Daily Limerick
Archives: December 2006

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)!

 

DAILY LIMERICK 12/1/2006:

With activists crazy to stump

for public breast feeding, some chumps

play "it's nat'ral!" card

which, as sell, seems hard,

for, well, so is taking a dump!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 12/1/2006:

Headline:

"Obesity Now Threatens Health of Africans"

All they need is crippling credit card debt and we can attain a Utopian vision--ending Comic Relief once and for all!...

Headline:

"Probe OKs Police Shooting"

Nice time-saving measure, doing it ahead of time. Hope it involved one of those annoying, urban sidewalk bicycle riders...

Now, it makes good sense for big city public trans systems to have pre-recorded announcements.

But it's a little hard to keep faith in such systems when things like "equipment problems" are frequent enough to justify such recordings, don't you think?...

So, Rosie O'Donnell, "concerned" about Britney Spears' recent partying and, apparently, beave flashing, is offering to take Brit in at the ol' Rosie Ranch.

We'd say something about, oh, a double standard erupting because were, say, Bill Clinton to make the same offer we'd probably witness more hubbub--but we know damn well that double standards can only exist involving straight, white males.

And in any event, we applaud Rosie for tryin'...

On a similar topic, we've recently been alerted to the fact that tall, hot blonde women are often victims of discrimination. This discrimination comes from other women, of course. "Who cares? She's gotten everything in life easily because she's tall and blonde!"

But, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers, discrimination is discrimination--and it's about time something was done to right this injustice. Therefore, we're proud to announce:

The Daily Limerick/Slappin' and Yappin' Home for Wayward Tall, Hot Blondes!

It's actually tucked within our Chief Limericist's home. Contact Daily Limerick to apply.

***

SPECIAL"PULL-OUT" FRIDAY ENTERTAIN YOURSELF SECTION 12/1/2006:

TODAY'S EDITION: Broadtosser

I'm guessing that this band's name is some form of feminist statement, as it's a chick band. Although it could also constitute some sort of reference I don't "get"--about tossing chick's salads, or something... I don't know.

What's important here is that not only does Broadtosser rock, but they manage to rock silly. I present a song titled, or at least refrained, "Itsy Bitsy Spider," as evidence.

Oh, and a chick from the band has (had?) pink hair but manages to pull off something I'd previously thought impossible--actually looking hot with a hair color outside nature's spectrum!

http://www.broadtosser.com

******

DAILY LIMERICK 12/2/2006:

At a Christmas bash, horny Ted,

helped liquor up a hot redhead.

She asked for eggnog--

and he'd grown yule log--

so he served her "nog" in his bed!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 12/2/2006:

Here's a line you can have at the ready for the Holiday Season to make life easier:

"Considering the time of year, it's actually a 'yule log,' so I'm just being festive, when it boils down to it."

For when you...you know.

Don't you?

Moving along...

******

DAILY LIMERICK 12/3/2006:

Well, Africa's historic grief

comes from lack of food--veg or beef.

But obesity's

their scourge now, too, see?

So can we stop "Comic Relief"?

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 12/3/2006:

Tip for setting up your Christmas tree:

On the day you set the tree up, don't have too much other work planned. You have to allow for time spent stopping to sniff the tree; slamming in your tracks to gaze at the tree, all the while grinning ear to ear like some adult Charlie Brown; etc.

***

SUNDAY STORY TIME 12/3/2006:

A SPECIAL, TOUCHING SECTION APPEARING SUNDAYS ONLY

(Touching in some manner, anyway)

TODAY'S EDITION: The Tale of the Derelict Renter/Roommate, Chapter Six--The Living Room Becomes a Morgue

Since moving in, The Derelict had been sleeping on a futon my previous renter/roommate left behind temporarily, which I'd otherwise been planning to use as a couch. However, I'd told T.D. from the start that he needed to bring a bed of his own, as the futon was on the way out as soon as its owner found a more permanent living arrangement.

So TD enlisted the aid of friendly halfway house denizens and moved down an old bed of his. Like most of his belongings, it had resided in his mother's basement, possibly for decades, since its last use. It was a gargantuan model, taking up all the useful room in his bedroom--but remember that this is the guy who wanted to move in sight unseen and tried to spend as little money on anything as possible.

Not only did he get his food exclusively through depositories, food stamps and such, but he used ANYTHING he had until it would literally fall apart. He had this fan that looked it came from the '50s! Oh, and this bed of his? It happened to be a waterbed.

Now, he'd told me about this bed earlier--and I'm the type of guy who likes to be fair like a judge. So since I didn't specifically say, or write in the lease, "no waterbeds," he could do it--but I told him to consider buying a futon or something, as I wouldn't allow it were I to renew the lease (which, again, I'd already decided against anyway).

He brought pretty much his entire life to my place. Videotapes, audio tapes, books, photos, mementos, a giant freakin' scale that ran on quarters and looked like it came from an old carnival, porn on old reels, more coats than an old lady would acquire after a life of gold digging.

As I slowly learned more and more just how screwed-up The Derelict was, I wondered exactly when he, er, went wrong. At some point he was a practicing barber, he had professional boxing gloves, awards and "I love you" keepsakes and all the markings of a once normal life.

My best guess was that he hit a downward slide 20 years earlier. He had a book from the city, "How to Make Sober Drinks," with recipes for nonalcoholic margaritas and such. You're given such things when you go to organizations, check into hospitals, etc. This particular book was stamped with, "City of Chicago Dept. of Human Services, Harold Washington, Mayor," which gave me the 20-year ballpark. And other facts, over time, seemed to back that up--although I'll never be entirely sure.

It's sad, looking back, but TD had big dreams--even beyond getting married and still having kids. He brought a massage table as part of his second big move and he dubbed himself a massage therapist. (When he wasn't a filmmaker.) He even moved a small fridge into his living room--to hold cold drinks for "customers." (I found a "certified massage therapist" badge among his belongings that had expired about 12 years ago, though.)

He set up this massage table almost immediately. For much of its time in that room, it was covered with miscellany--plastic bags of papers and things, mostly.

Now, back to his sleeping situation. The Derelict didn't coordinate the second move until after the futon was taken away. So he slept on his floor, upon some extra blankets, for a night or two--one even AFTER the futon was delivered.

You see, the bed was a pain in the ass to put together. And the frame, while beautiful (not to mention made of some reddish wood, bearing shelves and generally bulky as all hell), was complicated, requiring the building of, for instance, X-shaped wood devices to provide further support for the horizontal boards. And TD whined the whole time about his back and generally was of little help in the affair.

Eventually, TD talked a friend of his into helping with the bed frame. Mostly talked his friend into doing all of the work, truth be told. This friend appeared to be a "normal" guy--or at least not halfway house material. I thought at first that it was one of the nephews TD has once claimed would help him with the second moves.

But before that... Well, TD said repeatedly that he'd like to put his bed in his living room. From the start, I said that could not be the case. The living rooms are open in my place and I leave my bedroom door cracked at night to allow my cats access, so noise was one reason. And the reverse was true about noise--I sometimes end up awake late, perhaps even with a lady, by the fireplace or something in the adjacent room. (When a renter/roommate is in their own bedroom, they're sealed-off from the rest of the place.)

So I reiterated my stance and he ended up sleeping, for two nights, ON THE MASSAGE TABLE. Too lazy to put his bed together himself and tired of sleeping on his bedroom floor, evidently. Plus, he'd started to set up his frame, so it was in a useless, half-put-together state (and put together wrongly, at that)... So, on the first night, I said, "Okay--but just for this ONE night," and reiterated my stance on the whole matter.

So I awake, head to the bathroom and for coffee, and my first site is The Derelict, lying on a highly elevated platform, covered in a sheet, with his ugly-ass foot sticking out the end... It looked like a freakin' morgue.

He tried pulling the massage table maneuver again the next night. At this point--and this is ridiculously unusual behavior for a perhaps TOO mellow guy like me--I ran up to the massage table, got right in his face and yelled at him. "You CANNOT sleep here--we talked about this last night." I called him a drug addict I... I lost it. Ripped into him. Eventually he went back to the floor in his room until the bed was set up--which took two stints of his mooching.

I was learning that, like it or not, there were certain tactics I simply had to use as long as The Derelict was living in my home.

COMING NEXT WEEK TO SUNDAY STORY TIME: Tough Love

***

MIKE'S ACCURSED VERSE 12/3/2006:

A SPECIAL SUNDAY EXTRA SECTION

(IN BLAZING COLOR... IF YOU THINK ABOUT IT JUST RIGHT)

BY MIKE "BOOM" CHMIELECKI

 

TODAY'S POEM: My old piano teacher

 

Neeltje lived near the Nashua Airport.

Her house was modest, and her piano

was a well-kept upright. She had a soft voice

in contrast to her imposing build and bright playing.

Probably in her mid-50s, her short hair was dark

and her eyes were often inscrutable.

 

When my fingers stumbled among a difficult chord

she was quick to raise her voice not

in frustration or disappointment,

but in keeping with her role as a piano teacher,

goading me on. Encouraging me to nest within

the 88 waiting keys, strings and silent hammers.

 

My father would drive me

to lessons, making a space for himself

on her couch, directly behind me. I could hear him paging through

a magazine he brought with him, sometimes stifling

a dry-air cough. Very occasionally he would make a sound of approval

if I made music that sounded rich and true.

But mostly he remained quiet.

 

Neeltje was my intermediate teacher. (Mary,

who gave lessons at Darrell's Music Hall store,

was my first, and Paul, who oversaw a local orchestra,

was my third and last.) Without saying it, she let me

know I was one of her favorites. Playing CDs with crystalline

pianowork for me, offering me chocolates, and comic strip clippings

if they mentioned a composer's work I had toiled over.

Providing me copies of imported sheet music

so she could hear her favorite obscurities

rising from my fairly practiced hands.

 

Nearing the holidays she asked me if I'd be willing to

perform a recital with an advanced pianist, some Tchaikovsky

at a little Christmas pageant. I agreed. Soon I was meeting

for intense sessions with a woman named Carol. She had bright red hair

worn loosely, and a sharp, judgmental voice. The center room of her home

was devoted exclusively to her piano, a grand with the action set too high.

When I complained about the instrument, she took it as a compliment,

thanking me for noticing her precise, difficult requirements for playing.

 

Of course I never made it to the recital. I loathed her.

She finally asked Neeltje for another student,

one with more technical proficiency, if not emotion.

Carol called me a week before the concert, tersely mentioning

I wouldn't be needed, and, when I offered the information, to congratulate

me

stiffly for completing the sacrament of confirmation at my boyhood church.

 

When I heard that Neeltje died, I wanted to play a slow, aching rendition

from a piece by one of her favorite pastoral artists.

But I sat and wrote a short card of sympathy to her husband instead.

