Daily Limerick
Archives: November 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)!



Though whole new Web suffix sounds dumb

'tis that what is pushed for by some

for just "adult" sites.

But this don't seem right:

Nobody suggested ".cum"!




"Iraqi Violence is Meant to Influence Your Vote: Cheney"


So... Despite being a violence-lovin' people to begin with, and despite the fact that we took out their leader, leaving them without the only force of lawfulness they had, without any good justification we might add... It appears the Iraqis are only violent in order to influence OUR elections.

So they're just playin'. Don't worry about it. Oh, and vote for war mongers, too...


"China to Measure Length of Great Wall"

Well, if the stereotyping has any basis in fact, and those usually do...they need to measure SOMETHING they can give an impressive result on...

Scott Adams, the creator of the "Dilbert" comic strip, reportedly has spasmodic dysphonia, a rare disorder giving its victims trouble speaking, dependent upon which areas of the brain are affected.

For instance, in Adams' case, he can only speak when reciting poetry or pinching his nose.

This reminds us of an old "Archie Comics" storyline wherein Jughead was hit in the head while reading (or was it reciting?) poetry and could then only speak in rhyming verses, until, of course, he was hit in the head again.

DL was actually planning a publicity stunt like this. Having our Chief Limericist go an entire day speaking only in rhyme and fielding all sorts of questions at press conferences and the like. (Make fun of the idea at your leisure.)

Now, however, it looks like we need only become afflicted with spasmodic dysphonia. And, considering, then high-tail it to Nantucket.



TODAY'S EDITION: Ovaltine Overdose

Recently, I was craving chocolate malt, thought I'd pick up some chocolate malt mix to add to milk and, not being able to find a malt mixture proper, instead brought home Ovaltine. Which fits the bill, I suppose, but isn't quite as tasty as actual malt mix I've scared up in the past.

In any event, the purchase has led me to discover the best way to drink Ovaltine:

Add scoop after scoop of Ovaltine to milk. Then add more. How many scoops? I don't know. When in doubt, add more.

Then throw whipped cream on top.

And consider adding a couple more scoops.



The optimist feels we've come far--

"From apes--and now look where we are!"

Yet we're cynics when

top weeks' shows have been

including "Dancing with the Stars"!



...Speaking of today's Limerick, have you noticed the egregious punctuation error in that show's title? My, the ethics of our brethren in broadcasting!

Of course, it SHOULD be: "Dancing with the 'Stars'"...

So I was reading that Barack Obama's wife almost lost a coat at some hoighty-toighty event recently, a mink coat and... Aha!

Now, we have no fondness for the organization and its naïve, bong-adled whacktoast members; and we would never, ever, under normal circumstances, do what we're about to; but we're so sick of the media love fest for Obama that... Mink coat; Sic 'em, PETA!



Much Iraq violence has appeared,

Cheney says, 'cause election's near

to sway U.S. vote.

If that line you tote,

Dick, how d'ya' explain last three years?



News story excerpt:

"Maury Povich has asked an arbitrator hearing a sexual-harassment complaint against him to issue a gag order."

Now, Maury, isn't issuing a "gag order" what got you into this trouble to begin with?




Wondermark is a comic strip by David Malki. (Oh--Worst Music Critic on the Planet checking in, but on a medium I'm much more qualified to rip...er, critique.)

I wanted to hate this strip. It often makes use of that annoyingly hip tactic of showing the same picture in each frame with different dialogue balloons, so be forewarned. But it doesn't do that EVERY time and it's quite clever on occasion.

The strip that led me to pencil Wondermark in for an "Entertain Me!" section showed Osama bin Laden and his posse discussing strategies as if inconveniencing Americans at the airport was the major al-Qaida goal. One of the terrorist wannabes mentions an attempt using hair gel and an iPod, the others make fun of him, to which he replies, "You laughed at the shoe bomb, remember?"

Ho ho, he hee, ha ha ha... Ahem.

I found it brilliant. And a point nobody else had made at the time. Which Wondermark actually does with some regularity.

Maybe you had to see it (date wise, I saw it in the Aug. 24-30 Onion):




A virgin brought home his new bride

in show'r-gifted fishnets she tried.

Goin' down thought, "I bet

they call 'em 'fishnets'

'cause it smells like there're fish inside!"



Only one more shopping day until Christmas!

