist.



If stars for whom the spotlight fades

were truly moved to provide aid

for tsunami suff'rin'

cash will be enough, 'n'--

they'd forego big concert's charade.



Five years of a Limerick (and commentary) every day! What, do I expect a freakin' medal?...

Let Daily Limerick guide you into a New Year--and help ensure that you break those resolutions sooner than later to stop all the fussin' over 'em...

Now, after reading today's Limerick, you may be asking, and rightfully so, "Sloop, how much money have YOU given to the tsunami relief effort, considering you're so quick to question the intentions of the Cristina Aguileras of the world?"

And I have your answers.

Number one, it's my job to make fun of things. Including myself.

Number two, I'm not entirely sure how I'm paying all of my own bills the month. If there's any way an original limerick can help out, though, I'm more than willing...

So Fox is canceling a woulda-been Super Bowl commercial thanks to "didn't there used to be a First Amendment?" jitters.

The ad in question would have featured Mickey Rooney's nude buttocks.

More fuel for the optimists of the world, considering there's even a silver lining on the Censorship Cloud...

I saw an ad for a vegetarian restaurant in my local press that was basically a PETA ad with the local establishment's name thrown in the corner. I suppose PETA makes it available for such venues and the local guys save a buck.

Anyway, the ad shows a naked woman, and a hot one at that, with her back turned and all to ensure you don't actually see anything TOO exciting via the nudity. It has lines drawn on the woman marking various sections as if she were a cow--delineating where the "chuck" comes from, rib meat, etc. And it has some cutesy message that's supposed to make you forget about human sufferings via tsunamis and such and instead turn your bleeding-heart-connected eye to the plight of animals like cows, who would be extinct in the U.S. if we didn't eat 'em.

The ad, I imagine, is meant to turn people off of eating meat.

But it just makes me hungry. For a nice porterhouse or something. Gets me a little tingly in the pants, too, but that's because of the model, PETA-wording or not.

Now, you can speculate and conjecture and even conversate, if you're so ill-inclined grammatically, but it's not that I have some sort of latent cannibal fetish or anything, as PETA undoubtedly would like me to believe.

Whenever I see a PETA ad, or read of a PETA stunt, or overhear PETA folk blathering, I want a steak. Or burger.

And you should, too. Make a habit of it, even if it's not your first inclination. In fact, run out and get something that REALLY pisses off the PETA folk--a lobster or perhaps some veal.

In fact, if anybody finds a restaurant that actually serves spotted owl or perhaps freshly clubbed baby seal, by all means let me know...

Now, now now. I have pretty much given up veal--and I really, truly hate to admit that perhaps some of PETA's efforts brought the fate of veal-to-be to the forefront, causing me, and others, to forego such culinary exercises. For the most part, anyway.

So I guess I'm encouraging them at the same time I'm callin' 'em stump-pumps.

S&Y is really just an enigma. Wrapped in a riddle. Fried up in a batter o' mystery, then mixed along with a metaphor, drizzled with ridiculosity, topped with a whole lotta cheeze and, well, enough already...

If all these rapidly-phasing-to-C List stars really, truly want to help the tsunami victims... Couldn't they just give money quietly and forget about the sure-to-be-annoying concerts?...

Austin Aitkin is suing the producers and all those associated with "Fear Factor" because the show made him throw up.

You know, frivolous legal action is so mainstream, and largely accepted, that I rarely even bother pointing instances of it out anymore.

So let this one serve as a reminder.

And if there are any budding serial killers listening... I certainly don't approve of violence in any form but, if you really must, and there's nothing I or anybody else can do to stop you, well, that's A-U-S-T-I-N, A-I-T-K-I-N. The dateline for the story was Cleveland, so it might be in a Cleveland-area suburb, too.

I'd suggest the county's courthouse. You can view files for free and possibly find his home address; otherwise, keep sleuthing--I'm pullin' for ya'...

You know how those on the "outskirts" of Hollyweird--those not quite in North Hollyweird, but along some fuzzy border--put out easy-to-make, quick-to-profit horror flicks capitalizing on some type of timely yet fringe-y societal demographic? Roommate seekers in personal ads, ala "Single White Female," for instance. Oh, and there was "The Temp." "The Hand the Rocks the Cradle" mined topical news stories of psycho babysitters as young women hopped en masse upon the yuppie babysitting gravy train, etc.

Well, somebody oughta make, "The Intern."

I'd be a consultant.

But upon the advice of my traveling team of attorneys, I'd have to be a real quiet consultant...

Was at a birthday party for the nephews this weekend and noticed that kids just get too many gifts these days to fully appreciate 'em.

I'm not sure who to blame. It's not that my sister and brother-in-law can help the fact that everyone showered 'em with toys.

It may have something to do with the fact that my brother-in-law has one of those giant families and, thus, more aunts and uncles, too. And... Well, I was gonna relate a touching tale of a young Sloop playing with a handful of toys on a birthday, namely an Evel Kneival car set but, well... No.

I will mention that, during the savage unwrapping ceremony, my one nephew wandered off before finishing with his gifts to have extra cake. Which helps make my point and also wasn't a bad idea, so I gotta give credit to the lil' guy...

You know, I'm gonna put out a press release next time I get laid.


No, I'm not...

So, you're all wondering how the ol' Internet radio show went and I said yesterday that I'd go into it today.

But I have letters so... Well, okay, briefly:

Was late. That always kicks things off nicely.

Nobody could hear me knocking at the studio door when I did arrive. Thus, I was even later.

I went on really, really late.

But they let me ride out the entire show instead of just the first hour.

And I got a caller.

And it will go much smoother next time. Later in the month, as I have a special announcement for February.

A few limericks were read.

A good time was had by me.

And I got a caller.

If you didn't listen, you're a scrunchmuffin.

Now, let's see what others had to say. After a word from Mike, of course.




(Touching in some manner, anyway)


A kid I was sorta friends with in high school--"sorta" because he was the school's King Nerd and, although such labels are generally subjective, he was a case where I could kinda understand the shunning... Anyway, this kid was arrested a couple years ago for, having become a cop, letting attractive women avoid traffic tickets for "favors," which all makes sense, recalling his Valentine's Day candy stunts involving the most popular girls in school and... Ahem.

One day, I was in Spanish class with King Nerd and he sang, over and over again, to the tune of "Macho Man" by, of course, the Village People: "Macho, macho turtle... I've got to be, a macho turtle..." Which was pretty lame.

But which made me laugh.

Hell, the other day I recalled the scenario, as I occasionally do, and it made me laugh.

Consider any "moral" or "appropriate ending" a do-it-yourself project, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers.






TODAY'S POEM: Rink-god

You're cold beneath your clothes.

Violent spumes of diamond spines

Move beneath your blades.

You traverse figure eights

Forever --

At least, that was your plan.

Frozen water surface glows

Below this ring, this frost,

This rising sun.

When you come out of your spiral

Take care -- Note your audience

Has gone.

[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.]



> Keep plugging, and keep up the good work. And keep us posted. Even if we're

> out

> traveling we'll try to get you via the radio in the car, or when the cops put

> you in the radio car :-)

I could lament the fact that talk of myself and Daily Limerick brings the authorities to mind, but I'm just happy that someone considers what I do "good" work.

> you were great, thanks for coming on. thank you for

> the kind words. see you at the end of the month.

Okay, now I know this is just the e-quivalent of "wrong numbers."

This guy's not writing in about the radio station at all, but about yesterday's edition:

> i put icy hot on my balls once when i was a teenager(i

> had a bad itch and was to scared & embarrassed to tell

> anybody) on my way to get in line to wait for megadeth

> tickets. about halfway there the cooling sensation

> disappeared and the HOT sensation kicked

> in..............................i will never forget

> that day for the rest of my life.

Okay. Now we're in the non-Bizarro World Daily Limerick Letters to the Idiot bag, all right.

> I got to hear you for 8 minutes (the rest of the time

> I was in my car driving all over town)!

> Cool to hear ya, even briefly.

> Toodles,

> Joan

See? I have female readers! Female fans! Ya' bastards.

And if you give me eight minutes, I give you the world.

A sick rendering of it, true. But the world, nonetheless.



Headlines have read, "Jude Law is Taken!"

'cause new fiance, he has stake in.

But, really, ain't he

always kinda free--

three kids and wife eas'ly forsaken?



Five years of a Limerick (and commentary) every day! What, do I expect a freakin' medal?...

Let Daily Limerick guide you into a New Year--and help ensure that you break those resolutions sooner than later to stop all the fussin' over 'em...

I occasionally write a limerick for somebody, on request. The most recent instance involved a Chicago musician. I took his name, something he gave me to go on, etc., and read it for him the next time we participated in a show together. (I can easily do such a thing over the course of a show--get the assignment, write it in spare moments, etc., but I wasn't approached until the end of the evening in this case.)

He didn't seem happy with his limerick, though. In fact, he seemed a bit offended.

I didn't think there was widespread confusion concerning the typical form and tone of a limerick. Is a Public Service campaign necessary?...

Laughing at Strangers for No Real Good Reason:

Dick Freshley.

Superb advice--once your lady thinks you're doin' it stale, you'll curiously find yourself a bit crabbier...

So it's an Extra Cheezy Monday edition. The Big Boys do that, too. And, ya' gotta admit, yesterday's Sunday edition was certainly chock full o'...something.



The FCC crack-down's a blast

from unenlightened, Pur'tan past.

There are silver linings--

it's grim, but they're shining--

for one, won't see Mick Rooney's ass.



Five years of a Limerick (and commentary) every day! What, do I expect a freakin' medal?...

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This weekend, I basically have to edit an entire book.

It's the fault of my own procrastinatin' ass. But it's a small book. And a lot of the stuff was previously edited by someone else. There are a lot of forms... Anyway, it's a small amount of editing for a book, but it's still an entire book.

I was worrying, stressing if you will, a bit about this.

And then it occurred to me: I wouldn't have even come out of the womb if I didn't think I was about to miss a freakin' deadline...

Really, I think rather than pissin' and moanin' about my recent lack o' lovin', if somehow an authoritative deadline was laid down, I'd be able to pull off gettin' laid one way or another.

Then again, that "another" scares the piss out of me.

How come I suddenly feel like a journalistically inclined Rodney Dangerfield, with some sort of ugly twist I can't put my finger on...

Speakin' o' puttin' my finger on shit, the phrase is funny but in no way a reflection of true events as a lead-in to this nugget...

Intern-o-phobia--Catch it!

(If you know what's good for you, anyway)...

It's time for another, Special Edition of...



Today's Product: Fabric Softeners.

All of my life, I've been under the impression that fabric softeners are an unnecessary part of the laundry process.

This hasn't stopped me from using them. Perhaps because they're cheap. Perhaps because they smell nice. I don't know, but I've always used them, anyway. They usually don't cost a helluva lot and a box of 'em seems to last forever.

Nonetheless, again, I've suspected all along that I was playing into a Grand Scam.