 

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

******

DAILY LIMERICK 12/4/2006:

Most Seasonal trends are fantastic

but some can turn one near bombastic--

like pop stars compelled

to screech "jingle bells"

and ruin all the holiday classics!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 12/4/2006:

Ali Lohan.

So, every little sister of a celebrity now automatically attains stardom?

Stop it. Stop it NOW...

Concerning the Kay Jewelers commercial tying into "It's a Wonderful Life"... Can we leave at least ONE treasured Christmas memory unaffected by shameless materialism?...

You know you're full-on into the Christmas Season when our Chief Limericist knocks over an entire holiday display reaching for certain ornaments in the department store.

And receiving a bloody head wound on the fireplace mantle is mere icing on the cake...

***

SPECIAL"PULL-OUT" MONDAY"OPEN UP 'N' TAKE YOUR MEDICINE" HAIKU HEALTH SECTION 12/4/2006:

By David Sher

 

TODAY'S HAIKU: Urinary Haiku

 

When your catheter

Hs been removed, you have been

DeFoleyated

 

[If you'd like to contact the Haiku Doctor, e-mail him at davew9lya@juno.com.]

******

DAILY LIMERICK 12/5/2006:

When talent-short Hollywood bimbos

gain fame and tabloid "loves" with himbos

must their little sisters

gain fame, without blisters

and none of the "earn your stripes" limbo?

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 12/5/2006:

Happy Martin van Buren's birthday!...

We often remind ourselves that, despite all its annoyances, the technological benefits of this Cell Phone Age surely outweigh them.

(And we'll quite calling you Shirley, too.)

But... What could be more disturbing than hearing a one-sided conversation...coming from a bathroom stall?

Actually, many, MANY things can be, and are, far more disturbing.

But, still...

******

DAILY LIMERICK 12/6/2006:

Since day they wrote 'bout "Lords a'Leapin'"

in crassness, we're Seas'nally steepin'.

Kay plays jewel shill fife

to "Wonderful Life"--

no limits on what can be cheapened!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 12/6/2006:

Egyptian officials have foiled a terrorist plot involving citizens of America, several Arab nations including Tunisia and Syria, Belgium, France and other countries.

Wow! More nations were involved in this plot than in our "Coalition of the Willing"...

You know, you could say the GOP is currently ex-Foley-ating itself now, couldn't ya'?...

Conservative GOP senator Sam Brownback is pulling a campaign stunt that... Well, here's what a news story had to say:

"The Kansas Republican plans to spend Friday night at Louisiana's notorious state penitentiary in Angola"

Geez. This one's too easy, even for us...

NASA is planning a moon colony by 2024.

Can't come up with a witty closer on this one, but you gotta admit the wackiness level merits S&Y mention...

Hans Blix, former bumbling weapons of mass destruction inspector, reportedly just loves karaoke.

And... Well, this is another nutty nugget we're having difficulty capping.

But... Blix... moon colony...karaoke... Somehow, this can all work together in a positive manner, we just know it...

***

SPECIAL "PULL-OUT" WEDNESDAY "EAT IT!" SECTION 12/6/2006:

TODAY'S EDITION: Acceptably Flavored Coffee

Drinking flavored coffee immediately makes you a girly man, in our opinion. Unless, of course, you're a woman. Or a homosexual, in which case our silly Guy Code doesn't apply.

However, it is perfectly masculine to sprinkle some cinnamon in your coffee grounds before starting the pot. Or other spices, we suppose. Perhaps...nutmeg?

In any event, take care not to mistake cumin powder for cinnamon in such usage. Unless you're seeking a truly strange, not to mention digestively altered, experience.

******

DAILY LIMERICK 12/7/2006:

So NASA plans moon colony.

Just who will inhabitants be?

I say relocate

any on the slate

who've been "stars" of "reality."

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 12/7/2006:

Headline:

"Big Apple Bans Trans Fats"

Thanks, anti-smoking do-gooder zealots, for moving the government one step closer to controlling our health!

And for those who think something can't possibly go wrong in this relationship--just sit back, American Health Taliban, make up a bowl of metaphorical popcorn, and watch humankind's endless historical loop, pathetically repeating itself, over, and over, and over...

In flipping through the sports pages, we stumbled upon the "Ford C. Prick Award for Excellence in Broadcasting."

Well... We were reading extremely quickly and, on second look, realized it was the FRICK award.

But our initial, Freudian glance may make more sense, given the state of sports today...

******

DAILY LIMERICK 12/8/2006:

New York now has a trans fat ban.

Soon our health? In government hands!

That should leave you frightened--

give "thanks" for incitin'

this to Anti-Smoke Taliban!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 12/8/2006:

The Iraq Study Group, created to lend the appearance of doing something about the Iraq War other than what really should be done, has a number of "suggestions" for President Bush to ignore...er, consider in changing the course of this quagmire...er, civil war...that is, war...er, operation.

How helpful is this group? Well, here's an example of their tips:

"Resolving the Arab-Israeli conflict to ease conflict throughout the Middle East"

And so simple, too! While we're at it, let's resolve that conflict between cats and mice, too...

It struck me the other day (Chief Limericist checking in, here):

Since I pen my silly little, drecky poems for holiday gift-giving needs, I am The Little Poet Boy.

So... Pa rum pa pum pum, I suppose...

***

SPECIAL"PULL-OUT" FRIDAY ENTERTAIN YOURSELF SECTION 12/8/2006:

TODAY'S EDITION: "Shy Boy"

Talas had a song called "Shy Boy" which... Talas. Band that was obscure even in the '80s. Most notable for the fact that its bass player was Billy Sheehan. A bass player's bass player and not of much importance to anybody else. Solo'd in a heavy metal way all the time, on bass of course.

Yes. Bill Sheehan. Most notable for playing in David Lee Roth's band briefly.

Anyway, Talas had a song, which was later covered by David Lee Roth, called "Shy Boy."

Not only is the song rockin'--and containing kick-ass bass solos--but its lyrics adequately tell the tale of being a shy boy. Something you'd think would have been accomplished over the history of music before Talas. But wasn't.

So check it out. If you can find it somewhere. We swear we're not making it up...

******

DAILY LIMERICK 12/9/2006:

At Christmas bash, fetishist Joe,

caught Spirit bad, 'neath mistletoe.

Aft toe-sucking bangin'

under where 't'was hangin'

pulled-out, matched it with jizzletoe!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 12/9/2006:

An e-mail source of job opportunities informed us that C-SPAN was seeking "non-artisan" reporters.

Yeah, modern journalism's going down the crapper. But at least C-SPAN's being honest.

******

DAILY LIMERICK 12/10/2006:

We all know Bush don't give a poop

'bout finds of Iraq Study Group.

To better explain

it needs a new name

like, perhaps, "Iraq Study Dupe."

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 12/10/2006:

It is, of course, government's primary duty to protect its citizens from harm.

AP news quote out of Mentor, Ohio:

"An electrical fire that filled a department store with thick smoke didn't deter holiday shoppers, and firefighters had to block the doors to keep customers from entering..." Hmm.

Then again, who are we to interfere with the free will of the adult populace?...

College newspaper headline:

"WSU Considers 'Free Speech Zone'"

Silly, old-fashioned us. We thought this whole, great country of ours was a "Free Speech Zone."

But if we have to crowd into some corner with all the smokers to enjoy the First Amendment: Here we come, WSU!...

***

SUNDAY STORY TIME 12/10/2006:

A SPECIAL, TOUCHING SECTION APPEARING SUNDAYS ONLY

(Touching in some manner, anyway)

TODAY'S EDITION: The Tale of the Derelict Renter/Roommate, Chapter Seven--Tough Love

Having gotten nowhere with The Derelict through discussing things nicely, or through empathy (as when I told him that I, too, had alcohol problems in the past), I had no choice but to adopt a policy of "tough love," as they call it. You couldn't reason with TD any more than you could with a dog. (Although dogs may have a better ability to learn new things.)

Since TD was rarely up and about, I reached a point where I had to leave him notes, often about the household rules he'd been reminded of countless times already. This played in to the Tough Love policy, since I'd type the notes in an "official" way, referencing violations of the standard lease by section and subsection, threatening eviction and even "cc-ing" my attorney at the bottom.

The technique worked...sort of. There was ultimately no fixing the situation, only making it slightly more tolerable, but he was frightened by the threats, which seemed to increase the memory capacity of his endangered brain cells.

At one point, he even called my ex--not knowing we'd recently broken up to complete the Axis of Evil that was My Summer of Suck--to see if she could persuade me to mellow-out, or whatever.

At this point I knew that TD was more or less beyond hope, but as part of my quest to at least make life more tolerable, when an opportunity presented itself to interfere with his pharmaceutical gravy train, I seized it.

After finally finishing the setting up of TD's waterbed, he was left with a smashed foot. I doubt it required medical attention, but TD had good insurance off the government dole--and it provided him an extra chance to score legal drugs. So he wandered to a nearby hospital's emergency room and ended up calling me to come get him. For liability reasons, they didn't want him walking home in his chemically altered state and I was to be his escort.

I filled the escort role--but while we were awaiting all the paperwork and red tape for his release, I took his doctor aside and told him what I knew. That it wasn't a good idea to give TD more strong drugs. That he appeared to be abusing prescription pills.

A few days later, I called TD, wondering where the hell he was. (Again, he'd rarely let me know what his plans were when he'd head to his mother's for the weekend or whatever, so I'd never know whether to worry about him when I wouldn't see him come Monday or Tuesday.) He told me he was at the American Medical Association building. Doctors had "cut him off" of pills, which he "needed" for his back (although he curiously didn't make an appointment with the naprapath who was to find a better solution for his spinal pain), and HE was the customer, they worked to serve HIM... I hoped he'd get himself arrested and out of my hair.

I wasn't so lucky. And, of course, he just went to other doctors for his copious pills. (Curiously, the healthcare industry isn't real concerned with cracking down on abuse of the gazillion-dollar drug industry.) But I realized that I could have an affect on my situation and was constantly brainstorming ways to go even further.

I overheard TD talking on the phone about what sounding like a drug deal. Still unsure as to what was intoxicating him so, I wondered if he wasn't doing something far more serious than marijuana (which he'd smoked since moving in, once or twice). Thus I left him a note that I was onto his "drug deal" and just might talk to his probation officer (as I'd learned a vague detail or two about his legal situation).

It turned out that I DID catch him in a "drug deal"--although it was only pot and, thus, not a matter of much concern after all. But TD actually admitted that I "scared the crap out of him," so that was a positive development. And he seemed a little shocked at how much I seemingly knew about the tangled web of his life.