If you shop like we do, anyway. Sometime in December, or in any event after Thanksgiving, at the very earliest, when the Spirit of the season SHOULD kick in, at least in following all that is right and good in the world...



The NBA's back! Though, my friend

seems playoffs just ended. This trend

'tween pre- and post-season,

sprawling, is the reason

it feels the damn sport never ends.



There's a lot of talk this election season about how negative, mud-slinging political ads seem to be growing worse. And about how they actually seem to work.

Negative campaigns are nothing new. And in fact, historically it's been much, much worse--especially back in times some naively dub "the good ol' days." Today, of course, we have university eggheads doing studies to confirm that, yes, in fact, negative campaigns often help candidates win.

But winning campaigns is only a smidgeon of what this is about.

Recent polls indicate that negative campaigns are turning voters off so that more and more are planning to skip the voting booths.

Fewer voters. Now THAT, to the mind of the disgusting near-human species known as "politician," proves that negative campaigns are producing just the results they want...




(Touching in some manner, anyway)

TODAY'S EDITION: The Tale of the Derelict Renter/Roommate, Chapter Two--The First Red Flags

I didn't know my new roommate was...well, among many other things, a derelict, right off the bat. When he was moving in, one of his helpers said something like, "This'll be a lot nicer than the halfway house!" which prompted a dirty look from The Derelict (ala, "Don't tell him that!") but I was prepared for oddball sorts, as I wasn't sure what types would be seeking a roommate situation with a stranger.

I guess the very fact that he'd come to my place from a halfway house could arguably have been a red flag--but having been through the alcohol problem thing years back, I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Figured (hoped) he'd just landed on hard times coupled with stupid behavior and, as his activities of the first couple weeks seemed to indicate, was now shaping his life up.

I was also assuming that he had been in the halfway house purely for addiction reasons, forgetting observations from earlier in life when I'd lived around the corner from a halfway house. (I was repeatedly amazed that the house's denizens, when I encountered them in the local diner, seemed to all have voices better suited to cartoon characters.)

The Derelict had repeated problems with his keys. I'd hear him at the door...then hear him some more at the door...then hear what would become a predictable knock. "I don't think these are the right keys..." he'd say. I'd demonstrate that the keys indeed worked, he'd wear a supra-confused look and I'd figure the problem was fixed...until the next time he did it. Eventually, I put makeshift masking tape labels onto them, with "F" for "Front Door," "T" for "Top Lock" on the front door, etc.

TD had a similar problem with the microwave, forgetting the "Time Cook/ [ENTER COOKING TIME]/ Start" button order of usage multiple times. I'd hear a series of beeps, long pauses, silences...and eventual "How do you work this microwave again?"

As with his loud and colorful wardrobe (which included snakeskin boots, a snakeskin cowboy hat, bright red vest and gaudy earrings), I attributed these problems to him being a big ol' Poleock (SIC?--but nobody's EVER given me the slur's real spelling--and don't forget that I have Polish blood in me so can through it around all I want. Pppppp!).

But, although I indulged some denial about it, something about him just...wasn't right. And it was apparent from the start. I'd be, say, cleaning the litter box, which is in a little room right near the fridge, and he'd walk up and open the fridge door, taking his time in surveying the contents and blocking me in. He had a poor grasp of the concept of personal space--it wasn't a hostile invasion of personal space but a cluelessness.

And despite the fact that The Derelict had his own living/dining room area, he'd constantly sit in mine. It's not that I'm a stickler about it, ala "Don't EVER step an inch into my area for any reason," but that he was ALWAYS there. I have some odd writerly habits. For instance, I'll work on my computer and occasionally stand up, walk into the other room (my living/dining room), puff on a cigar I have in an ashtray in the fireplace so that the smoke goes up and out, and return to my seat at the computer, only to walk back out for some puffs in another five or ten minutes.

I'd work on my projects after work, hours at a time, only to see TD sitting in a chair EVERY SINGLE TIME I'd come out for a puff. Night after night. And he didn't seem to gain any sense of awkwardness about it.

A massive red flag was also hoisted over the fact that he never explained his life situation. I volunteered my status as a recovered alcoholic early on and told him I was willing to give him a chance, as long as he kept me informed of any slip-ups on his sobriety's part and made legitimate efforts to keep on the right path. But he strangely didn't seem to take that as the bonding attempt I intended it as--and even seemed to be in what some call "denial."