However, just recently, the Slappin' and Yappin' er, Team gathered together our finest scientists, mobile laboratory, test tubes and whatever else my imagination could gather and we subjected fabric softener sheets to the intense scrutiny of our tough-ass investigative system.

(Actually, I've been a little screwed in the pocketbook lately, ran out of 'em and no longer have a wife to whine and moan about the need for fabric softener so, considering all of these facts, I haven't bought any--but did in fact do laundry once without them.)

The results?

I wore a pair of jeans today that seemed a little stiffer than I like. And it wasn't merely because I've felt a little extra frisky lately.

Ba-dum CHING!


So fabric softener is, in actuality, a useful addition to the laundry-doing pantheon.

Go ahead with it, then. Its has that "Slappin' and Yappin' Seal of Approval."



Seems it's a New Bush Year tradition:

Economists' selfish volition

spurs them to portend,

"The downturn will end!"

(Quite a Bush-like "accomplished" mission!)



Five years of a Limerick (and commentary) every day! What, do I expect a freakin' medal?...

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The Supreme Court refused to hear a case concerning the legality of Florida's ban on homosexuals adopting children. This brings many questions to mind, most of which are too deep for S&Y to consider at this point, but there is this, Religious Right:

What in the hell is this "Gay Agenda" you keeo blathering about?

Really. It's reported and pondered upon without question. For some reason, nobody is airing the word that comes immediately to my mind--"huh?"

Do you have evidence of some plot to make the "Star Spangled Banner" techno? A switch from advocating National Health Care to pushing National Health Club Membership? Even more straight women learning how to give killer head? (Get thee a girlfriend with a close gay friend or two, o' Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers!)

Oh... Is it that old thing about gays seeking to "convert" people?

A little paranoid, don't you think? I mean, would any group of people get bent out of shape simply because other groups live life differently--and get in fact SO pissed off that they'd actually turn their attention from enjoying their own lives and spend massive amounts of energy trying to force others into their ways?...

Now it's official, admitted and all that crap: The Bush Administration paid "reporter/TV pundit" Armstrong Williams to pump up Dubya dogma through missives masquerading as journalism.

Naturally, this is quite frightening and all, but don't ya' wonder why they didn't just save some money and call someone at Fox News?...

Word is just getting out to the public at large that it is perfectly legal for drug companies to gift government officials who are "testing" their drugs for efficiency, safety and other such anal retentive concerns.

And yet, despite "word" getting out, I'm not expecting to see that angle spotlighted in a "parents--talk to your kids about drugs" commercial...

Legislation needs to be enacted to protect us all from the "just-got-into-the-office swarm."

This happens at one of my outside gigs all the time.

Sure, mine's a bit complex, but I think most of us have SOME form of ritual phasing us from the point we walk into work to the point we actually start typing, discussing, assembling, etc. Grabbing a beverage, refrigerating our lunch, refreshing ourselves about what files are upon the desk, what have you.

The Swarm is where you enter the office and are immediately descended upon with questions or directives or general yakkings about this and that.

In fact, I have a bit of that feeling now, a bit tired, out of it and knowing I'm expected to toss something witty on this nugget for an ending...

Yesterday, I threw out a quip about deadlines that had little other purpose than a pathetic attempt to make myself look cool.

Which reminded me of another phrase I have uttered in the past:

"I eat pressure like potato chips."

I must admit, however, that I'm getting rather tired of the dips.



Recipe for a creative late-night snack:

Take a tortilla.

(It always seems you have too many, anyway. You buy a package, eat eight burritos over the course of a few days and are left with four. Plus, you've probably used up all the cheeze in the fridge at that point.)

Take a stick of butter and rub it on the tortilla. Grease it up a bit.

Toss the tortilla in the microwave for 20 seconds or something.

Remove tortilla, sprinkle with salt, garlic powder--the world's your oyster. (Although I wouldn't recommend adding an oyster.)

Fold up. Eat. Enjoy.

[The writer of Slappin' and Yappin' is a professional stunt eater. Daily Limerick assumes no responsibility for the consequences of readers attempting this culinary stunt at home.]



Ads for PETA aren't discreet--

message over your head they beat.

But 'specially those

with chicks lacking clothes

make me crave a big slab of meat.



Five years of a Limerick (and commentary) every day! What, do I expect a freakin' medal?...

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So I guess the government aggressively went after some Internet spammers. Just four companies.

Four companies that dealt in "sexually suggestive" material.

So, in order to get the government into action...should we start Photoshopping bared tits onto Clear Channel execs and the like?...

Some New York company has bought Pizzeria Uno, the franchise credited with inventing Chicago deep-dish pizza.

Damn. After broadcasting these nuggets, in some cultures I would have no option but to kill myself about now...

I'm currently reading, between newspapers and other "worky" reads, "The Complete Peanuts (1950-1952)," which follows the Peanuts saga from the start. So I'm experiencing the thrill of a lot of "firsts"--first sighting of the striped shirt, first appearance by Lucy, etc.

Read the very first "football-yanked-away" strip the other day. A part of me mouthed, "Don't do it AGAIN!"

But then again... Life's rich pageant and all, you know?

I think I've somehow just went and cursed myself, really. Writing little poems and even playlettes in which I play Charlie Brown, something was bound to happen to that wall between life and art...

What's happened to us? Really? As a society, a race, a people... There was once a time when those singles ads were rightfully relegated to the seamy section of publications, but now the ads are starin' you in the face all through your read.

And what's with all these people into "walks in the park"? I guess I shouldn't be concerned about not getting out to the city parks that often after all--I mean, they gotta be CRAWLIN' with those singles ad people...

Is it really appropriate in this day and age for men to "pursue" women?

There's that whole Romantic Comedy angle. Which, curiously, only comes into play if the chick actually likes you (although she's probably not too expressive of that fact). And if she doesn't like you... Well, you've landed the lead role in a scary Lifetime movie playing inside the theater of her mind.

I'll admit there are a lot of buffoons out there who can't read the blatant neon sign proclaiming, "I don't like you, schmuck." But it's not always that simple. There's the, "I'm totally into you...but I won't be tomorrow" trick. And there are the mixed signals. And the hard-to-get crap, which meshes nicely with the "'no' never means 'yes'" doctrine that's drilled into guys' heads for most of their lives.

I think there's some sinister plot at work here.

One day, we'll have to file a "Motion to Hit On." And that'll make things simpler but... Well, it'll take a lot of the fun out of things. (And, yes, I can't believe I'm actually calling the whole Dance of Confusion "fun" but...there you have it. Fun with a number of annotations. Whoah, the annotations! Thrill of the chase, my ass. Well, my partial ass. Enough digression. Now, what was I talking about? Oh!)

Anyway... Play Cary Grant Romantic Comedy Boy if you will, but remember:

Every year, something like a million youth graduate from law school.



This Super Bowl, won't be no slips--

no wardrobe malfunction-like blips.

I'd not fear for terror

or Homeland Sec. error

if al-Qaida's weapons were nips!



Five years of a Limerick (and commentary) every day! What, do I expect a freakin' medal?...

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So, the Bush Administration now says they are officially done searching for Weapons of Mass Destruction in Iraq.

So, the pull-out begins today, then?...

Now, one of the many points of the show "Will & Grace" is to garner a more favorable public attitude toward homosexuals (unlike "Queer Eye" which, like "reality" TV in general, tends to inspire hatred toward any and all participants, at least in viewers with IQs higher than that of a tomato).

So... Why the hell did they make Will a LAWYER?...

After years of its lacking, there's starting to be new hubbub in Chicago over the fact that the Bulls might make the playoffs.

So, considering the nature of the NBA's preseason masquerading as meaningful, that basically means... What? They won't be one of the four teams or so eliminated from "playoffs"?...

I guess Jeff Goldblum, in some interview by some celebrity medium suffering a slow news day/week/month, brags about the fact that he can not only wiggle his ears, but can wiggle one or the other INDIVIDUALLY.

Now, my dad used to brag about being able to wiggle his ears, at least before I picked up the, er, talent.

I can wiggle 'em individually, though, too, so... Er... Hmmm.

What a lame news nugget this is, huh?...

After reading about the zillionth wacky interpretation of Shakespeare, I'd just like to remind everybody of this:

Shakespeare is overrated.

Oh, he's a genius and all, but take me back in time where there's so little literature around that originality isn't even a concern, have some rich overlord pay all my bills and, hey, you might all be goin' gaga over "The Taming of the Sloop"...

I received a Starbucks gift card as a late Holiday gift.

And that's a mixed blessing.

I won't go into my dislike for Starbucks too much, as I have the same beefs as everybody else, but I will add an additional beef you may not have yet heard:

Their coffee beans are burnt. They roast 'em too long. So you pay more for a cup of coffee than you do an alcoholic drink at a dive bar for the privilege of sipping crap. In my opinion, anyway.

Of course I'll use the card, but the problem arises when I inevitably end up with a buck or so left on it and I'm forced to shell out extra for the burnt-bean sipping privilege.

I really should think about some of these nuggets before I actually type them, you know?...

Daily Limerick, Slappin' and Yappin', Mike's Accursed Verse--all of these things that make up this mess need Latin names.

Crapius e-Typicus?

I don't know. So chime in, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers!...

Ever notice that, when asked about the love life and stuck with nothin' much to explain, it's only women that claim they're "focusing on their work right now"?

Guess that's because guys are generally focusing on their JERK right about then...

Laughing at Strangers for No Real Good Reason:

Julia Fuss.

That goes without saying--but is she worth putting up with it for?



Today's featured artist, whom you should all check out, is Melissa Rose Ziemer.

Killer voice. Catchy, yet pithy, songs. And, well... Check out her pic on her Web site at www.melissaziemer.com. She leaves off the "Rose" for that, which I've a hunch she only adds to lend a more sensitive angle to the whole package anyway.

See, she's kinda smallish--"Fun Size," you could say, but she might beat you up over it--and that means, well... She can be, well... She might very well beat you up.

Oh, I kid but... I'm just not so good with words today. And this music'll speak for itself. Or sing for itself. Or whatever.

And this is a new feature, so leave me alone.

But check out her performance schedule, buy a CD, what have you. You'll thank me for it.

Or maybe she'll thank me for it.

Or maybe, like most of DL, this is just a thankless exercise.



Now that the elect'rate bent over

Bush cops Iraq nukes were no-show-ers.


but oil companies

found 9-1-1 their four-leaf clover.



Five years of a Limerick (and commentary) every day! What, do I expect a freakin' medal?...

Let Daily Limerick guide you into a New Year--and help ensure that you break those resolutions sooner than later to stop all the fussin' over 'em...

The Bush-inspired retro has gotten so hip--retro back to Puritan times, that is--that the NFL is fining Minnesota Viking Randy Moss for PRETENDING to moon the crowd.

Again: He didn't actually moon the crowd. He pretended to moon the crowd.

I hope only expect him to pay the fine with play money...

...And have a merry, but EXTRA-CHEEZY SATURDAY!



Drug makers' motives ain't so trusty--

while many have sex drives turned musty

consider world's ails...

Need more horned-up males?