As The Derelict's incidents accumulated, I went from hoping he'd stay for more than one lease to save me the trouble of repeat looking, to wondering whether I'd want to renew his lease, to deciding definitively that I couldn't renew his lease, to, at this point in the tale, actually wanting to find some way of forcing him out of the lease early.

His seemingly normal friend, who'd help set up the damn waterbed, began hanging out with TD more around that time. Perhaps because he was cut-off, or at least cut-down, in his prescription drugs, TD began getting drunk often, driving over to this pal's house and then back liquored as all hell.

One day, TD was preparing to go to his friend's, and as part of his derelict nature giving me the whole address ("Yeah, I'm going to Pally's at 27 W. Mockingbird"), and I could tell he was already primed on whatever pharmies he still had. So I called 9-11 and reported a DUI about to happen.

For reasons I forget now, TD didn't end up leaving that night.

But the idea of getting him arrested intrigued me. And I was about to receive some unexpected help toward that end.

COMING NEXT WEEK TO SUNDAY STORY TIME: The Derelict Takes a Vacation, of Sorts

***

MIKE'S ACCURSED VERSE 12/10/2006:

A SPECIAL SUNDAY EXTRA SECTION

(IN BLAZING COLOR... IF YOU THINK ABOUT IT JUST RIGHT)

BY MIKE "BOOM" CHMIELECKI

 

TODAY'S POEM: Prepping the patient

 

The anesthesiologist is an opiate addict.

(So is his father, a bank president.)

He stayed up late last night

partying in his medicine cabinet.

The world which he views this morning

is both gummy and exciting. Hypersensory details

flitting through smoked glass.

 

He keeps a handful of pills stamped with

jaunty stars in a snap pocket in his wallet.

Just hearing the snap release brings the

simulacrum of an orgasm to his face.

 

He uses chemicals to clarify his intelligence

just as he dulls it. He knows his way around

dopamine uptake inhibition, euphoric rushes,

the gentle unhatching of a thousand tiny eggs at once.

The pure yellow chicks chirping, the hypothalamus recoiling.

 

His relationships have fallen apart from afar. First, his

old friends decided they had enough. Then, his lovers packed it in.

He was married to a humble nurse practitioner and had a child with her,

but even they succumbed to his roiling turmoil, frantic isolation

and, over time, guarded indifference.

 

The man below him he has to prepare for surgery.

He watches his chest rise and fall in a rhythm

growing slower and slower with each intake of gas.

Gradually, he believes he is the one on the bed being cared for.

That sweet, quiet feeling of being understood and loved,

a feeling larger than what he thought love could contain.

He instantly snaps back to where he is. His gaze becomes cruel.

The man below him is disgusting, a slab of unforgiving

judgment. He tears at his patient with sharpened bony fingers

without moving. But in his mind, he has done it, he has succeeded.

 

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

******

DAILY LIMERICK 12/11/2006:

New "Year Without Santa Claus" tries

on hip "live action" twist for size.

H'wood thinks, "fantastic!"

this remaking classics

but we have to ask... Why, why WHY!!!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 12/11/2006:

Headline:

"Saudi Women Turn to Classes in Wifehood as Divorces Soar"

So these folks are utilizing modern American-style methods to alleviate divorce-- the class-that-somebody-profits-from-can-cure-all (not to mention nothing-wrong-with-anybody-they're-just-victims-of-lack-of-education) trend.

And that oughta fix the institution of marriage, just as it has for...er, well, maybe couples cloistered away in a lab or something somewhere, we guess...

Another headline:

"Taco Bell Focuses on Damage Control"

It's about time! Every time we hit the john after a late-night chalupa bender we... Oh. The story's about that E. coli thing.

Never mind...

New product:

Listerine's "Less Intense" Vanilla Mint flavor.

This marks a new chapter in the Grand Pussification of Society: We're now too wimpy to even handle mouthwash...

Henry Winkler dinked her in the sphincter.

He hee.

That's not a news nugget or anything. We just thought it was a funny little poem, or poemlette, or omelet, which sounds kinda good about now.

Moving along...

'D'ya ever reach a point where you screw up a potential romantic situation SO badly that your main hand goes on strike? To teach you a lesson? To try and remind you that there are means to such ends?

Just wondering.

***

SPECIAL"PULL-OUT" MONDAY"OPEN UP 'N' TAKE YOUR MEDICINE" HAIKU HEALTH SECTION 12/11/2006:

By David Sher

 

TODAY'S HAIKU: Cardiac Rehab Haiku

 

Nu-Step, treadmill, bike,

An exercise triathlon

Going nowhere, fast

 

[If you'd like to contact the Haiku Doctor, e-mail him at davew9lya@juno.com.]

******

DAILY LIMERICK 12/12/2006:

The E. coli at Taco Bell's

bein' nixed--that's all good and well.

But for their next trick

perhaps they can fix

the after TB bathroom hell!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 12/12/2006:

You know the scenario:

Everybody's getting off the train, a crowd like cows to the slaughter, making their way, as quickly as possible, out of the train station, although people are idiots in general and it always proves much too slow, it being rush hour and all... Well:

Perfect time to take your eyes off the real world and fiddle with your iPod.

Thanks, ya' ass-lickin' jigglepunch...

And now for another episode of...

***

DAILY LIMERICK/SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' TOLD YA' SO 12/12/2006:

Headline:

"Whatever Happened to Bird Flu?"

******

DAILY LIMERICK 12/13/2006:

DL oft puts on airs of class--

or at least makes a point with its sass--

but, screw all of that reason

'cause it's now football season

and, well, football, it simply kicks ass!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 12/13/2006:

SPECIAL FOOTBALL EDITION!...

You read it here first: Barack Obama is definitely running for president in 2008.

He filmed a Monday Night Football promo with a "Go Bears" theme.

Sports are the first front in the Lowest Common Denominator festival that is a big political campaign. As when Hillary allegedly became a Yankees fan...

Oh, and we don't expect any credit whatsoever when Obama does make it official.

Sure, we'd LIKE credit. But, well, c'mon...

Why does the NFL engage in promos and various supplementary crap WHILE A FUCKING PLAY IS RUNNING?

Knock it off!

And when did you ass bastards stop televising the coin toss? We, for one, or for a bunch, or whatever, find it entertaining.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, it's just flipping a coin through the air--but the networks televise plenty of fare that's just as unexciting to many, such as baseball...

Did we mention that football's cool?

Just wanting to make sure.

Kick-ass!...

There's a show on TV called, "The Unit."

He hee.

That's really all we have to say about it...

***

SPECIAL "PULL-OUT" WEDNESDAY "EAT IT!" SECTION 12/13/2006:

TODAY'S EDITION: Paris Hums Out of Tune

Paris Hilton sucks a lousy cock.

See, somebody sent us an e-mail clip, that's how we saw an excerpt of her sex video. And it happens to feature her paying oral homage. (This, of course, is just confirmation of what we've been assuming since learning she actually stops the action to answer her freakin' cell phone.)

She must be naturally untalented in the rack, because she's sure had a slew of practice!

And, yes, Virginia, there is such a thing as a bad blowjob.

And we oughta know...

What? Today's topic is "Eat"-related!...

***

DAILY LIMERICK'S LATEST WACKY, PIE-IN-THE-SKY SCHEME:

BRING BACK THE HONEY BEARS FOR CHRISTMAS (OR NEW YEAR'S?)!

That's right, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers? Just why in the hell do the Chicago Bears NOT have cheerleaders?

We'll tell you why--Virginia McCaskey. So fire off an e-mail to the Bears' suits with the convenient link below! Tell 'em Daily Limerick sent ya'! And, oh, Virginia? You might even get LAID if you let the Honey Bears return! Sure, it'll be a dry hump, as that's the only way you CAN be humped, but... Ahem.

And if you're fans of some other, suck-ass football team and NOT the Bears... This tragedy goes far beyond Chicago with its sinister tentacles. All football fans have the inalienable right to see cheerleaders on BOTH sides of the field.

So sound off:

http://store.chicagobears.com/contact/

******

DAILY LIMERICK 12/14/2006:

For future of football, big care's

not "O," "D" or special teams' flair.

But a unit lacking--

Hallas Hall, get cracking

and bring back the damn Honey Bears!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 12/14/2006:

Reminder to those football clueless: The Honey Bears are the currently out-of-commission Chicago Bears' cheerleaders. See below. And get used to that extra section below for a while...

Taliban in Afghanistan--yes, they're still there; we decided a nation uninvolved in 9-11 was more important, remember?... Well, Taliban in Afghanistan have now deemed their terrorist training camps smoke-free.

We'd call it ironic if it...well, WERE ironic, and not completely fitting.

Oddly enough, "left wing" and "right wing" lunatics have much in common. Disregard for science, militant annoyance at that pesky thing called "individual choice"...

***

LETTERS TO THE IDIOT 12/14/2006:

> I'd like to start receiving the daily emails.

Well, just be patient. Are you a new e-mail account holder? Any time now, you'll get more than enough e-mail, every single day. And if you're looking for pharmaceutical drugs or watches, Heaven on Earth awaits.

***

DAILY LIMERICK'S LATEST WACKY, PIE-IN-THE-SKY SCHEME:

BRING BACK THE HONEY BEARS FOR CHRISTMAS (OR NEW YEAR'S?)!

That's right, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers? Just why in the hell do the Chicago Bears NOT have cheerleaders?

We'll tell you why--Virginia McCaskey. So fire off an e-mail to the Bears' suits with the convenient link below! Tell 'em Daily Limerick sent ya'! And, oh, Virginia? You might even get LAID if you let the Honey Bears return! Sure, it'll be a dry hump, as that's the only way you CAN be humped, but... Ahem.

And if you're fans of some other, suck-ass football team and NOT the Bears... This tragedy goes far beyond Chicago with its sinister tentacles. All football fans have the inalienable right to see cheerleaders on BOTH sides of the field.

So sound off:

http://store.chicagobears.com/contact/

******

DAILY LIMERICK 12/15/2006:

We oft forget yesterday's grue

so DL recalls one for you.

It just must be said:

Why ain't we all dead

like "they" said we'd be from "bird flu"?

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 12/15/2006:

You know what we need to read, see and hear more about in the news? An obscure story of great importance that seems to be overlooked in our media conglomerate age?

More about Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt! And enough of that foreign affairs, nuclear weapons, terrorist threat, etc. fluff...

Has anybody else noticed that the racial hair scenario has done an about face in the last 10 years or so? White athletes shaving their heads, black athletes growin' it long?...

TV Listing:

"A Clay Aiken Christmas"

Aaaahhhh! Noooo! God help us! Head for the hills!...

There's a new book out called, "Twenty Poems to Nourish Your Soul"

We were never contacted. Must be an oversight...

***

SPECIAL"PULL-OUT" FRIDAY ENTERTAIN YOURSELF SECTION 12/15/2006:

TODAY'S EDITION: Red Denizen

I've hit a new low as the World Music Critic on the Planet.