"Oh, I can't do that heavy drinking or smoking anymore. Used to, when younger. Now? Just a little here and there."

He came to me from a halfway house. He knew that I knew he came to me from a halfway house. And yet he had no problem with playing it off as if he was a "normal" alcohol/drug user and I would have no reason to suspect otherwise.

Soon, I noticed a quarter bottle of blackberry wine in his portion of the cabinets. "Aha! He's back to the sauce!" A part of me didn't care--as long as he wasn't dangerous or violent, he could waste away his time sauced, for all I cared. But I thought it wise to keep abreast of his situation, so I checked on the bottle regularly.

I never saw liquor bottles in the trash or recycling. Didn't see signs of illicit drug usage, not even whiffs of marijuana coming from his room. And the quarter bottle of liquor remained a full week later!

Meaning, of course, he couldn't possibly be an actual alcoholic. A true crock would never leave that untouched for so long. Hell, a true crock wouldn't leave a drop in that bottle any more than a hungry man would leave one fresh French fry be in a McDonald's container.

I figured that this meant TD had gotten in some sort of legal and/or financial trouble, landing him in the halfway house, but that he didn't really have an addiction problem. (It happens. Oh, does it happen.)

Indulging my own denial, I ignored a voice in the back of head asking, "So if it's not alcohol/drugs, what IS his problem?"








TODAY'S POEM: November


You're all sweating in your suits

and laying dikes along the banks.

Reinforcing your white fences

and nailing plywood over your windows.


The proud and hungry are coming.

Angry men and women, they hate

that you don't see them as human.

You cannot block their way.


Coming to tear you from power,

we'll swat you away from your plans.

Pundits will write with blood in their pens

about your spectacular crushing fall.


You will probably make plans to make a stand

until you are certain it is time to flee.

Save it: you can't erase painful truth

with one bow, with your back to history.


It's time for your supports to be torn from you,

an uprising to topple your fatal regime.

The future stretches out unknowable, yes,

but the river will rush in.


And we will sweep you to the sea.


[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.]



David Malki, the mind behind the Wondermark comic strip (featured in Friday's "Entertain Me!" section) checks in:

> Thanks for the head's up, John!  Have to say, the strip's never been

> called "annoyingly hip" before.  Can I use that on my book jacket?


> ---

> David !

> wondermark.com

Actually, "annoyingly hip" referred to the modern technique of reproducing the same image multiple times in a comic strip and changing the speech/thought balloons.

But go ahead and throw it on your book jacket because our general point was to give a "yay!" to Wondermark. And if it weren't for misrepresentation, nobody would get laid and there'd BE no human race!



Now Revered Ted's in the same boat

as many who urge "moral" votes:

It seems they disparage

concept of gay marriage

so freely they can sow gay oats!



My Sunday newspaper insert for Target included a "clip and fill-out" Christmas list for children.

Reminder: Thanksgiving has not passed for the year.

Children are already becoming more and more greedy, selfish and self-entitled by the day. What is Target trying to make them into--lil' Kanye Wests?...

We always find it hard to read of a celebrity saying, of other celebrities' failed marriages, that the news came "out of nowhere."

The only thing that seems to come at us "out of nowhere" about any celebrity marriage is any anniversaries...



By David Sher


TODAY'S HAIKU: Sanitary Haiku


The two soaps found in

The phone company washroom

Are both Dial and Tone


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



So found Kanye West, we do figure,

MTV Euro brought a trigger

of his inner self.

Craves prizes for shelf!

Why, you could say he's "Award Digger."



A new trend in "marriage therapy" aims to nip any events that could possibly lead to adultery in the bud.

According to a news story we read, couples are advised that "If either of them felt attracted to someone else, he or she would tell the other partner immediately."

Meaning... We guess having the chick's cell phone ring every three minutes, when summer wardrobes are out, anyway...

Guess what I just discovered! You know how I'm known for having a Nut Magnet? Well... Oh, Chief Limericist checking in, here.

Anyway, eureka! and all that jazz, but I only recently realized that I am also... Well:

The Nut Whisperer.

More details will unravel in that special, serialized Sunday Story Time, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers...



When, of stars' marital affairs,

hear breakup came "out of nowhere"--

not shocked by Big Ds;


are what shocks me about such pairs!