What we need is WOMEN more lusty!



Five years of a Limerick (and commentary) every day! What, do I expect a freakin' medal?...

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Guess the White House JUST figured out that Kid Rock's music doesn't quite jive with the ethics of his most vocal constituency.

Just figured it out.

And we're really wondering why he can't catch Osama?...

The FDA has come out with a new food chart.

Say goodbye to dressin' up like the four major food groups--meat; fruits and vegetables; dairy; and breads and cereal--for nutty Halloween hijinx.

The government would like you to say hello to... Well, it's kinda complicated.

But I'm sure it oughta get us all fit as fiddles!

Again: JUST figured out Kid Rock was a little randy...

The banking industry was recently given a humjob in the form of new legislation allowing checks to be cleared electronically, quickly and efficiently. And it affects the checks you write to your creditors. But not the checks you deposit.

The pharmaceutical industry... Well, c'mon. At least GLANCE at a newspaper now and again, even someone else's, over their shoulder.

The auto industry has not only the government in an especially precarious yet delightfully pleasant teabag, but most of us convinced, as individuals, that happiness/success/fulfillment can be bought in the form of the subjective hipness of the model of box-on-motorized-wheels we locomote in.

Who's shellin' out big corporate buck for Bush's inaugural shindig?

Bank of America, Bristol-Myers Squibb and Ford Motor Company, to name a few.

Kinda like a literary version of connect the dots, no?...

The FBI, just after Sept. 11, 2001, decided it needed a big ol', spankin' new computer system. So it went to work on it, the government way.

It was just announced that they're scrapping the system. The project was never completed, but all the software is now dated.

So they... What? Bought software FIRST? And... Oh, the questions. There are just too many freakin' questions with this one to go any further...

Advocates for the mentally challenged are protesting Vermont Teddy Bear, a company which makes and delivers specialty Teddy Bears in a wide variety of styles including personalized, for selling a "Crazy For You Bear" to coincide with the upcoming St. Valentine's Day.

The word "crazy" is what gets 'em, evidently. Oh, and that it comes in a straitjacket.

If we're gonna really do this to our society, people, let's just pass the "Anti-Fun Amendment" now and get it over with...

...By the way, a lot of folks leave off the "Saint" in "St. Valentine's Day." I don't. Not sure what that gets me, but there you have it...

Why is fondue supposed to be romantic? What am I missin' here?

Is it the dippin'? The cheeze--that sorta makes sense, I think, but it's not enough by itself. The dippin' forks? Strawberries and chocolate--that makes sense, too, but it's not a requirement under fondue code.

Anyway, any insight would be appreciate...

Saw a kid the other day who looked like a mini-John Ashcroft.

There's gotta be a joke in there, somewhere, but I'm missin' it.

Although the situation itself is quite amusing.

Send in your best punchlines and win an (imaginary) 1973 Dodge Dart!...

I wrote a poem recently called "Nut Magnet." It's about my uncanny ability to attract nuts, especially as it concerns the dames in my life.

I've been readin' it around, as shmucks like me say, and it's gotten favorable receptions. Especially among the ladies.

Which got me thinkin':

Would it be interesting if "Nut Magnet" actually reeled in a nut or two?...

And it's time for another naturally sporadic edition of...



A bunch of scientific and academic types introduced some report about how the world will look in 2020, concerning international relations, popular entertainment, local v. world culture, etc.

Daily Limerick has predicted the continual lowering of Hollywood World Sway as increasing corporatization lame-ifies it and nations much newer to the whole freedom thing demonstrate a much higher level of gratitude through utilization for free expression.

Well, anyway, these stuffy folk say Hollywood will wane in influence while things like India's Bollywood will, well, wax, I suppose.

Marvel at will.




(Touching in some manner, anyway)

TODAY'S EDITION: Some Guy Thought I Was Tough!

I'd come up with a much better story for today's edition. And I neglected to jot the idea down and so now I've lost it.

So you're stuck with this. Which I had intended to turn into a semi-lame, regulation S&Y nugget:

The other day, on the bus, there was a jokester guy. Whom I didn't mind so much. He was funny but yappy. Not just to me, but to the general circle of fellow passengers in a radius of seven feet or so.

Anyway, I didn't understand everything he was yappin' about. I was trying to read a newspaper at the time, also.

He said somethin' at one point which prompted him to make an alarmed face and lean back in his seat, before adding "Whoops--I don't wanna get YOU mad!"

My first thought was that he was fun-making. But I think he was serious.

I think some guy on the bus thought I was some kinda tough.

Not that I'm NOT tough, when necessary toughness comes knockin', of course. But I don't imagine myself as coming across as a tough.

So that's the touching story.

STORY. Touching STORY. So quit touching yourself.






TODAY'S POEM: Dream thought

We live in the rocks

And suck your sleeping marrow.

Starfish kiss your lips,

Drawing you out to the water.

Deep underneath, you'll spin and fall,

Flooded senses salted and burning.

Carry us back to the sky.

We'll edge the lights; we'll slip the day.

[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.]



Can some wide-eyed Right Winger lend a

clue as to what's this "Gay Agenda"

you speak of and fear--

seems to me, those queer

just want rights and not to pretend-a.



Five years of a Limerick (and commentary) every day! What, do I expect a freakin' medal?...

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It started with super cyclist Lance Armstrong's foundation and his "LIVESTRONG" bracelets, meant to express a "let's beat cancer" message.

Now, at least three separate manufacturers are selling bracelets with political messages.

Like their predecessors, the bumper stickers, I don't see such a thing changing my mind on anything. ("Hmm... What's that bracelet say? 'Count me RED'?... Oh, as in 'Red State.' How clever! In fact, it's SO clever, I'm going to change all my long held opinions on matters close to my heart!")

But perhaps if you wear JUST the bracelet, a little persuasion could go a longer way...

As all these busybody do-gooders are chastising fast food for supersizing, Hollywood for keeping people on the couch and vending machines for selling product that's just too darn tasty (evidently), restaurant chain Ruby Tuesday voluntarily cut the size of its meal portions.

Turns out that over time, profits have actually went down due to this action.

I've heard a lot of arguments for the behavior of the aforementioned busybodies, but can you find a more direct example of trying to protect people from themselves?

Just a reminder: The major worry of the 21st Century may turn out to be not so much Big Brother but Big Mother...

I'm not sure if it's a national thing, but I've seen "Lavalife" advertisements in more than one city.

Lavalife is some sort of Internet and/or phone service for singles to find death in a forest preserve...er, to find other singles.

The only reason I glance at their ads is that they sometimes feature a hot-lookin' mama. One must have been running for some time, because the other day I actually noted a woman's jewelry.

Left ring finger. Massive diamond.

Either that's a massive screw-up somehow missed by perhaps hundreds of professional shills' eyes or Lavalife is subtly reaching beyond the singles market...

Today brings us another sporadic...



Today's Corporation: Walgreens

This is one of those "ugly" consumer reports. The type that, were Daily Limerick powerful and influential among millions, would send executives and such scrambling away from the reporter(s), covering their faces.

However, I am actually a fan of Walgreens. When I lived in L.A., I rooted for the company, which was new to the West Coast drug store scene, against the Rite Aids and Sav-Ons and such. (I kinda liked "Hooks," for some reason, though.) In fact, over the last six months or so I read about the Walgreens CEO donating his personal cash to somebody with a dreaded disease or something, and I gotta give that a thumb (or something) up.

But I simply must blast Walgreens' in-store coupon policy.

Clipped a Walgreens coupon today for... If you must know, it was for toilet paper. Five jumbo rolls for $2. I also bought this monster can of Maxwell House coffee, which was advertised at $4--but I had no problem with that, as it didn't require a coupon.

My financial situation has been especially precarious this month, with a big, up-front lawyer bill, some freelance gigs falling through and recently replaced--which means it takes a while for the new cashflow to kick in--and some other, equally boring, particulars.

So there were a few items that simply had to be bought before certain checks clear--and isn't it nice that the new "quick check cashing" laws help my payments clear immediately but NOT my deposits?--and I was using cash. I had $7 and some change and had literally figured out, with tax added and all, that I'd be able to buy these items, at two separate stores, and come away with mere coinage. And I was counting on the freakin' coupon to help pull this off.

The Walgreens counter girl took me coupon in one hand, slid one roll of tp across the scanner and exclaimed "It KNOWS the discount; you don't even need the coupon." And she rung me up and announced a total price that was more than a dollar over what I'd calculated.

I told her that something wasn't quite right. She blathered off some numbers and something or other, effectively boggling me. I began to calculate from the receipt, in my head, to prove her wrong but... A line was forming behind me. The girl was nice. And, might I add, pretty. My mathematical capacities faltered. I began to doubt my own pre-leaving-the-house math. I contemplated buying only three rolls, which would cost... Again, my brain calculator was all mixed up.

To make this already long story a bit shorter, I whipped out the debit card anyway, tempting fate to whack me with a $35 dollar insufficient funds fee over a goddamned dollar and five rolls of toilet paper.

Walgreens Corporation needs to straighten out this coupon policy among employees once and for all.

And stop hiring pretty girls with expert confusion tactics...

Is it just me, or does this edition kinda suck ass? It's not that it's short and cheezy, and the nugget ideas I jotted down earlier seemed amusing and all, but, well, some days you kick ass, some days you suck it...



The FDA's has new food chart

for fitness and health of the heart.

But it doesn't matter

for we'll just grow fatter

'less from cars and TV we part.



Five years of a Limerick (and commentary) every day! What, do I expect a freakin' medal?...

Let Daily Limerick guide you into a New Year--and help ensure that you break those resolutions sooner than later to stop all the fussin' over 'em...

Pulitzer Prize-winning reporter Seymour Hersch has announced that the Bush Administration is scoping out bombing targets in Iran to attempt nipping their nukes in the bud.

The irony here is that this makes a lot more sense than Iraq. Although Iraq AND Iran make the least amount of sense in this scenario.

And they'd pull this off...how, exactly? Are they secretly cloning military enlistees or something?...

Saw a photo caption dubbing Michael Moore a "liberal filmmaker."

As opposed to all those raging conservative filmmakers out in SoCal clogging up the 101 like... Well, like... Er, as opposed to Mel Gibson's what's-his-name guy...

And since when is spotlighting conflicts of interest, corruption and flimsy reasons for war "liberal"?

Was the Whitewater investigation "liberal" then?...

In order to clue in new readers, and remind long-time ones, that DL/S&Y is neither "conservative" nor "liberal" (although arguably it skews liberal, as the vast majority of writers and other artists do, leaving the Right-Wingers' vision of Heaven without any good paintings or movies or books or culture whatsoever):

A cat named Wilbert Redeau has been in prison for forty-some years as a result of a youthful bank robbery gone wrong.

Since entering prison, he's completed all sorts of education, written a bunch of books and generally become a poster child for convict rehabilitation.

Many "liberals" have been rallying for some time for the cause of releasing him and, apparently, that may happen soon.

DL/S&Y comes down firmly in favor of keeping him locked up. You see, Redeau shot somebody in the course of that robbery. To death.