Concerning Red Denizen, all I remember, and can garner from my notes, is that they are "rockin'."

Hope that helps you, music fans!

http://www.myspace.com/reddenizen

***

DAILY LIMERICK'S LATEST WACKY, PIE-IN-THE-SKY SCHEME:

BRING BACK THE HONEY BEARS FOR CHRISTMAS (OR NEW YEAR'S?)!

That's right, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers? Just why in the hell do the Chicago Bears NOT have cheerleaders?

We'll tell you why--Virginia McCaskey. So fire off an e-mail to the Bears' suits with the convenient link below! Tell 'em Daily Limerick sent ya'! And, oh, Virginia? You might even get LAID if you let the Honey Bears return! Sure, it'll be a dry hump, as that's the only way you CAN be humped, but... Ahem.

And if you're fans of some other, suck-ass football team and NOT the Bears... This tragedy goes far beyond Chicago with its sinister tentacles. All football fans have the inalienable right to see cheerleaders on BOTH sides of the field.

So sound off:

http://store.chicagobears.com/contact/

******

DAILY LIMERICK 12/16/2006:

A wizard, 'round Christmas, it's said

made cookie folks, of gingerbread,

and brought them to life--

took one as his wife

for she gave some good ginger head.

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 12/16/2006:

The downfall of wearing a Santa hat around for the week preceding Christmas?

Beggars think you're a sure thing.

But they're wrong.

Probably have been naughty, in any event.

And the cigar should tip 'em off that I'm not the real guy...

***

DAILY LIMERICK'S LATEST WACKY, PIE-IN-THE-SKY SCHEME:

BRING BACK THE HONEY BEARS FOR CHRISTMAS (OR NEW YEAR'S?)!

That's right, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers? Just why in the hell do the Chicago Bears NOT have cheerleaders?

We'll tell you why--Virginia McCaskey. So fire off an e-mail to the Bears' suits with the convenient link below! Tell 'em Daily Limerick sent ya'! And, oh, Virginia? You might even get LAID if you let the Honey Bears return! Sure, it'll be a dry hump, as that's the only way you CAN be humped, but... Ahem.

And if you're fans of some other, suck-ass football team and NOT the Bears... This tragedy goes far beyond Chicago with its sinister tentacles. All football fans have the inalienable right to see cheerleaders on BOTH sides of the field.

So sound off:

http://store.chicagobears.com/contact/

******

DAILY LIMERICK 12/17/2006:

At Christmas, a grinchy girl dogged.

Stressed-out, through the Season she slogged.

'Til she met a guy

with twinkle in eye

who showed her his honkin' yule log!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 12/17/2006:

This sort of thing happens all the time in the overdosed-on-liberal big city weeklies--excerpt of a movie review states that story:

"...[L]ampoons our tendency to rigidly define sexual preference"

No, sorry. It's not OUR tendency. Nature has a "tendency" to rigidly define our sexual preference.

Speak for yourself, critic. Perhaps you need to rent some gladiator movies and "find yourself"...

And now it's time for another edition of...

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' ANSWERS OTHER PUBLICATIONS' ADVICE COLUMN FODDER 12/17/2006:

Today's entry comes to us via the Chicago Sun-Times column, "The Fixer," by Stephanie Zimmerman:

"Dear Fixer: On Nov. 3, my husband ordered a Guitar Hero PS2 game..."

Dear What's-Your-Face: "Guitar Hero"? VIDEO GAME? Your husband's a loser. Dump him.

***

SUNDAY STORY TIME 12/17/2006:

A SPECIAL, TOUCHING SECTION APPEARING SUNDAYS ONLY

(Touching in some manner, anyway)

TODAY'S EDITION: The Tale of the Derelict Renter/Roommate, Chapter Eight--The Derelict Takes a Vacation, of Sorts

I knew that The Derelict had a court date for something or other on July 16.

As with most of the situations in his life, he offered no details. In fact, he didn't even tell me he had the court date. He told me he was going up to Skokie--a near-collar suburb to Chicago, thus somewhere he'd be unlikely to go unless forced by...well, something like a court date. So when he told me in the morning that he was going to Skokie, I vaguely recalled that a court date was upcoming, having snooped through his stuff for ways to scare good behavior into him not too long ago.

The Derelict didn't come home that night. Which, again, wasn't too odd. But I started to wonder (and hope)... I knew he'd smoked pot in the not too distant past and have never learned, conclusively, exactly how long it takes for marijuana to exit one's system.

At one point, TD had told me about having to take a drug test for a previous meeting with the probation officer. I put two and two and three together and...didn't want to get my hopes up.

Another day went by and... I came home to find a couple messages from TD on my machine, of him trying a collect call... The message indicated that its receiver could hit such and such numbers to block future calls from...people in Cook County something or other, where TD was. I didn't listen real close to the messages.

I eventually took a collect call from The Derelict. He told me he was in the Cook County Psych Ward and he gave me his brother's number, to inform him. Oh, and he wanted me to let his friend know, as well--the one who he'd taken to drinking with since hitting problems with the pharmie train.

After a few more annoying messages from TD--"Can you Tell [Drinking Friend] to Take my Call; I think he hangs up because it sounds like a telemarketer" (and the messages DID sound a bit like that at first)--I talked to his brother again and we noted that the message intro cited the "Cook County Department of Corrections," and NOT some psych ward.

TD's brother found out soon enough, from the therapist friend, that TD was in jail, all right--they just kept him with non-violent offenders, and nuts like TD, in a ramshackle psych ward WITHIN the clink. TD had tried lying to his brother, as well--and the true nature of TD's relationship to his family emerged.

The family had sympathy for TD, and would help him in some instances and when absolutely necessary, but they'd grown sick of his antics over the years. In many cases, the scenario was really TD VERSUS his family. TD didn't want his brother to know he was in the brig. In fact, it seemed The Derelict was trying to prove his competence as a full-fledged adult by moving out of the halfway house. And failing miserably, which he likewise wanted to keep from the family.

I began speaking with the brother regularly. We both were left to piece together the real story. The brother learned soon from the therapist that TD had failed a drug test on probation and was thus sent right into a cell, for a month, at which point there'd be a hearing and he'd likely be released. Which I'd already figured out, at that point.

See, I ended up going down to the infamous courthouse at Chicago's 26th and California to pull TD's files. I figured he was probably a simple Derelict defendant, but I wanted to know for sure if he was on probation for, or had a record of, say, ax murder. Turns out the original charge was for pot possession, as were a handful of prior arrests--and one disorderly conduct on the public way, or whatever.

Now, I've blown some bongs recklessly in college dorms and the like. So I suppose I could've been slapped with a possession charge. But in most cases, especially with someone who's supposed to be more "mature," there's trouble. One gets approached by the cops for SOME reason to begin with and, finding nothing more serious to level, the copper gets the cat for possession. So considering the multiple arrests, TD was again proven to be trouble. Not to mention a flaming moron.

I received a letter from TD at some point. It was so nutty I ended up throwing it out--although, now, I wish I'd saved it for goofiness value. He said that spending time locked-up was good for him somehow. Acted like we were old friends ("How are the cats! I miss those cute devils"). Mentioned that his therapist there was helpful and had the gall to advice ME to see one, for my "anger issues" (not, of course, caused by living with a whackjob who'd lost a cat and nearly set a kitchen ablaze).

The letter also complained with ridiculosity about some trifles in the place and made suggestions--"What are you doing with all the money I'm paying in rent? You should buy a table for the kitchen; I can have dinner with my girlfriend, you can have dinner with your girlfriend."

The last quote was particularly telling of TD, of his bizarre take on reality (a Landlord is accountable to tenant for use of rent money?) and of the slow process by which he processed a changing world. I hadn't had been with my girlfriend for over a month by then and...let's just say I questioned whether TD was still with his "girlfriend," whom he'd never called "girlfriend" before and whom I hadn't seen since the night TD said he was leaving to sleep over at her new (post halfway house) apartment...and returned within about an hour, looking a bit sad but offering no explanation.

I regarded the nearing of August 16 with cautious optimism, but mostly with dread. From my limited legal knowledge, and TD's files, and speaking with my attorney (whom I'd discussed the prospect of eviction with already--but that seemed to be costly and time consuming, especially for a short-term lease)... Well, it seemed then that The Derelict's court date COULD be a formality.

But, on the other hand, I'd found out that this was the SECOND time TD had violated probation on the same possession, plus this was something like his SIXTH conviction of the same charge within about 10 years... In normal circumstances, I find it ridiculous to lock an adult up for using marijuana.

But as the time dragged on, slowly, and My Summer of Suck continued to swelter, I could only hope and pray that they wouldn't let The Derelict out.

COMING NEXT WEEK TO SUNDAY STORY TIME: The Derelict Tale Vacations for the Holidays...BUT COMING IN 2007--The Derelict REALLY Loses It (and I thought he already HAD)

***

MIKE'S ACCURSED VERSE 12/17/2006:

A SPECIAL SUNDAY EXTRA SECTION

(IN BLAZING COLOR... IF YOU THINK ABOUT IT JUST RIGHT)

BY MIKE "BOOM" CHMIELECKI

 

TODAY'S POEM: So this is drama

 

My wife went from my lover to my ex

with alarming ferocity. She dragged

out the particulars of our divorce

in public, in a court of law,

fighting over our children,

our house, the halving of our possessions.

 

But she didn't haggle

over the photographs, the candle stubs,

the old letters, the smashed bottles of

perfume (I kept the glass shards;

they stopped reeking of flowers),

the night sky, the coat checks, the earnest narratives,

the sexy sly records, the evening meals, the old, benevolent tree

we first sat under as we huddled in the Santa Monica cold,

the look in our eyes when we could not look anywhere

but in our eyes.

 

When I found out she was already seeing someone else

I balled my heart into a fist and ran into the wall.

An invisible wall that caught me as it battered me.

A wall that thrummed with hate as much as it did love.

She had wholly extricated herself from the nervous wreck

of my life and found new hopes in hers. How did she

do it? How come I couldn't?

 

The weekends with my son and daughter

went by too quickly. Movies were awful

because hours raced by while they were entertained.

They sides with me and they sided with their mother,

and they fought and they loved me and they were furious.

They were confused by all these feelings,

and so was I.

 

When my ex's lover arrived with her to pick up our children, I

made a mistake. I listened to my heart, my screaming blood,

my stupid grief. I punched him hard in the face, just to feel

my fist connect. He recovered and knocked me flat.

 

As I lay dazed and bleeding on the ground my children screamed

and my ex stood over me with the ugliest look I have ever seen her wear.

And I thought so this is drama, so this is trouble, so this is my fault.

And I thought, you are a disgrace, you are ugly, you are an awful mess.