So you've probably heard that do-no-wrong-though-he-hasn't-done-much-yet Barack Obama has been implicated for involvement with a shady political contributor at large, Tony Rezko.

That settles it: He IS presidential timbre after all!...

(That's really all we've got, post-election coverage package-wise)...

University of Chicago researchers have found that human evolution received a big push, 37,000 years ago, because... Well, some human boinked a Neanderthal.

Just goes to show you, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers. Not everyone appearing to be a sicko IS a sicko. Well, maybe they are but, in any event, perhaps Britney Spears is just doing her part for continuing evolution...



TODAY'S EDITION: Zoning for Loaves

In the Chicago area, we have two major grocery chains: Dominick's and Jewel. The latter kicks the former's ass. (Chief Limericist checking in, here.)

There was a Dominick's literally in my urban backyard until a couple years ago, when it burnt down. Everybody in my neighborhood acted like we lost the freakin' Taj Mahal when I knew it as overpriced and bearing rotten broccoli most of the time. Other than the occasional last-minute item, I did my grocery shopping at the Jewel five blocks away, as I still do.

There have been zoning meetings about this stuff for some time and it appears that another Dominick's will be built on the now vacant site. The nutrod president of our condo board has been rallying troops and attending these meetings, asking us to show and voice our concerns, so they can promptly be ignored by slimeball politicians and moneybags-laden developers.

In recalling one other thing I'd run to that Dominick's for, I almost showed up at one of the snore fests.

See, one of Little Debbie's snacks is banana nut loaves and they're just as delightful as all hell. And they're very, very hard to find. That Dominick's stocked them with some regularity.

So I considered showing up at the meeting and, when attendee questions were solicited, piping in: "Parking and handicapped/elderly access are issues all fine and good, but let's not dance around what's TRULY important here: Will this new Dominick's stock Little Debbie banana nut loaves?"

For that matter, does anybody know where I can get some banana nut loaves in Chicago?



Though to vet pols, can't hold a candle

Obama now has his own scandal!

Though we thought him green,

for hubbub he's seen,

now seems the prez gig he can handle!



Turkish Internet celebrity Mahir Cagri is claiming that Sacha Cohen's popular "Borat" character is based on him. So Cagri wants money, which is understandable. And he wants recognition, which... Hmmm.

Er, Mahir...umm... Do you realize that?...hmmm... Aw, forget it.


DAILY LIMERICK 11/10/2006:

Sci'ntists now say a human balled,

at one point, a Neanderthal,

which tweaked evolution--

is that the solution

with K-Fed, Brit sought for us all?


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/10/2006:

Leon Hendrix, younger brother of Jimi Hendrix, is just now deciding to take up the guitar after having a “prophetic dream.”

Let us guess: This dream came during a night of tossing and turning, curiously after receiving a whole bunch of bills in the mail earlier that day…



TODAY'S EDITION: Pool of Frogs

Pool of Frogs is more than a band. It’s a way of life. No--wait, that’s probably not a good idea. They’re an event--or seeing them is. They’re…an experience?

Anyway, I met Pool of Frogs through an emceeing gig. Many bands, believe it or not, have almost nothing they want me to say about them in such cases--it can be like pulling pubes to even get a Web site. Other bands just won’t shut up: “Say the bass player gives handjobs for a nickel!” etc.

Pool of Frogs errs toward the latter and is prone to offering information that has little to do with the band or its music. A lot of, er, “philosophical” musings on stuff like butt plugs and things one can do with a scrotum. This can be educational, however--for instance, it was Pool of Frogs who taught me what a “Roman helmet” is. (And not, of course, the thing that Roman soldiers once wore into battle.)

Musically, Pool of Frogs is…hard to describe. At least for one, such as myself, who is the Worst Music Critic on the Planet. Countryish at times but…just a hint. Like cinnamon should be in coffee grounds. Oh, and they have a sing-a-long quality to much of their stuff, which their fans are quick to indulge. And the sing-a-long-edness (?) is easy to pick-up on. That is, you don’t need to follow the band for months before you can pick-up on their melodies and such.

Most importantly, they SOUND like a band that would be scrotally focused. Which is good. Really. Ahem:



DAILY LIMERICK 11/11/2006:

A man's lonely months reached high number

and he got stiff as a cucumber

just kissing a chick--it

caused him to get ticket

for unlicensed transport of lumber!