Now, had he accidentally shot that person, or not intended to shoot that person but merely cause a scare, or shot that person in self-defense, it'd be a different story.

DL/S&Y is not in favor of the death penalty but thinks the standard penalty for murder--not manslaughter or any other form of "murder light"--should be life in prison. (Or perhaps an institution--but LIFE in that institution.)

Plain ol' robbery? You can be rehabilitated. Assault or battery? You can be rehabilitated. Drug crimes? You shouldn't have been locked up to begin with.

But murder? You've shown us all that the potential lies within you to take another person's life--regardless of whether you have insanity or some other "defense" to show for it?

We have a society that allows us many do-overs and rehabs and opportunities for correction. But, sorry, we don't ask very much of you in exchange for being allowed to walk the streets. End somebody's life and, well, you're outta here...

A 66-year-old Romanian woman gave birth Sunday.

Yay modern fertility science! Medicine will counter the world's serious underpopulation problem yet!...

And, whaddaya know, it's time for a two-days-in-a-row edition of another in a series of the sporadic...



Today's Corporation: Starbucks

I'll admit that I've certainly given the ol' overpriced coffee trough more than its share of potshots over the years--but this is at least for a new reason:

The way they grind their coffee for non-beverage coffee purchases.

I received a Starbucks card as a late holiday gift. And so, being low on coffee, I decided to use it to buy actual coffee for home brewing.

The coffee jerk (sorry, I ain't fallin' for that "barista" ploy) asked "how" I wanted it ground.

"Er, for a regular kinda coffee maker." I answered.

"What kind of filter do you use?"

"Er, a regular filter... You know, the basket-shaped, standard ones you buy in Walgreens or whatever."

She still seemed a bit confused. But ground it for me anyway. It was finer than... Shit. Ground finer than Jennifer Love Hewitt, for Chrissakes.

This morning, I make a pot of the stuff.

It looked like somebody threw a firecracker into my coffeemaker.

When I went to wipe the coffeemaker out, as is my habit before setting it up for a new pot... I got those grounds all over tarnation. I'd never seen such a messy pot in my life.

Did I encounter an especially incompetent coffee jerktress--or is this another cog in their sinister machine convincing the public that making coffee is so darn difficult that it's worth shelling out $3 a cup for it?



Catching up on the Letters Bag... This one's from about a week ago and from last week's spotlighted Friday "Entertain Me" section artist, Melissa Ziemer:

>Thank you kindly for the mention on your site, so nice of you. :-)...

>What's the link to your site again? I'd like to check it out.

Not very exciting, I suppose, except for the fact that it bears an emoticon in need of a nose-job.

> hey,


> i saw you live last friday and got your flyer.  i was looking on your

> website for lyrics to that raven poem and couldn't find them.  is there any

> way you could send them?


> pete

Little known fact, but I am indeed the author of "The Raven."

Long story.

> Interested Slappin' and Yappin' readers agree: We want to see "Nut Magnet!"

> (well, one of us does) :p


> mr. nubile

Alright. Alright. I'll post it here.

What's with this sudden demand for Sloopworks all of a sudden?

By the way, if anybody can correctly determine what actual song this one follows the general rhythm of, you can win a...congratulatory limerick, I suppose. (It's a helluva lot easier to guess upon hearing it live, though.)

And, to add irony to irony, "Nut Magnet" appears to be functioning as its namesake in still another manner.

Here's the poem, although I'm still undecided as to whether I'll be posting much of the poetry I perform on the site...



Nut Magnet

Now most of us are born with our own special skills

with brains or humor or looks that kill

and for a long time I thought that I'd been ripped off and just a putz

But it wasn't 'til a little bit later in life

when I'd started with dating and all of its strifes

that I learned of a gift I have-for attracting nuts

We had thrown a Christmas party-nineteen, a college bash

and a long-haired friend of mine who went by Mad Max

came and said, "That Jeanette girl's trouble-stay away from that."

Which I wondered why he felt compelled to say

I met her, she looked damn good, but I moved on, stayed far away

soon she plopped down in my lap, played with the ball on my new Santa hat

You can prob'ly guess that I found out what nutty Max had meant

I was dragged into unseemly and unfortunate events

but made memories that'll warm me if I'm ever in an old folks' home

Then there's the one who hung dead birds out on a line;

and one who thought that I was Satan-lit'rally, she blew her mind

and all the kissing bandit bar drunks just before the exit door they're shown.

I could go on and on, for hours, no interruptions

phobias, past lives and tales of alien abductions

but my point's that I've a Nut Magnet inside

I've learned to steer clear of the obvious head cases

for survival but I can't always cover all of the bases

and it's not like they confess, "Hey I'm a nut!"-they hide

See, my Nut Magnet doesn't help me with detection

and common sense don't work so well with an erection

and newly single again, after years, I'm now a sitting duck

And you might say, "Sloop, it's kinda hard to sympathize

many nutball chicks are hot, and they'll let you 'tween their thighs"

but they change their minds a lot-I miss my window as a gentleman schmuck

When an offer comes, my choices they are dim,

Like, "Is she worth risking life and limb?"

I'll admit, sometimes I'll do what Mom would not advise

But the problem is, most chicks remotely sane

aren't too keen to ride the Sloopy Train

and if they are, madness just has yet to arise

And though I never really asked for this Nut Magnet, exactly

I've got something to say quite matter-of-factly

a Confession, of sorts, here and now, but quick:

I can't stand up here and take no blame

for I kinda like those nutty dames

hell, I love 'em, I love 'em, I love those nutty chicks!

So do I deserve a shrug-or is it pity?

Am I of the Victim Class-or's judgment shitty?

Am I tempted by dark force-or's it just sin?

As Mark Twain said all of his life, when Haley's Comet'd come he'd die

I've got an awful, sneakin' feelin' that I'm

gonna go when it's my time thanks to somethin' my Nut Magnet dragged in.

And I hope that it'll be with a great, big grin.



EU may ban symbols of Nazis

'cause Harry's antics caused a lotsy

of hubbub, so pols

play their poser roles

with dice of pow'r, throwin' mere Yahtzee.



Five years of a Limerick (and commentary) every day! What, do I expect a freakin' medal?...

Let Daily Limerick guide you into a New Year--and help ensure that you break those resolutions sooner than later to stop all the fussin' over 'em...

Happy Edgar Allan Poe's Birthday, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers! And if you can't die in a gutter today, at least keep your mind in one!...

Continuing coverage of today's "limericked" news...

Friso Roscam Abbing, spokesman for the EU's Justice and Home Affairs commissioner, explains that despite being in favor of banning Nazi symbols, he'll "take care not to violate freedom of expression with the ban."

But isn't banning a form of free expression what this is all about?


Folks. There's wars and terror and disease and... Price Harry wore a Nazi uniform as a freakin' GAG at a party. C'mon, Europe! Giving us Monty Python was great, but it still doesn't justify just abandoning the whole humor thing...

And as long as we're ticklin' the borders of bad taste...

A Las Vegas DJ reportedly referred to "Martin Luther Coon King, Jr." on the air yesterday.

He alleges it was a mistake. And he's been fired.

Whew. I don't know what's harder to believe--that it was truly an accident; that somebody in this day and age would actually say that purposefully and not expect big trouble; or that someone would actually say that purposefully and think it would be funny.

Any way you slice it, it comes up unbelievable...

There's gonna be a "Fear Factor" amusement park ride.

They already have the thing that spins around before the bottom drops out to make you puke at an amusement park, and that's gotta be much less annoying...

You're heard of the "specializing in women" workout chain, "Curves"?

Well, they've come up with one now just for men, "Cuts."

Hmm. Now, does everybody out there know that men and women are quite different in many ways? Well, if you don't, learn it quick.

Anyway, er, any man who'd prefer to hit a health club, of all places, devoid of women is, er, well they really should call the chain "Butts" if they know their potential consumer base...

A fugitive was found in Georgia hiding inside a TV.

Don't have much to add to that one. But it isn't every day that life imitates a Tex Avery cartoon...

There is a company called Clean Comedians, Inc. that employs--for big, big bucks--comedians to craft special acts for corporate shindigs and such.

I say this is a sign that they should not bother the poor employees so mercilessly and instead GIVE THE FUCKIN' BIG BUCKS TO WORKERS IN THE FORM OF HIGHER WAGES but, hey, what do I know?

Anyway, CCI's comics sign a pledge of "No Gross," meaning no Gender-based humor, no Racist humor, no Obscenity, no Sexual humor and no Swearing.

So here in America, the highest paid comedians fill some eerie demand for unfunny comedy that says nothing about anything.


I saw a photo today of Illinois' governor with a woman working sign language to translate his speech in the background.

And she was smokin' hot.

Which got me wonderin': Do those who know ASL sign "Oh, God," "Give it to me baby!" "Put on the deer antlers NOW!" etc. while they're doin' the ol' Wicked Watusi?...



If you enjoy pickles, and think an extra kick of pickle-y goodness can only make the world a better place, today's tip is for you.

This doesn't work with whole pickles, and doesn't work quite as well with spears...I guess what I'm saying is that halves are the way God intended pickles to be eaten. Or, anyway, at least the way "Eat It!" intends them to be eaten, for purposes of today's edition.

You're down to the last pickle (half) in the jar. You're gonna dump out the pickle juice and rinse the jar, ain't ya', before placing it in the trash or recycling? So... Pour the juice out, ever so slowly, over your final pickle. You'll get chunks of garlic and spices and, well, down-home, old-fashioned, lip-smackin' goodness atop that snack.


Goes great with a date, too.



Since "Curves" has thrived--why, it's just nuts.

It's spawned all-men's spin-off called "Cuts."

A gym with...just MEN?

Hey, let's not pretend--

their market's... Well, best call it "Butts."



Five years of a Limerick (and commentary) every day! What, do I expect a freakin' medal?...

Let Daily Limerick guide you into a New Year--and help ensure that you break those resolutions sooner than later to stop all the fussin' over 'em...

"See Inside"-type blurb in my newspaper today:

"One of the Men on 'The Bachelorette' Might be Hiding a Big Secret."

Here's a variation on an age-old philosophical question: If a secret is told in a forest, but NOBODY GIVES A SHIT, is it really a secret?...

Read another reference today to the fact that modern society is "super busy."

Poor modern us. It's not like we have all the time in the world to fritter away our days, working 18 hours in the field, passing out and awakening to do it all over again, and again, and again...

Saw some of those politically correct eggs in the grocery store today--from "vegetarian chickens."

Actually, that's a wise product to buy. I for one am getting a little frightened by the blood-thirsty, carnivorous variety I so often see rampaging across the countryside...

How many workers does it take to change a light bulb at a nonprofit organization?

Four--one to actually change it and three to HAVE A FREAKIN' MEETING ABOUT IT FOR AN HOUR AND A HALF...

Has anybody else noticed that Edgar Allan Poe and Elvis Aaron Presley have the same initials?

Coincidence? Or...

I wear a ladies hat.