And I thought, well isn't this lovely.

 

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

***

DAILY LIMERICK'S LATEST WACKY, PIE-IN-THE-SKY SCHEME:

BRING BACK THE HONEY BEARS FOR CHRISTMAS (OR NEW YEAR'S?)!

That's right, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers? Just why in the hell do the Chicago Bears NOT have cheerleaders?

We'll tell you why--Virginia McCaskey. So fire off an e-mail to the Bears' suits with the convenient link below! Tell 'em Daily Limerick sent ya'! And, oh, Virginia? You might even get LAID if you let the Honey Bears return! Sure, it'll be a dry hump, as that's the only way you CAN be humped, but... Ahem.

And if you're fans of some other, suck-ass football team and NOT the Bears... This tragedy goes far beyond Chicago with its sinister tentacles. All football fans have the inalienable right to see cheerleaders on BOTH sides of the field.

So sound off:

http://store.chicagobears.com/contact/

******

DAILY LIMERICK 12/18/2006:

Now, those doubting Santa will say,

"Why don't we see those elves 'round these days?"

Race's future uncertain

'cause males...'scuse us for blurtin':

They all sing and make crafts--most are gay!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 12/18/2006:

Chicago area story:

Walter Klein is suing his ex-girlfriend, Susan Joncha, for visitation of the adopted children he helped bring here from China and raise for four years.

Joncha, apparently, believes the kids are better off without any sort of father figure.

It's the 21st Century, guys. As soon as they create laboratory sperm, we're outta here for good...

Pillsbury slogan in our Sunday newspaper coupon section:

"Add a Flaky Favorite to Dinner"

Great. Now EVERYBODY's commenting on our Chief Limericist's dating tribulations...

***

DAILY LIMERICK/SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' CONSUMER REPORT 12/18/2006:

TODAY'S CORPORATE VILLAIN: Loews Hotels

Loews Hotels has banned "trans fats" from all of its kitchens, joining, full-throttle, the Big Mother Movement that will soon dictate all we ingest.

Don't patronize Loews Hotels, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers. While you're at it, don't visit New York, the stronghold of Michael Bloomberg and the American Health Taliban.

They're in the lab, as we speak, figuring out how to trump up a threat for "secondhand trans fat"...

***

SPECIAL"PULL-OUT" MONDAY"OPEN UP 'N' TAKE YOUR MEDICINE" HAIKU HEALTH SECTION 12/18/2006:

By David Sher

 

TODAY'S HAIKU: Quick Surgery Haiku

 

Cardiac transplants

Doctor was singing "Two hearts

In 3/4 time":

 

[If you'd like to contact the Haiku Doctor, e-mail him at davew9lya@juno.com.]

***

DAILY LIMERICK'S LATEST WACKY, PIE-IN-THE-SKY SCHEME:

BRING BACK THE HONEY BEARS FOR CHRISTMAS (OR NEW YEAR'S?)!

That's right, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers? Just why in the hell do the Chicago Bears NOT have cheerleaders?

We'll tell you why--Virginia McCaskey. So fire off an e-mail to the Bears' suits with the convenient link below! Tell 'em Daily Limerick sent ya'! And, oh, Virginia? You might even get LAID if you let the Honey Bears return! Sure, it'll be a dry hump, as that's the only way you CAN be humped, but... Ahem.

And if you're fans of some other, suck-ass football team and NOT the Bears... This tragedy goes far beyond Chicago with its sinister tentacles. All football fans have the inalienable right to see cheerleaders on BOTH sides of the field.

So sound off:

http://store.chicagobears.com/contact/

******

DAILY LIMERICK 12/19/2006:

Into all, diversity's creeping

thus "Gay Days of Christmas," in keeping

with the homo theme,

recounts a gay dream

and brings men pined for "Lords a'Steeping"!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 12/19/2006:

Headline:

"Town's Garfield Statue Decapitated 2 Months After Installation"

Psst. Authorities. Pay a visit to Marmaduke...

Headline:

"When Disco Met Country: Barry Gibb Feels Spirit of Johnny Cash"

Nooooooo! Noooooooo! For the love of all that is decent and right in the world, nnnooooooooooo!!!!!!...

Chief Limericist checking in, here.

Strange, but sometimes, when I buy a box of cigars, and have to ask for them from behind the counter, the worker asks, "The whole box?"

No--break it in half, you chowderhead!...

Oooph. Feel a little funny as I type this, having eaten 12 White Castle cheezeburgers.

Strangely, I feel I should go drinking to soak 'em up...

I try, really hard, to radiate that Holiday Spirit to our fellow man.

But it'd be a helluva lot easier if 99.9 percent of people weren't freakin' morons...

Aw, shucks! Peace on Earth, goodwill toward...that .1 percent, anyway...

Chief Limericist checking in, here. Perhaps you Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers have some advice to save me from myself, as it's that special Season and a time for Scrooge-like rebirth and such.

Here's the scenario:

I wrote a parody of "The Night Before Christmas" (yeah, I know, not the most original scheme) called "A Sloop Before Christmas" and performed it Sunday night specifically for a special Christmas-themed poetry slam at the Green Mill, here in Chicago, birthplace of the slam. (Missed the shot to run that as the Stand-Up Poem of the Month on the site, so you'll have to wait a year.)

It went over well--in fact, I won the slam for the first time in about six years. Thus possibly teaching me a lesson that I did some "right" things with this one. Problem is... Well:

It relays a fictional meeting between a sexually frustrated housewife and Sloopy Claus, who more or less lays her down by the Yule Log. Thus, I was focusing on myself in my verses, actually making myself look pretty damn cool and tossing about sexual boasts (even if they were fictional ones).

And the crowd and judges, with the crowd reaction and win and all, have only encouraged this sort of thing.

So I may be catching some sort of Rapper's Virus and maybe you slack-jawed muffin punchers can help with some advice.

I'm asking SLAPPER YAPPER GRASSHOPPERS for advice?

Perhaps I'm too far gone already.

Midwest Sii-ide!

***

DAILY LIMERICK'S LATEST WACKY, PIE-IN-THE-SKY SCHEME:

BRING BACK THE HONEY BEARS FOR CHRISTMAS (OR NEW YEAR'S?)!

That's right, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers? Just why in the hell do the Chicago Bears NOT have cheerleaders?

We'll tell you why--Virginia McCaskey. So fire off an e-mail to the Bears' suits with the convenient link below! Tell 'em Daily Limerick sent ya'! And, oh, Virginia? You might even get LAID if you let the Honey Bears return! Sure, it'll be a dry hump, as that's the only way you CAN be humped, but... Ahem.

And if you're fans of some other, suck-ass football team and NOT the Bears... This tragedy goes far beyond Chicago with its sinister tentacles. All football fans have the inalienable right to see cheerleaders on BOTH sides of the field.

So sound off:

http://store.chicagobears.com/contact/

******

DAILY LIMERICK 12/20/2006:

Happy Birthday to Mike Chmielecki!

(Writes "Accursed Verse" for Sunday's train wreck-y.)

We hope you find it swell--

Limerick gift from DL

(although we admit, it's rather drecky).

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 12/20/2006:

...And, in keeping with the theme of today's Limerick, let's observe a day of e-silence in honor of Mike and his Accursed Verse...

(And let that be a lesson to you Slapper Yappers in disguising your writer's block--or, in our case, writer's blecch)...

***

SPECIAL "PULL-OUT" WEDNESDAY "EAT IT!" SECTION 12/20/2006:

TODAY'S EDITION: Why I Don't Need to Time Food in the Oven

I've never used an oven timer. This fact rears its questionably pulchritudinous head every time I get a new renter in my far-too-expensive, blessing-at-the-same-time-it-is-a-curse, landed-in-divorce-settlement place. For, inevitably, they ask how the over timer works.

Who in the hell needs an oven timer?

If I have food in the oven, chances are I'm hungry for it and I sure as hell ain't gonna forget it! My problem is not watching the damn clock, pining for the moment I can scarf it down!

***

DAILY LIMERICK'S LATEST WACKY, PIE-IN-THE-SKY SCHEME:

BRING BACK THE HONEY BEARS FOR CHRISTMAS (OR NEW YEAR'S?)!

That's right, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers? Just why in the hell do the Chicago Bears NOT have cheerleaders?

We'll tell you why--Virginia McCaskey. So fire off an e-mail to the Bears' suits with the convenient link below! Tell 'em Daily Limerick sent ya'! And, oh, Virginia? You might even get LAID if you let the Honey Bears return! Sure, it'll be a dry hump, as that's the only way you CAN be humped, but... Ahem.

And if you're fans of some other, suck-ass football team and NOT the Bears... This tragedy goes far beyond Chicago with its sinister tentacles. All football fans have the inalienable right to see cheerleaders on BOTH sides of the field.

So sound off:

http://store.chicagobears.com/contact/

******

DAILY LIMERICK 12/21/2006:

If gifts aren't 'neath tree Christmas Day

direct blame to the TSA.

His sleigh invites hassle--

shows slight bit of frazzle

and he's in Guantanamo bay!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 12/21/2006:

Why doesn't somebody manufacture and market silver sporks? You know, for fine dining?...

You could our Chief Limericist was born with a silver spork in his mouth. If we knew what that meant...

You know how popular metaphorical banter views men as dogs and women as cats?

(Chief Limericist checking in, here.)

Well, we've always thought that approach a bit lacking. After all, dogs and cats both come in male and female varieties.

I suppose, as with all things stereotyping, most males pursue females much as dogs pursue prey--rushing around, drooling, going for pretty much anything edible.

I, on the other hand, pursue chicks much like a cat. Methodically, patiently. And I'm a bit finicky regarding my prey, as well.

Stopping to think about my romantic life, I have a vision of a scrawny, starving alley cat, of course, but I'm trying for a puma or something...

Is it inappropriate, in this day and age, to throw out a booty call to a near stranger via voicemail?

Ya' reading, Miss Manners?

***

LETTERS TO THE IDIOT 12/21/2006:

> Subject: Merci de Référence ESPACE 2001!

>

> Merci d'avoir utiliser Référence d'Espace 2001!

> Le moyen le plus rapide... le blah le blah le blah...

This is really just a form letter-esque e-mail regarding the boring subject of submitting one's site to search engines. But being in French, we figured it'd make us look cosmopolitan or something.

And then this ditzy dame checks in, too:

> Just an FYI: they played one of your holiday limericks this morning in the

> "voicemail segment" on the WGN-TV Morning News today (Tuesday 12/19). The

> limerick ended in the word "classics," if that jogs your memory on which one

> it is.

>

> They refer to you as "That guy from DailyLimerick.com." Is there any chance

> you could slow down your reading of the limericks just a little bit? At that

> time in the morning, it's hard for me to grasp them. (I'm not fully awake

> yet.)