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/11/2006:

Hey! Did ya' hear the one about the Greek Orthodox priest, the tub of Crisco, the hedgehog and Tina Yothers?


Neither did we.


DAILY LIMERICK 11/12/2006:

Jimi Hendrix' brother, Leon's,

spent life out of spotlight--mere peon.

But JUST made decision--

play guitar; had vision

(after op'ning bills he should be on).


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/12/2006:

Well, I guess it isn't really fall until somebody sets it up for you, you run up to kick it...and the football is pulled away at the last second...

Chief Limericist checking in, here... Now, since we've had the special tale in Sunday Story Time, there's been little time for the S&Y Psychiatric Couch. (Fo those yet to attain Slapper Yapper Grasshopper status, that's when I wax personal, which isn't the usual order of the day.) So... Well, you get tripe like today's edition...


I'm suddenly spouting movie dialogue.

I don't mean QUOTING from movies. I mean, speaking lines that sound like Silver Screen schtick. And I think this is all a symptom of Ribald Silliness. That point one attains when recovered from relationship tragedy, mostly, but having foregone love's buffet and thus nutty for, er, love.

When one has an empty plate bellying up to Life's Rich Pageant--but is also wide open to Trouble's monkey wrenches.

Ahem. Talk about purple prose... Well:

F'rinstance, the other night I was emceeing a show and, as the duty entails, I had a "game show" contestant onstage playing for a prize. And she was hot. Whooowee!

When the time comes to present her the prize, she says she just wants a hug. So I hugged her. And when you've got Ribald Silliness, you give a good hug.

After the time was killed in between the bands, I sauntered over and told her, "As pathetic as it sounds, your hug was the highlight of my day." Also, of course, leaving her with a Daily Limerick flyer, telling her she could contact me about when her stage time would air (these shows are also taped for a cable-access TV show).

She countered, "Your jokes were the highlight of MY day."

I left early. It was a practical necessity with what was scheduled for the next day, starting early morning. But on my way out, I told her, "I'll trade a laugh for a hug anytime."


I could go on, but it'd just induce more... Well, it'd just induce more:


Not sure how I feel about this. But my sole point was that I'm spouting move dialogue...

How come it's never "boy meets girl" anymore?

It's always "boy meets girl with boyfriend" or "boy meets girl who's not sure if she likes boys or girls" or "boy meets girl on so many (mostly) prescribed pills that she's a wing-nut"?...




(Touching in some manner, anyway)

TODAY'S EDITION: The Tale of the Derelict Renter/Roommate, Chapter Three--Disaster in the Kitchen

One day I came home from work to note a fire alarm sounding as I entered the building. I soon learned it was coming from my unit.

I open my door to find a fog of smoke supplementing the soothing tones of the fire alarm going off. Oh, and a chubby black woman I'd never seen before in MY living room (TD had his own), sitting on the nicest piece of furniture to my name (which isn't saying much) and dangling a lit cigarette right over said furniture. And then there was The Derelict himself, in the kitchen, seemingly oblivious to the praeternatural screeching of the alarm.

I said a few things, in a tone I'd describe as justifiably troubled by the situation. TD's lady scrambled off to his bedroom and he soon followed her. I believe he boinked her quite a bit and she didn't leave until the next morning. But that's all much too disturbing to spend any more thought on.

When I'd confirmed that the "cooking" was what'd tripped the alarm, I removed its battery. And realized that, despite it being spring going on summer and the house filled with smoke, nary a window was cracked.

And then I took in the delightful sight that was the kitchen itself.

Virtually every dish, pot and pan I owned was bearing food. It look liked the two had cooked everything they could find and mixed it together--potatoes, broccoli, cooked-from-frozen fish patties broken into pieces, mayo... Most of which, by the way, was MY food (and he had plenty, from food depositories and the like, although he didn't appear to know much about cooking).

I cleaned up the general kitchen area, counters and such, as soon as the two wahoos disappeared. Later that night, I cleaned up the whole of it, putting the Casserole o' Fright into plastic containers and into the fridge. I was not having montage visions of skipping through the park and such with TD at that point.

Right after the incident, it seemed The Derelict was avoiding me (which would have been a better situation than The Truth). He'd be asleep when I left for work, then out or asleep when I came home. So finally I left him a note, expressing my displeasure on so many levels with the events.