Let me explain. PLEASE let me explain:

I generally wear a hat of the derby/bowler variety; sometimes, I wear this fedora (a newer addition to my millinery repertoire). I'm a hat kinda guy. And that's a different story, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers.

But when it's really darn cold, as it has been on and off lately in Chicago, I have to cover my ears. Mid-teens or lower, generally.

Well, I can't find MY ear-coverin' hat. With a recent divorce and all, I have a curious mix of possessions. Many important components to the Sloopy lifestyle are absent. On the other hand, I now have, as but one example, Stila cosmetics--which, I understand, are quite in demand and pricey. I may in fact be paying for them on a credit card balance I was socked with, so I feel like... I don't know. Gussyin' up my nuts with 'em or something? Perhaps that would leave me feelin' shee-shee as I go about my daily grind or something.


Now, this ain't no garden-topped Easter bonnet, mind you. Nor one of those hats o' towering fruit. It's a tuke, as the Canadians say (not sure how the Canadians spell it, though). You know--a tassel cap? I don't know what you call it. I'd say stocking cap, but don't those have balls on the end?

Anyway... I often notice people looking in my general direction and laughing when I've worn it. Which is not out of the ordinary but... Seriously, folks. They're often with another person or a group of them, or in a position where they very well may be laughing at something behind me, or something to my side. Ah, the lonely walk upon these crowded city streets I roam!

Huh? Whoops--was just demonically possessed by the spirit of an '80s metal band lyricist!

Anyway, oh, I technically thus wear a ladies hat, but is there anything really wrong with that?...

Wore black all day yesterday. Only one person asked me what the deal wass. Actually, she asked if I was performing later (something I tend to dress up for).

Unlike Johnny Cash, I was the Man in Blecch.



> Hey...what the heck is this?  I am on the list for "Daily" limerick, not two

> Limericks per day.  It's 20 full minutes before the calenday changes...here

> I am with two limericks from 01/18/05.  And now I'll bet I wont actually

> receive a limerick on 01/19/05...aint that a bitch!  What's the world coming

> to?

This person is a...celebrity, of sorts. Of the poor man's variety of celebrities, really. Or at least the tasteless man's.

I don't know if I should reveal who it is. Would you want people to know you're reading this dreck?

Anyway, though, in answer to your thoughtful question:

Kook. I bet they love you at the other end of your newspaper's home subscriber hotline.

And you really shouldn't be watching poor Calenday change. It's ungentlemanly.



Yesterday's grand inauguration

while living on credit as nation

does only make sense

viewed as an intense

session of ego masturbation.



Five years of a Limerick (and commentary) every day! What, do I expect a freakin' medal?...

Let Daily Limerick guide you into a New Year--and help ensure that you break those resolutions sooner than later to stop all the fussin' over 'em...

My Computer Calendar O' Historical Facts That I Find Interesting tells me that today is the anniversary of the death of Ray Rayner, tomorrow of the guy who played Cookie on the "Bozo" show and Sunday of Captain Kangaroo.

So maybe we can look forward to a world in which we finally shut up all the world's children, if only for a three-day weekend...

Oh, of course I'm kidding! Who doesn't love the laughter of children? Hell, I'm performing tomorrow night. I'll take any laughter I can get...

Woke up this morning and, two steps outta the bedroom, I drop my 20-ounce Mug O' Beverage, from which I drink most everything. In this case, it was merely water. But a pain in the ass to clean up, nonetheless.

(Oh, and I meant "two steps" LITERALLY. I wasn't doin' the Tennessee Two-Step outta my bedroom at 6:20 a.m. That has to wait 'til I'm AT LEAST in the shower.)

When I got to the kitchen, I knocked this behemoth of a wreath off the wall and... My estranged-and-soon-to-be-ex-actually-in-under-a-week wife put the damn thing there and it's hideous. Actually, it's not hideous, but that's part of the problem. It's pretty and all that jazz and thus gay-looking, given my current circumstances. Not that there's anything wrong with that. If you're gay.

So there are leaves all over one room's floor (just imagine the damn wreath, can ya'?) and water all over another and I'm sweeping and mopping before 7 a.m. Somewhere in there I tossed a mug of coffee I saved from the previous evening into the microwave and, meaning to 'wave it for three minutes, ended up 'waving it for THIRTY minutes, although I stopped it probably at about six and... Well, haven't you ever wanted a "do over"?...

So Eva Longoria's the latest to come out yakkin' her jaws about how guys "reach their sexual peak at 18."

Oh, it's true. But a sexual peak is, well, minute RICE is okay and all but...

It's also true that, as a guy gets older, well... Think big strong horse...

What has gotten into me today?...

More appropriately, what has gotten into Eva Longoria today?...

Seriously, though. Or as serious as this piece of crap gets, anyway... I should shut up, for the benefit of any kindred 18-ish men out there. Then again, word is probably already out, as I had a pretty rough time back then, come to think of it and... Come to think of something else... Wait a minute!

Some kinda publicity campaign is in order here, folks...

There's an elephant at Chicago's Lincoln Park zoo that's supposedly being shipped to another zoo because his elephant friend died. This surviving elephant is named Wankie.

I wouldn't want to clean the cage of an elephant someone saw fit to name "Wankie"...

Yesterday was supposed to be "Not One Damn Dime Day." You see, everybody was supposed to, well, not buy anything so as to bring the economy to a halt because... Well, because a handful of hippies who probably couldn't afford to buy much of anything didn't buy anything.

I support this sort of thing and all but I hadda buy groceries. I'd been waiting for a check to clear, it cleared the day before that according to my handy-dandy bank hotline, I was out of a bunch of shit and... So I'M supposed to suffer to somehow show The Man?

Just didn't make a lot of sense to me but, hey, rock on and such...

Found a plastic bag of pennies on the bus the other day.

Somebody evidently had a financial plan entailing toting change in a plastic bag around (there were two dimes as well) and, well, neglected to secure that financial plan.

Now they say, "Find a penny, pick it up; all day long you'll have good luck."

So I shoulda... Shoulda been a day for the books.

Nothin'. Not a goddamned thing...

Hey? Ya' get the feeling it might be time for another...



Today's Product: Generic or Store-Brand Toilet Paper

Many generics/store-brand items are a smart buy. In fact, you're stupid to buy the name brand for many of 'em.

But, well... Let's just say that generic toilet paper drives a rough bargain and leave it at that.



Oh, boy.

This section works best when it's planned ahead of time. Perhaps I've bitten off more than I can chew with it. But I'll continue to spit something up for you, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers, on a weekly basis.

The Wandering Endorphin.

He kicks ass.

A guitar slinger who sometimes merely slings (when I've seen him live) and sometimes sings along with the sling. Prone to harmonics and adding his own percussion line via hand slappin's on the ol' ax.

He has a Web site. Throw around some w's, a dot and a com, or perhaps a net, and I'm sure you'll find it.

He has CDs, too. See the Web site.

And, of course, he has many songs. With interesting titles.

You'll have to see the CDs. Or see him live. Although I'm not quite sure how often he plays outside Chicago.

And if he were interviewed here, why, I'm sure he'd say some interesting things.

But that's not what THIS Friday music section is about. No sir!

This Friday music section is about... About done for the week.



> Dear Editor,


> Please allow me to express my useless opinion regarding the reckless

> disregard recently having surfaced in the processing of my daily limerick.

> Long have I, and many other kindred fruit cakes, watched and waited low

> these many years to find a chink in the armor in the glimmering facade of

> the daily limerick...and now I have my proof.  I, as you no doubt have

> figured out am complaining about the delivery of the daily limerick on a

> date contrary to which the limerick belongs.  If I wanted my daily limerick

> for 01/20/05 delivered on 01/19/05, you had better believe I would have

> already made a claim to that effect.


> There are many of us in the community that set our biological clock to the

> regularity and reliability of so on and so forth, and if this rupture of a

> once sacred trust between editor and audience is allowed to continue then

> what left in this world worth believing in?


> Signed,


> Janet Jackson's Chest

First of all, the Editor is not in right now. In fact... We haven't seen the bastard since before Thanksgiving, now that I think about it... Hmm.

Anyway, we value you as a Slapper Yapper Grasshopper and sincerely regret any circumstances that may have interfered with your enjoyment of Daily Limerick. And any of that stuff I'm forgetting.

And, Ms. Chest, you're welcome to intern here.



Now it's Eva Longoria spewin'

line that eighteen-year olds are best doin'

nasty--guy sex'al peak--

but mature guys I'd seek--

'cause we last and we know what we're doin'.



Five years of a Limerick (and commentary) every day! What, do I expect a freakin' medal?...

Let Daily Limerick guide you into a New Year--and help ensure that you break those resolutions sooner than later to stop all the fussin' over 'em...

To any readers out there who happen to live in Chicago, and who happened to actually read the plug on either the Sloop Central section of this site or through my e-press release concerning Thursday's event--and especially those of you who actually watched my "feature" on the Flabby Hoffman show, Chicago Cable Access... Wow!

That was SOME feature, wasn't it?

Now, the nature of publicity certainly entails making a positive mountain out of a semi-positive molehill, and I'm close-to-shameless concerning my own publicity sometimes but... I said CLOSE to shameless. And viewing my so-called "feature," why... I'm ashamed. I think I got about three minutes. Not gags or shtick or poetry. Introducing a couple of bands.

Now, I don't know if I can blame Flabby for this. I think I misinterpreted HIS e-mail to me. But suffice it to say I won't be trumpeting any "features" without much more to go on.

If that's a feature, why... You know, we journalists (or in my case, "journalists") view other journalists going into PR as turning to the Dark Side of wordsmithing. And considering I've managed to avoid the temptation of the much, much higher salaries so far, I don't think you have to worry about me throwing on the metaphorical dark cape.

But if I ever DID decide to do that, the recent press release would certainly find me a job. Hell, it'd find me a job doing Supreme Evil in Wordsmithing--like for the Chinese government. Or worse--an entity like Comcast!...

To The Uninitiated... Welcome to Extra Cheezy Saturday!



At Chi-town zoo, elephant, Wankie

is only one left, which is stanky

so they're shipping him to

new friends, diff'rent zoo

but so-named, bet he gets by with spanky.



Five years of a Limerick (and commentary) every day! What, do I expect a freakin' medal?...

Let Daily Limerick guide you into a New Year--and help ensure that you break those resolutions sooner than later to stop all the fussin' over 'em...

Now I didn't know that the heavy metal/devil hand-sign (made by pointing only the index and pinky fingers) is also some Texas thing and neither, apparently, did the Norwegians, who are now all hot and bothered over Bush brandishing the sign at his inauguration.

Now, really. I'm not Bush fan--and nothing could turn me into one--but I must say that I'm growing to dislike him less as I see all the foreigners reaching, as if this is some mad diplomatic Twister game, in order to bash the guy any time he goes out in public.

And can you REALLY say that sign's been "of the devil" since... Well, since at least the '80s, when Jesus-drunk whackjobs complained about its use by metal bands? (And it thus came mostly to connote "rock on" or some such sentiment?)