>

> Katie

Oh, SURE. You want the Chief Limericist to read REAL SLOW for comprehension purposes. Uh-huh.

And then Mike Chmielecki, of "Accursed Verse" er, "fame," mouths off regarding his birthday Limerick tribute yesterday:

> Ha ha ha! Thanks, John. That made my day. (which tells you pretty much how

> well my birthday is going -- one of the highlights is I'm going to the

> funeral of an office colleague today)

Well, sounds like, if nothing else, you'll be reminded of your own morality today.

Er, that should be reminded of your own... Hmm.

Come to think of it, we'll stick with that.

***

DAILY LIMERICK'S LATEST WACKY, PIE-IN-THE-SKY SCHEME:

BRING BACK THE HONEY BEARS FOR CHRISTMAS (OR NEW YEAR'S?)!

That's right, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers? Just why in the hell do the Chicago Bears NOT have cheerleaders?

We'll tell you why--Virginia McCaskey. So fire off an e-mail to the Bears' suits with the convenient link below! Tell 'em Daily Limerick sent ya'! And, oh, Virginia? You might even get LAID if you let the Honey Bears return! Sure, it'll be a dry hump, as that's the only way you CAN be humped, but... Ahem.

And if you're fans of some other, suck-ass football team and NOT the Bears... This tragedy goes far beyond Chicago with its sinister tentacles. All football fans have the inalienable right to see cheerleaders on BOTH sides of the field.

So sound off:

http://store.chicagobears.com/contact/

*****

DAILY LIMERICK 12/22/2006:

A hooker sought way to bequeath

to each john she'd lie underneath

that Christmasy Spirit

so her beave--did shear it's

pubic hair into shape of wreath.

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 12/22/2006:

Here's another negative aspect of the Holiday Season:

At some point, try as you may to fight it, you'll end up with "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer" in your head."

But it's still preferable to, say, "Achy Breaky Heart."

Whoops. We're sorry!

***

CORRECTION 12/22/2006:

In today's edition, Slappin' and Yappin' mentioned not only the "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer" but also committed the far more serious crime of mentioning "Achy Breaky Heart," thus likely putting the Godawful tune into readers' heads.

Daily Limerick/Slappin' and Yappin' regrets the error.

Ooops!...

***

IF IT'S ANY CONSOLOATION 12/22/2006:

..."Grandma's" now stuck in our heads, too. As far as the...er, other one, we're still fighting it...

***

SPECIAL"PULL-OUT" FRIDAY ENTERTAIN YOURSELF SECTION 12/22/2006:

TODAY'S EDITION: Lost and Found Christmas Songs

Ever heard the Christmas song, "Dominick the Donkey"? By Lou Monte?

It's an oldie--'50s, I think? I'd never heard of it before this year, and I'm quite an aficionado of Christmas tunes, but it's on a compilation I bought late last year, which would seem to indicate its status as a "favorite."

I think there's a little bit of "Ee-aw" in there. And the song notes that Dominick is not just a Christmas donkey--but the ITALIAN Christmas donkey.

If Mr. Monte's still around, he can take comfort in the fact that, although his tune isn't exactly on the top of carolers' lists, obscurity at least prevents "American Idol's" Fifteen Minutemen from screeching it out.

***

DAILY LIMERICK'S LATEST WACKY, PIE-IN-THE-SKY SCHEME:

BRING BACK THE HONEY BEARS FOR CHRISTMAS (OR NEW YEAR'S?)!

That's right, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers? Just why in the hell do the Chicago Bears NOT have cheerleaders?

We'll tell you why--Virginia McCaskey. So fire off an e-mail to the Bears' suits with the convenient link below! Tell 'em Daily Limerick sent ya'! And, oh, Virginia? You might even get LAID if you let the Honey Bears return! Sure, it'll be a dry hump, as that's the only way you CAN be humped, but... Ahem.

And if you're fans of some other, suck-ass football team and NOT the Bears... This tragedy goes far beyond Chicago with its sinister tentacles. All football fans have the inalienable right to see cheerleaders on BOTH sides of the field.

So sound off:

http://store.chicagobears.com/contact/

******

DAILY LIMERICK 12/23/2006:

They say that Christmas has 12 Days

and Yule parties cause such a craze!

The chicks are so festive

with wise time invested

one might well make it the 12 Lays!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 12/23/2006:

There's a German Christmas custom whereby children play "find the pickle."

The one who finds the pickle Christmas morning gets a "special present."

Call us of the suspicious type, but...

***

DAILY LIMERICK'S LATEST WACKY, PIE-IN-THE-SKY SCHEME:

BRING BACK THE HONEY BEARS FOR CHRISTMAS (OR NEW YEAR'S?)!

That's right, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers? Just why in the hell do the Chicago Bears NOT have cheerleaders?

We'll tell you why--Virginia McCaskey. So fire off an e-mail to the Bears' suits with the convenient link below! Tell 'em Daily Limerick sent ya'! And, oh, Virginia? You might even get LAID if you let the Honey Bears return! Sure, it'll be a dry hump, as that's the only way you CAN be humped, but... Ahem.

And if you're fans of some other, suck-ass football team and NOT the Bears... This tragedy goes far beyond Chicago with its sinister tentacles. All football fans have the inalienable right to see cheerleaders on BOTH sides of the field.

So sound off:

http://store.chicagobears.com/contact/

******

DAILY LIMERICK 12/24/2006:

Though just once a year, can't bear flaws--

Santa's world-wide route, he can't pause.

But what keeps him going

is, once home, the knowing:

Back gouged by the Missus' claws!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 12/24/2006:

So, Santa Claus comes tonight!

All around the world.

Lucky bastard...

***

SUNDAY STORY TIME 12/24/2006:

A SPECIAL, TOUCHING SECTION APPEARING SUNDAYS ONLY

(Touching in some manner, anyway)

TODAY'S EDITION: Stretch Armstrong

As a shaver, I received many gifts that excited me to the upper levels of kiddom's happiness.

But as I stumble down memory lane, the first that comes to mind is the Stretch Armstrong.

I don't recall exactly what he was supposed to be. A wrestler, perhaps? He was a man, in a doll form, of sorts, made of some sort of elastic stuffs so that you could stretch his arms and legs, and his neck, I think, out to...oh, I believe a couple feet. His limbs would eventually return to regular shape and size.

Describing Stretch, I arrive at the inevitable conclusion that much of the happiness of childhood derives from the fact that children are easily amused. Because thinking about Stretch Armstrong now, the toy doesn't seem all that exciting. Then again, I have this little Santa doll as part of my Seasonal decorations that emits some jingles and a "ho ho ho!" when he's squeezed--and that somehow serves as a pick-me-up in my adulthood so...hmmm.

I remember my Stretch Armstrong meeting his end. One day, a couple of us held onto the doll and pulled Stretch's limbs as far as they could go...until an arm broke off. An otherworldly, red sticky substance spilled out--which my mom was never able to completely remove from my bedroom's blue carpeting.

It was just as well. By that point, I was tired of Stretch. But he was certainly fun right up until his, er, sticky end.

COMING IN 2007 TO SUNDAY STORY TIME--The Tale of the Derelict Renter/Roommate Resumes!

***

MIKE'S ACCURSED VERSE 12/24/2006:

A SPECIAL SUNDAY EXTRA SECTION

(IN BLAZING COLOR... IF YOU THINK ABOUT IT JUST RIGHT)

BY MIKE "BOOM" CHMIELECKI

 

TODAY'S POEM: Aloney -- poem from 2002

 

1.

Last night I dreamt that I was alone.

Even my bones would have no part of me.

I awoke to the moon and said things to her.

She did not respond. She was whitening the sea.

 

2.

Sometimes I wish I was a virgin,

so I could worry on small things.

 

Rather than knowing the truth of the matter,

and having no way to practice my wings.

 

3.

I bought my first one from Helena.

If only my chapbooks were lovers.

Her voice sparked blue fire in me.

She wore a boyfriend the next time we met.

 

I bought my second one from 'Stasia.

If only my chapbooks were lovers.

Some Texan princess at college from Austin.

She had to fly back that night. So long.

 

I bought one last night from Frankie.

If only my chapbooks were lovers.

The way she moved within the light,

I wanted to write new poems on me.

 

Small treatises of time away.

If only my chapbooks were lovers.

I wish my girlfriend would write a chapbook.

Then I could see her during the day.

 

4.

Last night I dreamt a plane was crashing.

It went over Hollywood, bent tail blazing.

Painted in the streaming searchlight

of a car dealership.

 

Before it exploded, I saw lighted windows

with people pounding to let the sky in.

Let the sky in.

Let the sky in.

 

The wings bent up as the plane rolled.

Rolled right into the side of a hill,

clipping off a radio antenna.

I watched flames sprout. The static woke me.

 

5.

The questions of water.

Always asking.

In the middle of the night from the sink.

 

Do you need a cup

to catch your questions?

Why won't you let me sleep?

 

In the middle of a dream, from the sink

the drops fall,

measuring time.

 

But I already have a clock.

So shut up.

Leave me to mine.

 

6.

My best friend writes when he's drunk

poems of astounding clarity.

I tried myself once, couldn't do much more

than what you see here. Ugly.

 

7.

I wrote myself up in water.

I swam through a sea of words.

I tasted tips of tongues, I did

to find the reason of the sun.

 

I wrote myself into snowstorm,

bitter, frozen, red and shivered.

Couldn't get much more than ice

to write in fragile graying pieces.

 

I wrote myself inside bedroom

waiting by the wall, head down.

Listening for her soft footsteps.

Just let me, let me. Hear that sound.

 

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

***

DAILY LIMERICK'S LATEST WACKY, PIE-IN-THE-SKY SCHEME:

BRING BACK THE HONEY BEARS FOR CHRISTMAS (OR NEW YEAR'S?)!

That's right, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers? Just why in the hell do the Chicago Bears NOT have cheerleaders?

We'll tell you why--Virginia McCaskey. So fire off an e-mail to the Bears' suits with the convenient link below! Tell 'em Daily Limerick sent ya'! And, oh, Virginia? You might even get LAID if you let the Honey Bears return! Sure, it'll be a dry hump, as that's the only way you CAN be humped, but... Ahem.

And if you're fans of some other, suck-ass football team and NOT the Bears... This tragedy goes far beyond Chicago with its sinister tentacles. All football fans have the inalienable right to see cheerleaders on BOTH sides of the field.

So sound off:

http://store.chicagobears.com/contact/

******

DAILY LIMERICK 12/25/2006:

Hey: Merry Christmas, us to thee!

The best gifts aren't under the tree

but within your heart...

(We use Lim'rick art

for ONE sappy verse, this year, see?)