When I finally spoke to him about it, he tried blaming the chick. (Another denizen formerly of the same halfway house.) I actually had to explain to a 55-year-old man that he was responsible for the actions of anybody he brings into a place he's renting. That there was something wrong with taking someone else's food. That one should clean up after himself. That there was something wrong with that Godawful, otherworldly concoction of foodstuffs.

It would not be the last time I left TD a letter.








TODAY'S POEM: 3,000 miles soon


The first to go is her image

from my screen. That picture

was a benevolent presence,

calming and serene.


Next are two messages

on my answering machine.

I kept them for a year.

Our sentimental songs playing

in her everyday words.


Our plans building up

to this moment have shifted.

It would be a mistake to

call them erased. But they

have stopped chanting.


The road is about to roll out

3,000 miles.

I'm heading back home.


[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 11/13/2006:

It's autumn! We watch football played--

I'm invited to kick one, some days!

But it ain't truly fall

'til I answer the call

and I have one, last sec, yanked away!


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/13/2006:

Wow! Today the Chief Limericist actually managed to yank the DL/S&Y Psychiatric Couch into the damn Limerick.

Good grief. Maybe we should just leave it at that.


Maybe not.

There's a new product out called the "Wonderjock."

And, yes, THAT is what it is.


Guys... First of all, stop acting more and more like women!

Secondly, you'd be much better off, concerning the goal of that clothing article, using a "Wonderwallet"...

Headline in a "Real Estate" section:

"Today a Good Time to Begin Organizing for Holidays"

(Sigh.) (Again.)

Seems that one's now relevant practically year-round...



By David Sher

TODAY'S HAIKU: Chaotic Haiku


Complete chaos can

Not occur, because complete

Implies some order


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


DAILY LIMERICK 11/14/2006:

For men freaked 'bout size of their cocks

they're now selling the "Wonderjock."

D'make more sense--we'll call it--

to sell "Wonderwallet."

(And if you're that lame, try a sock!)


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/14/2006:

So Donald Rumsfeld is out.

Sorry. Perhaps we're on this a little late. But we've been mulling it over and... Well, we notice we're STILL in Iraq. Oh, and that there's no real change in strategy.

But Rumsfeld's out, most anti-Iraq war activists are happy about that and we just have to put in our two cents worth on Rummy's leaving:


By the way...(Chief Limericist checking in, here)... Damn you, Bill Clinton!

Not because of his politics. Or any laws or initiatives he was behind but... Ahem.

I won't go into now.

But damn you, Bill Clinton!


DAILY LIMERICK 11/15/2006:

From Bush team, Rumsfeld's fin'ly hacked

for handling of war in Iraq.

While some celebrate

I say it can wait

'til we fin'ly have the troops back.


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/15/2006:

The silly "Lifestyles" section of our newspaper today talks about celebrity dames and a popular haircut. And we're all for it, too!

Victoria Beckham, Jessica Simpleton, Britney Spears--we'll take 'em with a "bob" any day...

(You may need to think that over, you slower and/or less gutter-minded Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers. We haven't turned gay)...

But ugh, nonetheless.



TODAY'S EDITION: Knock off the Meat Posing

Although this isn't our Thanksgiving edition of Eat It!, I've heard tell that people plan the meal a bit ahead of time, so I thought I'd use this as a pre-emptive strike on Tofurkey.

If it's veggie and emulating meat, it's Godawful. Tofu hotdogs, Garden Burgers--the list goes on and on and it constitutes some of the worst food in the history of the planet. (Alongside many "meals" cooked up by my exes--Chief Limericist checking in, here.)

Now, tofu is a delight in, say, pad Thai. And veggies are all fine and good in their place--Indian food especially comes to mind as does a nice salad or dippin' plate. And mac 'n' cheeze is certainly a delight, as are noodles and French fries.

Does it make sense, given the philosophy behind much vegetarianism, to emulate meat-based meals anyway?

So there you go. Knock it off, else we'll start making bacon-based vegetable knock-offs.



> The lead in Let's Go To Prison www.imdb.com/title/tt0454987/trailers is named

> Nelson Biederman IV.  The blowback from this diabolical coincidence is

> impossible to predict.  I urge you to tread lightly and take all possible

> precautions.