Now, although I couldn't care less about the hand-sign, if you want to protest the reunion of Motley Crue (which the Norwegians curiously didn't--despite the band's copious use of the gesture), I might just join you...

Here's some more "kinda ashamed to admit, not really pro- but not entirely against" Bush stuff:

I went to college in the late '80s and, later, in the late '90s.

So I must say I'm a bit jealous of today's college kids, seeing as something has actually gotten the youth population riled up enough to get protests and a veneer of activism going.

Closest I ever saw to this as a college student was when cable went out in my dorm...

As we were just noting past activities of Jesus-drunk whackjobs, here's one of the group's current assertions:

Spongebob Squarepants is gay. Or gay-friendly. Or part of the imagined "Gay Agenda."

I don't know if it's intended, but these guys have a way of keeping humorists away from skewering their actions, if only because their action somehow make fun of themselves...

By the way, lest you think some other political party can play the role of "savior" against that party largely behind some of today's above-named ridiculosities, here's a little something from an AP article relating Michael Powell's upcoming retirement from the FCC:

"Though he clashed often with the two Democrats on the FCC, all five commissioners have been united in seeking harsher penalties for violations of broadcast indecency standards"...

I have increasingly been running into people who tell me they've been reading the site and it really has me curious as to its actual numbers.

But I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I got the damn thing up, unfinished anyway, and that's what's important right now.

But I can't help feeling I'm the Elvis of the Internet.

The old, out-of-shape, out-of-touch, wacky jumpsuit-wearin' Elvis.

'Cept I've never been famous. (A little bit "locally famous sorta," perhaps.) And I've never been beloved by the people. And I don't have money.

But the Elvis of the Internet otherwise...

And, as further lead-in to today's Story, realize that my tenant/roommate/friend and I have the "Seinfeld" theme all cued up and ready to play as soon as one or the other of us comes home and/or relates a saga of personal experience.

It'll all make sense to you soon, although this one rivals the highest level of patheticism displayed in a "Seinfeld" episode...




(Touching in some manner, anyway)

TODAY'S EDITION: A Tale That's Simply Pathetic

I've got a disclaimer before today's edition.

Number one, I think you've noticed that I haven't been whippin' out the ol' S&Y Psychiatric Couch (recently named because it was recently overused), at least not very often lately. That's because, as mentioned above, more people have been reading since the "real" site went up and thus potential of DL/S&Y content affecting my real-world doings has been bolstered. However, Sunday Story Time has mostly been a special place for relating real-life stories (if usually from many moons ago) and, well... Ahem.

(The Couch, by the way, is my phrase for dwelling in personal experiences, as opposed to making fun of people and events in the world at large. I've always been a bit careful of that as, well, it's what makes up the bulk of the typically Godawful "blog.")

Plus, this story is so pathetic, it actually serves as a Public Service Announcement. If you've engaged in recent behavior you're not so proud of, you won't be able to help feeling a little better about yourself after reading about what I recently pulled.

Oh, and I'm not proud of this incident. In fact, I haven't felt like such an ass since... Hmm. Must be almost two months.

Now, I'm trying to tell this one without giving the "who-what-why-where-when-how" away to any possible readers I may encounter but... I guess I have to take my chances. The PSA power is just too awesome to keep it inside.

I was out recently. I ended up spending some time cavorting with a group of acquaintances and I was enjoying the canoodling. Among this group was an attractive lady--and isn't that behind much of history's acts of patheticism, come to think of it?

Another disclaimer lest some Slapper Yapper Grasshopper sleuth figure out the wwwwwh's: I am not saying I was "hitting on" or "liked" said lady and neither am I saying said lady was "hitting on" or "liked" me. Just that there was some interest, a glimmer of possibility and reason to explore further.

The event, of sorts, I attended was over folks were hanging out in the venue afterward. (This is kinda tough, keepin' this "fact-free," actually. Although I'm not entirely sure why I bother, as I couldn't possibly screw-up any involved, er, "situation" any worse than I've already done.) And so amid my extended cavorting/canoodling (I prefer "canoodling," come to think of it, because it at least sounds dirty), the topic was raised, first by the Lady, of heading somewhere else soon.

Problem is, the specifically named Somewhere Else, according to my knowledge, was probably going to have a cover charge and, in any event, is relatively pricey, even for a simple cheapskate sip-one-all-night drink purchase. Which isn't a big deal for an evening of such parameters--except I've neglected yet to mention that I am also financially screwed. (The event itself was, for my purpose, of a nature that I didn't need to spend any money on it.)

I mean really, really financially screwed. Plus, I'd found out earlier in the day that, due to a check register mishap, I'd bounced some checks and was even MORE screwed financially than has become the regular situation as of late.

(Lest Slapper Yapper Grashoppers worry unduly, this financial situation is complex but will be improving a great deal in the semi-near future and should be better than it's been in many years actually, although not of a "rich" status by any means, what with the divorce/attorney/condo and other garbage finally shaking out plus so new gigs coming in--but that does not eclipse the fact that, in the here and now, the poverty is such that... Well, it's a choice of livin' it up a tiny bit for an hour or two with enjoyable comrades including a certifiable Lady vs. making sure my cats don't run out of dry food.)

And so for these reasons I decided I really shouldn't continue onward with the group. I didn't want to spell out these reasons although. At the same time, I didn't want the group the group (or Lady) to think it had anything to do with them personally. I considered tossing out an excuse, ala "Have to get up early." But I didn't want to lie, either.

Wondering how I was going to get out of this situation that I really would rather have embraced (always a recipe for fun!), I walked to the other end of the establishment for something-or-other and an idea hit me. Thus, I opted to do what any mature adult male would do in the situation: I ran.

I don't mean metaphorically, either. I'd noticed that, from my then-current physical location, the group couldn't really see me from their table. Meaning I could make a run for it. Once I was out the door I realized that, due to the layout of the streets immediately outside, should the group happen to head to cars/cabs in the near future, they could see me walking back toward home for some distance and thus might yell out something like, "Where are you going?"--forcing me to explain the whole pathetic mess somehow. So I high-tailed it. And, to add a greater level of patheticism to the scenario, I'm in Chicago, where there's more than a foot of snow lately. Oh, and I was wearing dress shoes.

So there I was. A grown adult. Having just been in the company of a Lady I found attractive. Dealing with it all by running full-speed away from her.

I thought things had gotten bad when my relations with women recently seemed to return to junior high level.

Now they're on a grade school level.

So... What? I'll be joining them in hopscotch next?






TODAY'S POEM: Answering machine weapons

You say you love me still,

But you leave me little bombs.

The number two in red

Is both quantity and countdown.

Sleek fins guide your missiles

Right into my consciousness.

Your pretty fire fills my hollows.

Your soft, sweet, curling flames ignite me.

Through the smoke, I left you.

So please, leave me alone.

[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.]



When cartoon or puppet sees day

to join the wide pop culture fray

Jesus-fueled nutcases

crawl from sheltered places

and claim that the character's gay.



Five years of a Limerick (and commentary) every day! What, do I expect a freakin' medal?...

Let Daily Limerick guide you into a New Year--and help ensure that you break those resolutions sooner than later to stop all the fussin' over 'em...

There's a new type of Web service now that's... Well, on example is PersonalsTrainer.com.

That's spelled right and all. The service trains you to write personal ads.


So, one prominent reason given for the use of personal ads is the ol' "too busy to be out dating and meeting all the time" ploy."

Yet, this new, er, "movement" (in more ways than one) has one spending time with a coach, of sorts, to truly capture the nuance of the personals ad art.

After the last Sunday Story Time's real-life story, I'd been left feeling quite pathetic. But I'm starting to feel a whole lot better of myself...

I believe I'm mentioned this is S&Y before, but it's high time I re-mentioned the fact that, during my first (and unsuccessful) stint at college, I came up with the name: Ridicules.

Yup. No typo. Sounds like a Greek hero.

I know you're out there. I can hear you breathing...

The next time you have that just-met-a-chick-found-her-attractive-yet-made-an-ass-out-of-myself-and-have-no-clue-what-I-could-possibly-do-to-help-matters-now feeling, remember:

When a new fuckup enters your life, it takes your mind off of the last fuckup you were still kicking yourself over...

Whoever it was that first said "it's not the kill, it's the thrill of the chase" must have had a heapin' helpin' o' kills or something, because I most certainly don't share the sentiment.



They say we're "so busy" today;

the good ol' days, so far away.

Stress-free days gone by--

crops failed, and you'd die--

in eighteen-hour shifts, wiled away.



Five years of a Limerick (and commentary) every day! What, do I expect a freakin' medal?...

Let Daily Limerick guide you into a New Year--and help ensure that you break those resolutions sooner than later to stop all the fussin' over 'em...

Turns out that a panel formed in 1972 by then-President Nixon to address terrorist threats, in the wake of the slaying of 11 Israeli athlete at the Munich Olympics, warned of possible "dirty bombs" and, get this, attacks via hijacked aircraft--as early as 1977. Adding further irony to the, er...irony, a young Rudy Giuliani was on said panel.

I almost filed this one under a "DL/S&Y TOLD YA' SO" header. But I previously only mentioned a more detailed assessment in the '90s describing actual foiled plots to fly airliners into targets such as the Eifel Tower. Which, too, was virtually ignored.

You're probably asking "Why were these plots ignored?"

I don't expect you to remember the details of S&Y's hunk on the '90s warnings. But the 1977 report simply sat on some desk for much the same reasons.

A quote from the AP story I read on the '77 doings:

"Committee members identified commercial jets as a particular vulnerability, but raised concerns that airlines would not pay for security improvements such as tighter screening procedures and routine baggage inspections."

Sure makes you wanna use YOUR tax dollars to bail out the "poor victim of Sept. 11" airline industry again, doesn't it?...

I just read that the online Muslim dating scene is simply hoppin'.

While we're on the topic of misguided Muslims reacting to very real problems of Western society through dangerous and unfortunate means...

Saw a reference today to some Academic Ivory Tower Poopy-Pants who fashions himself clever by referring to China as the "Next Superpower."


I got news for ya', there, Nutley...



Seems on the dork train, we all glom

(there's PersonalsTrainer.com!)

first senior, I learned

now Muslims there've turned

(for losers, though, sure beats a bomb).



Five years of a Limerick (and commentary) every day! What, do I expect a freakin' medal?...

Let Daily Limerick guide you into a New Year--and help ensure that you break those resolutions sooner than later to stop all the fussin' over 'em...

I usually aim to craft the day's Limerick about something that's at the top o' the news. But, occasionally, I hit something a bit more obscure.

Today's Limerick is a fine example of those rare instances where you may miss a Limerick's meaning if you haven't been following DL/S&Y.

All the news that's fit to, er, well...something... Fit to amuse you Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers, I suppose, but that doesn't say a lot for DL's journalistic standards...

It turns out that Bill Clinton's last inauguration festival was more expensive than Bush's latest.

Funny, but I completely missed the constant hubbub on that somehow...