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 12/25/2006:

...And yet another, hidden delight of Christmas?

(Chief Limericist checking in, here.)

I'm in my thirties. Unmarried. (Actually, divorced.) Keep a pretty clean place. Have two cats.

But I decide to do my wrapping myself and... Let's just say that, in viewing the unopened gifts I give, any thoughts in the back of one's head about "Gay Old Uncle Sloop" are suddenly chased away...

And here's a Christmas Carol-esque tale of true redemption, to help counteract those "Christmas Season" ads for jewelry and cars (which, by the way, lick Satan's balls):

On the day I was heading to my hometown after work (Thursday the 21st), I developed a stomach flu.

Now, many would've lost hope. It is only about twice a year I get legitimately sick and perhaps once every two years that such sickness severely affects my caloric intake. To make matters worse, I was even taken to a buffet and forced to revel in the glory of it all while only being able to finish TWO MEASLY PLATES OF FOOD!

The recovery was slow--one night, ate almost nothing. The next...a wimply portion. Etc. But by Christmas Eve, when the eatin' chips were down, I was completely back to normal!

You! Yes, you--Slapper Yapper Grasshopper! Do you know that turkey they have hanging in the window downtown?...

From Daily Limerick, Slappin' and Yappin' and the rest of those involved with this dreck... Merry Christmas, to all of yours and even you, yourself (filthy Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers)!

God bless us, every one!

(With the possible exception of Paris Hilton. Oh, and George W. And Michael Bloomberg, and Chicago's Ed Burke, and pretty much any big city government, Big Mother officials. And... Aw, enough. This IS Christmas.)

***

SPECIAL"PULL-OUT" MONDAY"OPEN UP 'N' TAKE YOUR MEDICINE" HAIKU HEALTH SECTION 12/25/2006:

By David Sher

EDITOR'S NOTE: Since David is a Jew, he does not have the Holiday off.

 

TODAY'S HAIKU: Correctal Haiku

 

English teacher who

Loved commas, got a semi-

Colonoscopy

 

[If you'd like to contact the Haiku Doctor, e-mail him at davew9lya@juno.com.]

***

DAILY LIMERICK'S LATEST WACKY, PIE-IN-THE-SKY SCHEME:

BRING BACK THE HONEY BEARS FOR CHRISTMAS (OR NEW YEAR'S?)!

That's right, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers? Just why in the hell do the Chicago Bears NOT have cheerleaders?

We'll tell you why--Virginia McCaskey. So fire off an e-mail to the Bears' suits with the convenient link below! Tell 'em Daily Limerick sent ya'! And, oh, Virginia? You might even get LAID if you let the Honey Bears return! Sure, it'll be a dry hump, as that's the only way you CAN be humped, but... Ahem.

And if you're fans of some other, suck-ass football team and NOT the Bears... This tragedy goes far beyond Chicago with its sinister tentacles. All football fans have the inalienable right to see cheerleaders on BOTH sides of the field.

So sound off:

http://store.chicagobears.com/contact/

******

DAILY LIMERICK 12/26/2006:

Though long past 15-minute clock

Paris Hilton's fame seems a lock.

Saw porn clip--I'm nixin'

her rep as a vixen

for she sucks some lousy-ass cock.

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 12/26/2006:

Christmas is over for another year.

(Sigh.)...

One of these years, we'd like to see something truly world-changing go down on, say, December 26.

Just to teach those impatient media bastards with their year-end lists...

Coming off the holidays, here's a thought for your Big City Alderman and such to actually make yourself useful for a change:

Ban any and all "singing" toys and knickknacks...

(Sigh.)

***

DAILY LIMERICK'S LATEST WACKY, PIE-IN-THE-SKY SCHEME:

BRING BACK THE HONEY BEARS FOR CHRISTMAS (OR NEW YEAR'S?)!

That's right, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers? Just why in the hell do the Chicago Bears NOT have cheerleaders?

We'll tell you why--Virginia McCaskey. So fire off an e-mail to the Bears' suits with the convenient link below! Tell 'em Daily Limerick sent ya'! And, oh, Virginia? You might even get LAID if you let the Honey Bears return! Sure, it'll be a dry hump, as that's the only way you CAN be humped, but... Ahem.

And if you're fans of some other, suck-ass football team and NOT the Bears... This tragedy goes far beyond Chicago with its sinister tentacles. All football fans have the inalienable right to see cheerleaders on BOTH sides of the field.

So sound off:

http://store.chicagobears.com/contact/

******

DAILY LIMERICK 12/27/2006:

If your Holidays seemed der-derky

(you sat 'round and gave it a jerky)

I guess you could say

at Yuletide buffet

you helped yourself to the Jive Turkey.

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 12/27/2006:

Here's a recent headline from a column by noted conservative idiot Mark Steyn:

"Biggest Story of Our Time: Our Self-Extinction"

Thanks, Mark. The fact that the world's population increased 50 percent just in our Chief Limericist's lifetime is obviously just another conspiracy. Like evolution. Or the sky being blue.

Have fun keepin' your wife in her place while cursin' the Taliban's burqas. Shitferbrains. Goat fucker. Sack of crap. Leech licker. Butt boil. Rectal sponge...

Have you seen Pfizer's new ad campaign? It "informs" you that quitting smoking is tough because it's not just a habit but that magical thing called "addiction." Thus, willpower is not enough! You need something like... Oh, something that, curiously, luckily, also brings more money to Pfizer's fat pig profits!...

Reminder, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers:

Beating addiction requires only one thing: 100 percent pure willpower.

Oh, you can hit namby-pamby, hippie-dippie support groups. You can give Pfizer money. You can sacrifice chickens and do rain dances, too.

But when it boils down to it, some day, you'll pass a store/dealer that sells what you are/were addicted to. And you'll have no support buddy with you. And you'll either have the willpower, or you won't.

And it's that freakin' simple.

But you might want to keep this crumb of wisdom under wraps. There are entire industries, namely the "addiction recovery" and pharmaceutical ones, that don't like this secret's existence one bit...

In the upcoming Harry Potter movie, Harry finally kisses a girl, unleashing a mixed bag of tricks, of course, into the lad's life... And he's described as finally "losing his innocence."

Let's see...his parents were brutally murdered...he himself has been a murder target on multiple occasions...backstabbing in all its forms has found its way into Master Potter's life...but getting involved with chicks is the thing that "loses his innocence"?

Sounds about right, actually...

By the way, although he's merely a fictional character, we must sympathize:

Oh, that poor, poor bastard...

Over the Holidays, and in fact any time you spend time with family, you're sort of a slave to their entertainment options. You end up, for example, watching movies that you might not otherwise watch.

Which brings us to the revelation... Did Johnny Depp's people advise him to gay it up a bit at some point? We're scratching our heads otherwise to figure out his "Pirates of the Caribbean" role...

Here's a Daily Limerick/Slappin' and Yappin' interpretative take on some classic words of wisdom.

If you love somebody, set them free and...you're a freakin' idiot.

***

SPECIAL "PULL-OUT" WEDNESDAY "EAT IT!" SECTION 12/27/2006:

TODAY'S EDITION: Update on Subway Suckin' Ass

Now Subway... Well, sucks ass. There will be no discussion of the matter. Fact. Decided. Written in stone. Hell, written on our nuts.

Subway's new ad campaign? To supplement their diet claims, they... Well, it seems only fitting they use a phony athelete, aka professional "wrestler"...

And while we're on the topic, who the hell would want to emulate Jared in any way, shape or form?

If I were Jared, I'd go back to the fat look. At least it added some sort of color to the guy.

***

DAILY LIMERICK'S LATEST WACKY, PIE-IN-THE-SKY SCHEME:

BRING BACK THE HONEY BEARS FOR CHRISTMAS (OR NEW YEAR'S?)!

That's right, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers? Just why in the hell do the Chicago Bears NOT have cheerleaders?

We'll tell you why--Virginia McCaskey. So fire off an e-mail to the Bears' suits with the convenient link below! Tell 'em Daily Limerick sent ya'! And, oh, Virginia? You might even get LAID if you let the Honey Bears return! Sure, it'll be a dry hump, as that's the only way you CAN be humped, but... Ahem.

And if you're fans of some other, suck-ass football team and NOT the Bears... This tragedy goes far beyond Chicago with its sinister tentacles. All football fans have the inalienable right to see cheerleaders on BOTH sides of the field.

So sound off:

http://store.chicagobears.com/contact/

******

DAILY LIMERICK 12/28/2006:

Just once, 'tween Christmas and Year New,

I'd like Big Event--real "to-do"--

'cause damn journalists

have their year-end lists

written before the year is through!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 12/28/2006:

Perusing the talk show listings the other day, we came across one hyping, "Singer Britney Spears."

Britney Spears is/was a singer?...

Football pundits:

Can you please refrain from using the phrase, "sack attack"?

Really. It just...er, sorta makes us uncomfortable.

***

DAILY LIMERICK'S LATEST WACKY, PIE-IN-THE-SKY SCHEME:

BRING BACK THE HONEY BEARS FOR CHRISTMAS (OR NEW YEAR'S?)!

That's right, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers? Just why in the hell do the Chicago Bears NOT have cheerleaders?

We'll tell you why--Virginia McCaskey. So fire off an e-mail to the Bears' suits with the convenient link below! Tell 'em Daily Limerick sent ya'! And, oh, Virginia? You might even get LAID if you let the Honey Bears return! Sure, it'll be a dry hump, as that's the only way you CAN be humped, but... Ahem.

And if you're fans of some other, suck-ass football team and NOT the Bears... This tragedy goes far beyond Chicago with its sinister tentacles. All football fans have the inalienable right to see cheerleaders on BOTH sides of the field.

So sound off:

http://store.chicagobears.com/contact/

******

DAILY LIMERICK 12/29/2006:

Most media critics agree

cov'rage sucks internat'n'lly

but most dames and fellers

are just glad it's stellar

on Brad Pitt and Angie Jolie.

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 12/29/2006:

Elvis Allan Poe.

Just like the concept...

***

SPECIAL"PULL-OUT" FRIDAY ENTERTAIN YOURSELF SECTION 12/29/2006:

TODAY'S EDITION: Leathur Cheetah

Leathur Cheetah wows me whenever I see them.

I've heard them described as '70s rock...and I guess that has some credence as a descriptor, although I don't think it's the ideal one. The idea of "'70s rock" brings to mind bad moustaches and the like.

But Leathur Cheetah does pump out some hard rockin' delights--and the drummer uses a cowbell copiously. Oh, and the bass player always tells me that he's a big Eddie Money fan, which is an attraction, of sorts.