This is a rare occasion in DL/S&Y, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers. In fact, it's the ONLY occurrence in seven years where we actually ASK the Chief Limericist to check in, er, here:

This is a non-delightful byproduct of happenstance, to say the least.

On the bright side, though, I'm gonna go out on a limb and predict that this little chestnut won't become a comedy classic.


DAILY LIMERICK 11/16/2006:

The latest celeb chick hair job

has me thinking...well, like a slob.

Posh, Britney and Jess?

I've gotta confess--

I don't mind one bit if they "bob."


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/16/2006:

Well, we've finally figured out one good use for those everywhere-you-look, attention-to-the-world-around-you-sapping iPods:

Stuffing in the earphones is a great way to say "not interested" when some schmo on the train tries to start on conversation with your pretty little self.

Pay no mind to the fact that, oh, perhaps the guy's been through a lot to work up the nerve to take such an admittedly--er, possibly admittedly--mild step. Or that he had his entire summer flushed down the toilet via heartbreak and could really use some confirmation of masculinity. Or that... Ahem.

Well, guess they can be useful, those headphones.

Theoretically, anyway.


DAILY LIMERICK 11/17/2006:

I've long felt that iPod headphones

just turn people into iDrones.

But chicks find more use--

guy tries for caboose?

Buds to ear say, "Leave me alone!"


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/17/2006:

Did you know that some "bloggers" are so pathetic that they can't even get their own sites? They instead pull some cheapy, 15-year-oldish stunt like latching onto a site like Blogger.com?

Oh, the hella-lame-ity!...

There's a difference between ass-kissin' and manipulation.

Just so you know...

In the life of every guy who's mildly successful at what he does, there's always a First Time.

The First Time being used by a hot dame for professional purposes.

Damn! Life is good!...

You know what this is?

Yeah, THIS. What you're readin', there, shitferbrains!

This is literary spooj.




Bizarro is... Well, they live up to their name.

When I saw them live last, the lead singer was wearing football makeup and a whacked-out outfit, including wearing a tie over a sleeveless shirt. He, and the rest of the band to a lesser extent, were all over the proverbial place. The show in question was in a two-floor venue and at one point the lead man leapt over a railing on the second floor and came crashing onto down onto the first, where the stage was.

Oh, and they do play music. All I recall is that it had what I'd describe to be a "Batman" quality to it. A heavy, distorted, surfy spy kinda mix. And when you put the showmanship with that music, well... Delightfully bizarre. Make that bizarre with an "o."




This screwtoad checks in concerning our observation in yesterday's S&Y--and today's Limerick, as luck would have it--that use of iPod headphones makes it easy for a chick you're hitting up on to nonverbally say, "Not interested":

> My little white iPod earphones are always falling out when I turn my head.

> It would make ignoring you difficult. Thank god for books!

Ignoring me--Chief Limericist checking in, here, guessing that's the "you" it's addressed to--doesn't appear to be too difficult, whether you have a book or an iPod or nothing of the sort. Judging by...well, life.

I'm just gonna say, "I struck up a conversation on the train the other day with this hot chick--and I must really have it goin' on, because she immediately stuck something in one of her orifices!"


DAILY LIMERICK 11/18/2006:

On train, girlie put on some makeup;

lonely watching guy, it did shakeup.

Cylinder lipstick

went 'round her soft lips

and in his pants, something did wakeup.


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/18/2006:

Good Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers may know that I, Chief Limericist (checking in, here), have been marketing a book proposal for "Stand-Up Poetry" to literary agents.

And receiving dozens of rejection slips.

This week, I received a "good" rejection slip. That is, one that, first of all, was personalized (not a "form" rejection letter) and one which praised my book and idea, mentioned that they'd thought it over carefully and went back and forth between different agents and departments...but in the end decided it wouldn't work in "today's book sales climate."

You don't get that kind of rejection on the train. iPod buds or not. In case you've been following this week...


DAILY LIMERICK 11/19/2006:

The Dems' power reign's just begun

scored from the recent election.

They're just finding out

the easier route's

bitching 'bout what those in power've done!


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/19/2006:

There's gonna be a Comic Relief 2006!

For Katrina victims!

Nice to see they nipped that funding tragedy in the bud...

Laughed aloud at a Ziggy comic on the train.

Tired. Silly. And it was far funnier than your average Zig.

Used that to engage in banter with a comely lass seated nigh:

"You know it has been a long week when you laugh at Ziggy aloud," said I.