Again, and I shouldn't have to keep reminding you of this, DL isn't crazy about bush but is anti-partisan; if we thought the truth were actually partisan then, why, we'd probably have a hit documentary on our hands, wouldn't we?...

Some Wisconsin Democratic activists have been charged with slashing the tires on vans used by Republican activists to drive voters and volunteers to the polls during the 2004 election.

Haven't heard from Jesse yet.

I'm sure he's just taking extra care puttin' together the Rhyming Rant to Remain Relevant on this one, huh?...

To all those in the media glamorizing, and in the public eating up the glamorization, of these people performing the equivalent of poppin' pills with fertility treatments and pumpin' out quintuplets and more... Stop it, please.

Six billion and counting. But we're all supposed to send money to help you selfish bastards feed the spawn of your medically induced, freakish pregnancy, huh?...

And where are all the "Don't be messin' with God's givin' o' life" ranter/ravers in these cases, anyway?...

One of my gigs entails grantwriting.

Toward this purpose, I called about a "Community Giving" program at Cingular Wireless today.

Or at least I tried.

Got nowhere with the sales and customer service lines. Rounded up a PR person from the Web site.  She hadn't heard of the "community" mumbo-jumbo. But eventually she helped me. And sounded damn sexy doing it, I might add--but I know better about such things. (I believe I made a rather ugly Sunday Story Time out of the tale as well.)


I was unable to speak with anybody with the "Community Giving" wing of Cingular.


This is a company selling the ability to always be in touch.

It gets old always being in touch, though, doesn't it?

Which is why I've so far, still, managed to resist the cell phone thing, thank Jennifer Love Hewitt's legs...

In the aftermath and fallout from my divorce, I was stuck with a hefty American Express Optima card balance.

I've noticed that AmEx has a new slogan: "Card Members Get It."

Oh, they get it all right--good 'n' hard...

I live in a gay neighborhood.

And so I'm not exactly beatin' off the ladies at this point in my life, but this neighborhood is shi-shi and my (as of tomorrow officially) ex-wife steered us this way, and my only complaint about it is the pricey-ness, not that there's anything wrong with that.

Anyway, I noticed some graffiti on an area building today. Haven't seen that around these parts before. And... Well.

Is it really a BAD thing if the stereotype says you don't normally form street gangs?

And...what? The Latin Queens?...



Today we bring you a special Slapper Yapper Grasshopper's Guide to Hot Stuff. (As in, spicy, food hot stuff. Perverts.)

Who doesn't like a little flaming kick to their culinary adventures?

Frankly, I guess, a lot of people don't. But then again, what aspect of our society ISN'T utterly Disneyfied at this point? I can't count the times when I've ordered my Thai/Indian etc. food "extra spicy," or asked for jalopenos with my tacos, and received a stupefied look. Why, I've even heard, "Most American no like the spicy--they like the mild."

And I've got news for ya': Some of us just naturally like the spicy. Folks have told me, "You can only eat that hot shit because you've killed off taste buds by smoking cigars"--but actually, I've dabbled in the jalopenos since a little shaver. Of course, there are the "macho" spicesters, who may in fact like the stuff but at least got started on it tryin' to be all manly.

Face it: I'm just a naturally spicy guy.

How do you tell a naturally spicy guy? Well, they don't just like hot--they like a special kinda hot for special kinda foods. There is a flavor in addition to the hot within these sauces/peppers/condiments. The hot brings out the other flavors and the other flavors complement the hot in a signature way.

The guy who throws Tabasco, for instance, on everything from chili to pizza? Or the one who doesn't feel a tad out of sorts seein' the hot dog stand worker toss giardinera on his wiener? Not necessarily a naturally spicy guy.

Chili? Sure, Tabasco or another liquid, red one. (Lest you think endorsement money changed hands, Frank's and Louisiana are two fine examples and there are many more.) But hot dogs need sport peppers--not jalopenos or any other kind, my friends, but sport peppers. Pizza is best with the flakes of dried red pepper. One of those will fit Thai food, however, as that Thai chili paste has a signature, tasty burn as unique as a culinary snowflake. Another little tip--oddly enough, I like the flavor of the mild or medium salsas. Rather than buying "hot," I bolster those with some actual fresh or pickled jalopeno. I could go on and on and on. I already have--but I could add another "on" or two.

Variety is the spice of, er, spices.

Anybody thinking of sending gifts to the gift-deficient Chief Limericist c/o the DL Castle take heed: More hot does not equate to better. Oftentimes it works the opposite way.

I caught the idea for this installment, in fact, after glancing at an unopened bottle of "Kickin' Hot" sauce that sits in my cabinet. I have received more than one bottle of sauce in this genre, as a gift from those unwise to the world of spicy guys. Some of these sauces may very well be tasty, but I'm afraid of them after a couple turned out to be plenty hot but... Well, near hork-inducing.

A bottle with no name and only a man screaming in pain on the label? How the hell does that spell "enjoyable gift"? Huh? Answer me! Well, maybe that visage spells that for someone who, well, you know...likes a little spicy in his/her own signature way. But not for a naturally spicy guy like me.

So there's your freakin' guide--ya' happy now?



Gives me guilt, but crap state of the nation

(making college a protest occasion)

brings purpose to young fellas,

making me a bit jealous

'cause I'm from such a dud generation.



Five years of a Limerick (and commentary) every day! What, do I expect a freakin' medal?...

Let Daily Limerick guide you into a New Year--and help ensure that you break those resolutions sooner than later to stop all the fussin' over 'em...

A man has actually sold ad space on his head through eBay.

As the common pop cultural question becomes a notch more difficult to answer: "Is it reality... Or something out of MAD Magazine?...

Speaking of things that would make good sarcastic jokes if they were just jokes and weren't freakin' TRUE... Some sort of company engaged in ripping the public off through the healthcare sector--I won't even name the bastards, actually--has forbade its employees to smoke, even off the clock, and is actually doing TESTS to ascertain whether its workers have been smoking.

Considering I've ranted and raved about the Reefer Madness II: Tobacco phenomenon far too often in this space, I was gonna write this one off by repeating my belief that the biggest worry of this century won't be Big Brother but instead Big Mother, but... Something occurred to me.

Perhaps this company is going to pull a twist on this in February--you know, some clever statement for Black History Month about slavery...

If I haven't convinced you yet to think twice about advocating government intervention to solve problems we perceive as serious:

Chicago's Mayor Daley is in another city to better learn about its transportation system.

I could almost hear you guessing "New York."

Nope. Los Angeles.

Next, I suppose he's off to Detroit to learn about urban economic empowerment...

Two guys in Delaware robbed a pizza delivery chick. Afterward, one of the guys called her up and asked her on a date.

I don't feel like such a doofus with the chicks after all...

Which brings to mind a situation deserving much pondering:

When you get laid, it is said that you "got lucky."

We can thus infer... I know, I know the old saying--don't infer because you'll just, er, not get "in" with me and, um, it'll thus be "fer" nothing'... Oh forget it...

Slappin' and Yappin' 1/27/2005 nugget #5 take two:

If getting lovin' is "gettin' lucky," we can thus surmise that not getting such a splendiferous thing is "unlucky."

Now, what about cases where all your trials and tribulations actually toss some negative at ya', instead of just sending you home alone as, let's face it, you were probably going to do anyway, ya' munchpump?

Wouldn't you then be..."dislucky"?...

By the way the dictionary, after its definition, lists "speldiferous" as "humorous."

So laugh, bastards, laugh!...

I guess we should start dubbing this sort of thing...


THE LATE NEWS 1/27/2005:

Why should I feel guilty for not bawling my eyes out over the tsunami thing?

Yeah, it was terrible and depressing and blah blah blah, but I actually got sick of hearing about it.

Either by implication, or by actually voicing the sentiment, many accused those of my mindset on the deal of being "insensitive."

Now, if you ran off and volunteered to help tsunami victims, you can successfully guilt me over it. But just because you watched every minute of coverage on CNN--uh-uh, you just shut up and go back to your kleenex...



...but I didn't intend the mallard to get lodged in there so tightly...

Microsoft Word tried to force me into capitalizing "kleenex," by the way.

Oh, just get it over with and sell ads on the moon, folks, will ya?...

If you follow sports, well, lean back in your recliner and scratch yourself once for me, but... Well, you've probably heard that the Cubs are lookin' to unload Sammy Sosa somewhere. Anywhere.

And the Cubs Machine has managed to turn much of the public against Sammy.

Yup. Sammy Sosa. That's all that's wrong with the Cubs. Lose him and they'll be a regular team...

Just read today the first "mainstream publication" usage of my term for what is generally known as reality TV: "Reality" TV.

(Note the subtlety, students.)

It does get tiring, all this movin' and shakin'...

Sun-Times columnist Richard Roeper--you know, the annoying guy who somehow fell into the role of replacing Gene Siskel--made a Clinton joke in his column yesterday.

Just thought I'd point that out, as I'd like to have a word war with the guy. One is going on now in Chicago featuring the Sun-Times' Neil Steinberg vs. the Tribune's Eric Zorn. Sounds exciting and publicity generating.

And Roeper DID opt off of my DL e-mail List a while back, before this splendiferous site was up.

I'll start things off:


In case you haven't noticed it, Rolling Stone, although once known for things like reviewing albums as then-out-there as Black Sabbath's first, isn't even close to being hip and hasn't been since, well, Reagan, perhaps?...

"Oscar Season" is underway and... That's all you're gonna read about it here...

Common Web design culture now views the phrase "Under Construction" posted on sites as a no-no.

And I was just thinking of losing those pronouncements on this site.

But I wouldn't wanna catch any of that annoying, high-falutin' culture anyway...

If I'm ever rich, I just may start the Sloop Biederman Anti-Bedbug Foundation to help poor artists with lives in turmoil who have been best by bedbugs.

I kinda miss Manny, Louie, Charles, Andrew and the gang. You know, the pest service guys.

If I could only figure out exactly what circumstances put me in the exact mood I'm now in...

For what it's worth--and it's worth a good deal to my lawyer, evidently--I will finally, after almost eight months of being so for all practical purposes, be legally divorced--most likely by the time you read this. Unless you're reading this rather early in the day. In which case you should see somebody and their couch.

So I've got no guarantees about the tone of tomorrow's edition.

Just pumpin' out the mirth now, I suppose...

And I guess I'll let you read this February running stunt you'll get sick of-to-be JUST for YOU, Slapper Grasshoppers, as I've just posted it as "Upcoming" in Sloop Central:

Sloop's "News Poetry" is nationally syndicated now (starting February, 2005) through the Continental Features/Continental News Service syndicate! If you notice CFS in pubs you read, bother 'em silly to get some Sloop goin'! Hell, bother whatever publications you read to start carrying CF/CNS stuff (including, well, Sloop) if they don't already! Hell (again)--bother publications you don't read! Bother strangers, TV stations, what have you--make yourself useful, whacktoast!



Which damn Media would just stop it--

glam'rizing quint-, sest- and septuplets.

Pop fert drugs to sat'ration--

then expect our donations?--

should instead get some kittens or puplets.