The lead singer is a hot blonde who can not only belt out a tune lousy with octaves but... Well, there I go feeling "wowed" again, so:

http://www.myspace.com/leathurcheetah

***

DAILY LIMERICK'S LATEST WACKY, PIE-IN-THE-SKY SCHEME:

BRING BACK THE HONEY BEARS FOR CHRISTMAS (OR NEW YEAR'S?)!

That's right, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers? Just why in the hell do the Chicago Bears NOT have cheerleaders?

We'll tell you why--Virginia McCaskey. So fire off an e-mail to the Bears' suits with the convenient link below! Tell 'em Daily Limerick sent ya'! And, oh, Virginia? You might even get LAID if you let the Honey Bears return! Sure, it'll be a dry hump, as that's the only way you CAN be humped, but... Ahem.

And if you're fans of some other, suck-ass football team and NOT the Bears... This tragedy goes far beyond Chicago with its sinister tentacles. All football fans have the inalienable right to see cheerleaders on BOTH sides of the field.

So sound off:

http://store.chicagobears.com/contact/

******

DAILY LIMERICK 12/30/2006:

A would-be date rape try was sacked

by chick with a helluva rack.

Lug gave it his best

but she swung her breasts

and made a rack counterattack.

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 12/30/2006:

Chief Limericist checking in, here.

I am the Casanova...of unrequited lovers.

You can leave the last clause off when addressing me, though.

***

DAILY LIMERICK'S LATEST WACKY, PIE-IN-THE-SKY SCHEME:

BRING BACK THE HONEY BEARS FOR CHRISTMAS (OR NEW YEAR'S?)!

That's right, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers? Just why in the hell do the Chicago Bears NOT have cheerleaders?

We'll tell you why--Virginia McCaskey. So fire off an e-mail to the Bears' suits with the convenient link below! Tell 'em Daily Limerick sent ya'! And, oh, Virginia? You might even get LAID if you let the Honey Bears return! Sure, it'll be a dry hump, as that's the only way you CAN be humped, but... Ahem.

And if you're fans of some other, suck-ass football team and NOT the Bears... This tragedy goes far beyond Chicago with its sinister tentacles. All football fans have the inalienable right to see cheerleaders on BOTH sides of the field.

So sound off:

http://store.chicagobears.com/contact/

******

DAILY LIMERICK 12/31/2006:

So Saddam's been hanged with to-do

and many'd eat him in a stew

but most who would boast it

would prefer him roasted--

and served with a sauce of "au Jew."

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 12/31/2006:

I think the title of my, er, "upcoming" one-man show will be... "Taint Misbehavin'."

Yup.

Slow news day, as we say in the biz...

***

SUNDAY STORY TIME 12/31/2006:

A SPECIAL, TOUCHING SECTION APPEARING SUNDAYS ONLY

(Touching in some manner, anyway)

TODAY'S EDITION: Why I Love the Holiday Season (a True Story I'm Still Doubting)

Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers should know that I, Chief Limericist, am not one to brag. I tend toward making fun of myself. (Self-deprecation hasn't been a comedic tool throughout history without a reason--allowing one to make fun of others freely, once a foundation of Objectivity is tossed out.)

But this story... Well, when you read it, you'll empathize with my urge to tell SOMEBODY, and why not Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers?... And it's the type that of yarn that has you fearing to tell it because some listeners might not believe it--and you can't say you blame 'em!

This story does, however, have a, well a...a monkey wrench, of sorts. Meaning that, as good as it looks on me, practicalities involved give it a...a King Midas angle, or sorts.

Anyway: It was December 19, this year, and I was emceeing a music/comedy show here in Chicago, at the Double Door. (A prestigious local club, large for a bar but short of stadium status.) An impressive gig, to most on the scene. The likes of the Rolling Stones have played it.

Now, everybody's festive. Women, most importantly, are festive. For yuletide shows I don a Santa hat and, oft times, my Alfred E. Neuman tie. Least I did until... Ahem. And women ask to "borrow" my hat, and it's hard to refuse a cute dame, and most are good eggs and they give things back.

Anyway... Enter two chicks. I'm doing a dummy game show/prize giveaway thing on stage. These chicks are playing the game as a team. One, hot, if a bit rough (tattoo laden, etc.). The other... Kinda hot, I suppose, but odd somehow. Radiating trouble and whackitude. And I oughta know. We'll name the latter chick: Nut Cluster. (She's integral to this sordid tale.)

This team of ladies was bawdy in their answers--it was a delightful edition. At one point, they dropped to their knees and simulated oral sex upon my show's producer/occasional co-host. I had a veritable Yule log to-go.

The night dwindles on. I'm feeling ridiculously festive. The game show thingies are done between bands (when one's breaking down and one's setting up equipment), and during the next one, while it's unfolding, Nut Cluster is yelling at me from offstage. Of course, she's no match for a mike and P.A., but with occasional banter I eventually make out that she's saying something about "balls."

See, her game show prize was a beach ball emblazoned with the phrase, "What Would Jesus Do?" And I guess she was saying that she "needed TWO balls" and... She was coming on to me in what she thought was a funny way. Seriously. Real lady, that one.

Now she ends up as one of my Santa hat borrowers and, at a couple points during the evening, I went and chatted with her, for the sole purpose of getting my hat and--yes--my Alfred E. Nueman tie back.

The hat came in time, but the tie proved ludicrously difficult. She wouldn't give it back. And I had to talk and make nice with the bitch, considering she had a prized tie of mine, but I couldn't just grab it from her, not from a chick, even a chick like...well, Nut Cluster.

I tried befriending other dames, to recruit them, as a chick can beat on another chick more acceptably than I but... Well, I was working toward that end, persuading, reminding when... Back to the stage. Prize giveaway.

A tall, hot blonde with more legs than a bucket of chicken is calls to me from just in front of the stage. I talked back, but couldn't make out what she was yelling about. So when the next band starts, I do a walk around the room, happen upon this blonde (whom I later learned was a stripper from Miami, of all things--and a stripper from Miami, which she bore the attributes of, is a much different animal than a stripper from, say...the Upper Peninsula of Michigan).

I approach the blonde--let's called her Miami Stripper Blonde--asked her if she were interested in playing the game show (which would seem to be an appropriate reason to yell at a host onstage during his game show). "What game show?" she asked. And then...she kissed me.

Not just a peck of a holiday kiss. A full-on smoochie.

I felt dizzy. As if I were swaying back and forth, but I wasn't, although if I allowed myself to feel that way long enough, I would physically as well.

Recovering my composure, I babbled as coherently as I could. "The game show! That's what I was doing on stage! I thought that you..." Miami Stripper Blonde kissed me again.

And yet again.

I saw Nut Cluster at a semi-distance. She didn't appear happy with Miami Stripper Blonde kissing me. But I didn't think much of it, at the time, other than hoping that'd scare her away from me...but she had MY TIE!

Then, I noticed that the current act was wrapping it up and I had to get to the stage. Next act, I wandered back in that direction, but Miami Stripper Blonde was consumed with conversation. So I'd go talk to a band member I needed to, whatever, conduct business, and return...to find Miami Stripper Blonde occupied. Often with other guys. But I didn't see anything on the order of my smooch.

One of the bands at the Double Door brought a rough crowd. Buzzed in from Northwest Indiana and couldn't handle their liquor. Two fights broke out that night (and this show series hadn't seen a fight in two and a half years at that point). The first I witnessed was actually between two chicks.

Nut Cluster and Miami Stripper Blonde.

Both were thrown out.

Along with my tie. Which brings us back to monkey wrenches.

See, although Miami Stripper Blonde had given me her number, and although I attempted a booty call immediately upon arriving home...she barely remembered me, much less kissing me. Alcohol was involved.

I called her right upon my delayed reaction in putting two and two together and... Those chicks may have been fighting, at least in part, over...little ol' me?

Still, I didn't get squat.

But, nonetheless, this is the type of story that bolsters my love for the Holidays.

(Sigh.)

COMING IN 2007 TO SUNDAY STORY TIME--The Tale of the Derelict Renter/Roommate Resumes!

***

MIKE'S ACCURSED VERSE 12/31/2006:

A SPECIAL SUNDAY EXTRA SECTION

(IN BLAZING COLOR... IF YOU THINK ABOUT IT JUST RIGHT)

BY MIKE "BOOM" CHMIELECKI

 

TODAY'S POEM: All these women looking back at me

 

Hey, look at all the models in their underwear

under soft lights, sleek hair blown back by fans,

standing in postures to accentuate their enhanced

bodies' curves. Their cranberry lips pucker, their

cats' eyes slit before clouding into come-hither glaze.

Some girls live daily with that shape. Can you believe it?

They epitomize the ability to look inviting enough

and blank enough for all of our fantasies.

 

Their commercial desire feels real.

In it blossoms ghosts of real feeling.

 

Is love what I believe it to be, or is it what she believes it to be,

or what we both believe it to be, or is it something else entirely,

altogether more fraught and fragile and bigger,

completely unsentimental and vital in its need?

 

The drive can be analyzed but its core cannot be discovered.

Written down, it's the weight of impressions left on sheets of paper,

sheets of cotton, sheets of silk, seen in sheets of rain.

 

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

***

LETTERS TO THE IDIOT 12/31/2006:

Here's the hubbala bubbala boomski chick from Leathur Cheetah, featured in Friday's Entertain Yourself section, checks in:

> John!

>

> Thank you for that! The kind words (and exposure!) are much appreciated - I was

> especially fond of the "lousy w/ octaves" bit (for obvious reasons). I'm always

> impressed and pleased when anyone notices anything we're doing on a musical

> level.

>

> See you on the 10th!

> Happy New Year. :)

> Anna

Well, hey, exposure is a wonderful way to replay the "kind words," as far as I'm... Oh. Yes. Exposure. The zillions of Daily Limerick Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers. Of course.

And "lousy with octaves," of course, meant "bearing many octaves," not that you were lousy in the capacity of reaching octaves...but I think you figured that out.

And, oh, I...er, we noticed. The music, too!

***

DAILY LIMERICK'S LATEST WACKY, PIE-IN-THE-SKY SCHEME:

BRING BACK THE HONEY BEARS FOR CHRISTMAS (OR NEW YEAR'S?)!

That's right, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers? Just why in the hell do the Chicago Bears NOT have cheerleaders?

We'll tell you why--Virginia McCaskey. So fire off an e-mail to the Bears' suits with the convenient link below! Tell 'em Daily Limerick sent ya'! And, oh, Virginia? You might even get LAID if you let the Honey Bears return! Sure, it'll be a dry hump, as that's the only way you CAN be humped, but... Ahem.

And if you're fans of some other, suck-ass football team and NOT the Bears... This tragedy goes far beyond Chicago with its sinister tentacles. All football fans have the inalienable right to see cheerleaders on BOTH sides of the field.

So sound off:

http://store.chicagobears.com/contact/

 

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

 

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