Five years of a Limerick (and commentary) every day! What, do I expect a freakin' medal?...

Let Daily Limerick guide you into a New Year--and help ensure that you break those resolutions sooner than later to stop all the fussin' over 'em...

Juan Manuel Alvarez is a knucklehead who can't do anything right. And a dangerous maniac at that, which makes for a curious combination.

Look into him, won't you?...

(That's part of the new do-it-yourself, or "Choose Your Own Adventure" style, Slappin' and Yappin')...

According to Leonardo DeCaprio, "Monogamy is the key to a successful relationship."

Wow. That must've took SOME Romeo sleuthing, there, fancy-boy...

Saw something about this nutty zebra movie and an accompanying story examined the speeds of various mammal species.

I'm sure it was simply fascinating and all.

I was most enriched by learning that an animal exists known as the Mongolian Wild Ass.

I think most of us agree. We all like a little Mongolian Wild Ass with our newspaper on a chilly Thursday afternoon...

I really, really wanna have a clambake.

Seriously. Perhaps for DL's sixth anniversary.



Any advice or leads, or whatever (I'll confess: I'm not that up on the modern hip clambake jargon)...would be appreciated, and would freak me out, as you rat bastards sit around like lumpstumps and don't do diddle for your beloved DL/S&Y...

I am... The Thinking Man's Idiot.

New catchphrase, or...something I probably shouldn't even have typed...

I open my curtains during the day. Often, my "cross-the-way" neighbor does this same. And she's got a hubbula bubbula boomski factor workin', too.


Anyway, I was locomotin' about the ol' homestead today in my long underwear and little else. Which is not a pretty thing, my friends. And she saw it. I'm almost positive that she did, anyway.

But she didn't shut her curtains. She could have poor eyesight or have simply gone into shock.

But anyway, she owes me more of the same. But the chick version--perhaps just wearing leg warmers.

Maybe it's time to call it a night...



Go see me.

(I hadda get that cheap one out there sooner or later, didn't I?)



Those who claim preference, with straight face

for not "kill," but "thrill of the chase"

must be freakin' lucky

and not at all schmucky

'cause chase gets old without kill's taste.



Five years of a Limerick (and commentary) every day! What, do I expect a freakin' medal?...

Let Daily Limerick guide you into a New Year--and help ensure that you break those resolutions sooner than later to stop all the fussin' over 'em...

Happened across a show on cable access addressing the concerns inherent in "Routine and accidental radiation emissions."

I guess the accidental emissions may raise the collective eyebrow.

But that silly "routine radiation"? Pfft...

Happy Extra Cheezy Saturday!



Some schmoes in Guantanamo Bay

are pissed female agents do play

with stripper like tricks--

but here, for such tricks

some guys'll blow a half a month's pay!



Five years of a Limerick (and commentary) every day! What, do I expect a freakin' medal?...

Let Daily Limerick guide you into a New Year--and help ensure that you break those resolutions sooner than later to stop all the fussin' over 'em...

I really couldn't just let today's top story go with just the limerick. This has everything a good Slappin' and Yappin' nugget should have: government malfeasance, religious whackitude, chicks in mini-skirts causing male-feasance, you could say... Then again, I don't have too much more to add, other than it sure puts a new spin on the tune "Guantanamera"...

And it also begs of me to whip out the S&Y Psychiatric Couch.

Yes, I'm supposed to be tossing it in storage. But let's just ponder the idea of strippers to begin with.

Strippers have been on my mind because experiencing divorce in legality (after experiencing it extendedly in practicality) has found others asking me if I'm going to have a "divorce party." You know, celebrate.

Now, there are two sides to every story. Nonetheless, usually one story has a more likeable protagonist and the other...a few plot holes, shall we say? And I think I'm the hero in this one, of sorts. Not the moral champion, comic book style hero (although I'd dig a cape) but the fallible, schmucky sort.

Nonetheless, "celebration" doesn't seem to be in order. Strangely, more than a decade ago people weren't asking about my "DUI party"...

But anyway, a prominent manner of celebrating the threshold of merriment known as Divorce is the ol' strip club thing. Which brings me back to strippers, ala the Guantanamo Girls. (See? It's not just a digression, but usage of the age-old literary device of "circling." Then again, vultures do that, too.)

I enjoy seeing a good looking woman naked. Let's make no bones about it. Well, I DO make bones about it, see, and that's much of the problem.

I see a strip club as akin to going into a delightful pizza place, paying damn good money for the pizza, but only having it waved under your nose repeatedly. And you throw more singles at the waitress now and then, in effect encouraging her to tempt you even more with that pizza you ain't gonna get. If you throw down an extra $20 or so, she'll put a piece in your mouth so you get an actually taste, but no bite...and then yank it away.

Come to think of it, there's a metaphorical joke path I could hit take that would tie into my whole experience of the last eight months but, damn, this Couch needs fumigating...

But as long as we have it out, anyway, let me tell you about the depressing human spectacle circus known as divorce court.

There's a guy screamin' at his lawyer about how "she's taking everything." There's the chick whose icy stare screams out, on a whole different level, that she hates the entire sub-species known as men. There's the chick staring at you as if you're a piece of meat--done with the last guy and cravin' a lil' somethin' new to fill the void. There's the folks who are beyond alone sitting on the benches outside the courtroom, looking a lot like the people you see sitting on benches in Vegas--they almost become invisible. Their level of woe is such that your mind forces you to instinctually ignore them in a place like Vegas, because you're there to have fun, but they stick out in their despair in other settings.


I was, however, quite hot for the judge. But, well, how in the hell do you hit up a judge anyway? And at your own divorce proceeding (even if it was a rather quick and painless proceeding)?

Considering that I've been known to mess up many (oh so many) a half-way decent bet, my going for something like that would actually prompt the governor to declare my general vicinity a disaster area...

Our Secretary of State's office evidently so bungled its Web site's translation into foreign languages that speakers of such tongues are seeing our statement to the world as nonsensical blathering.

I suppose that, again, here's a veritable minefield o' joke material, but just kick it around in your head a while and you, too, may deserve a talk show...

So this chowderpunch in L.A. who decides to commit suicide by taking out a train--"Nobody likes me, oh what to do?; I know, I'll kill off a bunch of people in a ridiculously public way and then everybody will love me"--chickens out in the end.

Then, he slits his wrists (the killin' himself plan back on, evidently)--unsuccessfully. Then he tries to stab himself. Again, unsuccessfully.

If there are any involved prison guards listening... Tell him this, for S&Y:

You not only fucked up a whole bunch of other people, but you fucked up killing yourself, not once, not twice, but three times! Talk about a someone who's likeness should be in the dictionary next to "loser"...

The FCC actually appears to be abandoning its quest to open still wider the floodgates for media consolidation through wide-eyed, maniacal manifestos cooked up by outgoing Michael "Speaking of People Who Oughta Kill Themselves if They Wanna Do Something Good for the World" Powell.

Does anybody out there remember a thing called..."hope"?...

Okay, before we fumigate the damn couch:

Most of us love Murphy's Law and related pronouncements of inevitable misluck. (That oughta be a legitimate word, by the way.) We tend to think the philosophy is best manifested in our own doings. "And, knowing MY luck," "then, just my luck," "but of course, this is ME we're talkin' about," etc.

But check this out:

There's this Friday night show that I do pretty much every Friday. (It's in a theater that also serves dinner, which actually makes for a delightful combination, when you think about it, although you don't HAVE to order dinner.) Lately, the turn-out has been fantabulous. Even when the whether has been perhaps the arch-opposite of fantabulous lately in Chicago.

This last Friday saw a meager turnout. I have a prior commitment, made some time back, preventing me from the coming Friday show.

And for the coming Friday show? A party of more than forty has a reservation.

A sorority.

If that ain't Charlie Browney, why, I'm a FCC head's uncle.




(Touching in some manner, anyway)

TODAY'S EDITION: Those 'How to Pick-up Chicks' Books

Lest you consider branding me hopelessly pathetic (if last week's Sunday Story Time didn't accomplish that already), every guy I've talked to, whom I've known well enough to ask, has admitted to reading at least a part of one "How to Pick-Up Chicks" book in his life. Most committed the deed when in junior high or early high school.

And, as you may have guessed, I'll cop to this nerdrific behavior myself. As with the majority, 'round junior high, early high school-ish.

Now recently, a friend of mine has been singing the praises of a book in the genre. He sent it to me in a PDF, actually, soon after I became divorced. Well, soon after I became separated-en-route-to-divorce in mid-2004.

These books never really helped me. In fact, I've never seen them help anybody too much. Little things, maybe--like I still remember one advising you to be "aloof" around women. Which is really only a twist on a rule for dealing with people in general.

Of course, even this tidbit is limited in its practical application. For one, HOW aloof? Let me tell you, one can be TOO aloof. If you're 100 percent aloof, making absolutely no gestures or overtures, chances are you're gonna get 100 percent nothing. And no matter how great a piece of advice, when you're out there on the playing field you often forget it, can't play it off or it just isn't "in" you.

And then, of course, there are the rules that break the regular rules. For instance: If a chick is head over heels for a guy, he can do everything wrong and she'll like him. And if I chick just plain doesn't dig you or your type, no amount of even magical book learnin' is gonna win her over.

Now, of this cohort who sings the praises of a work in this genre, I will give him the fact that that he's hooked up to the spigot o' spice with a regular dame. But he's the kinda guy who's shootin' for a new supermodel twice a week kinda thing.

So when I hear praises sung for one of these books by someone who's livin' up to his own nerdrific dream, I'll make special time to return anew to such reading pursuits.

Until then... Why, y'all come back now, ya' hear?






TODAY'S POEM: Getting home beyond bright skies

Sunlight is grinding the windows.

It's turning the snow into fields of fire.

Outlining in harsh relief my shadow

And the human being that carries it.

It's blazing the walls to powder.

It's pulsing through the trees

As I walk down the street

And take another corner.

It hurts my head, it tires me out.

The temperature can't tell what to be.

Passing cars are migraine beacons --

People are obscured behind their glass.

One more hill, I'll be home,

Where the light is less frantic.

The sky is the ache of frozen lilies.

My bed is the pond that I dream on.

[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.]



PR has followed Darwinism

to BS Arch Foe, journalism,

which sits, stoic, musty

its "interviews" trusty

spots for pols to loose unchecked jism.



Five years of a Limerick (and commentary) every day! What, do I expect a freakin' medal?...

Let Daily Limerick guide you into a New Year--and help ensure that you break those resolutions sooner than later to stop all the fussin' over 'em...

Now, we can only hope that these results are a little skewed as the survey was done by USA Weekend (any serious readers of which may confuse the back of a cereal box with the editorial page), but their findings indicate that 36 percent of teens believe newspapers should not be allowed to publish without government approval.

And we're saying that democracy is foreign to IRAQ?...

Welcome to Extra Cheezy... Er, I guess it's not Monday.

Well, then, Welcome to Extra Cheezy Saturday--on Monday!

Kinda like Christmas in July.



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


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