She laughed. But a mere "hff" laugh.

I think it deserved more. Send in your thoughts. Ya' mealy mouthed bastards.

Just write off today as a combination of Sunday Story Time being overtaken by the Derelict tale indefinitely, leaving us when a dearth in the S&Y Psychiatric Couch category, and of us not having newsworthy nuggets.

As if that's stopped us in the past...

"Seated nigh"?...




(Touching in some manner, anyway)

TODAY'S EDITION: The Tale of the Derelict Renter/Roommate, Chapter Four--Perhaps the Most Idiotic Maneuver by an Adult Human Being I've Ever Witnessed

It was after the kitchen incident, once I realized that T.D. wasn't quite living within the same reality as the rest of us, that I began referring to The Derelict as "The Derelict"--not to his face, of course. Mostly in my head and with a friend or two.

So I kept a close eye on him. Especially when he was in certain situations like... He would always sit out in the shared courtyard here. His lease ran in the summer--the one that would soon be, in part to his doings, The Summer of Suck--and so he'd sit at this little table on one of two chairs set there around a table as "community" property.

In reality, most people would feel a bit silly, sitting in the middle of the courtyard, every unit's window facing them, "Hey! Look at me!" But T.D. sat out there. Smoking his hand-rolled cigarettes. Wearing his...outfits. And naturally talking to most everybody who'd pass. And bothering most.

So I'd keep an eye on him out there.

One day, he'd come home from a weekend or long weekend at his mother's, in a Polish neighborhood on the far South Side. (He didn't have a strict schedule, not having, oh, say, a JOB or anything to do all day, living off social security.) He went with his bags, before stopping up to the unit, straight to the courtyard table and sat down. Which was one of a zillion things with T.D. that I didn't take as odd because everything about him was odd, and this wasn't any odder than the rest.

Then I heard him talking with somebody out there--which usually got me to watchin' the window, imagining one of the hot yuppie chicks encountering him and the possibly dire consequences resulting.

"I think it went under there!"; "Hey! Did YOU see a..." It sounded like somebody had lost a dog of its lease or something, as a lot of people here have dogs. But, again, I didn't think much of it.

Later in the week, T.D. asks me, "Hey, can you help me look for a cat?"

"What cat?" I said, less than pleasantly.

And he told me:

He thought it would be "fun" to see how his mother's cat would react to my cats.

Keep in mind, first off, that I have two cats and one of the very first things I say to possible renter/roommates is that I do not want any other pets, or at least cats or dogs. And...well, any right-thinking person would ask about bringing a pet into a place, whether or not the landlord had pets himself. But... Well, you know. I'd tell people, "He's an idiot--and I don't mean that as a slur. He is literally a dictionary definition idiot."

So T.D. brings his mother's cat up to my place on a bus ride that's at least an hour. In a duffle bag. You can just play "Count the Things That are Done Wrong Here" with this. I'd be disappointed in my four-  and six-year-old nephews for pulling this stunt.

T.D. gets the cat all the way up here, has a seat in the courtyard and figures he'll let the cat out. I'm not sure what the reasoning was behind letting the cat loose. I gather he thought the cat could use some fresh air. The cat, already understandably a bit freaked-out, finds itself outside, does not recognize its environs as home, is rightfully frightened of the human being nearby, T.D., and so runs off.

Note, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers, that T.D.'s telling me to help him find the cat THREE DAYS after it ran off. I told him, after he pleaded, that I'd take a quick look with him, but that the cat was surely not still under a bush in the courtyard. It was in an alley living off prey and/or trash. Or perhaps in a shelter, or in someone's home. Or dead--hit by a car, killed by an alley cat or a loose dog.

We didn't find the cat. The only ray of light in the story is that T.D. didn't get the cat up here, because that would've caused major commotion.

I told him to call local shelters, perhaps look in newspaper "Lost" ads. A couple days later, he asked, "Who do you think I should call about the cat?"

Completely, utterly hopeless. And I realized that The Derelict didn't pull the cat stunt out of cruelty--he was actually nice to my cats. He'd even brush them. He did this out of sheer stupidity. He didn't know any better.

Regardless of the reasons behind it, I decided then and there that I couldn't renew his lease come October. I couldn't leave someone in my home, while I was at work 40 hours a week, who could pull such an irresponsible, ridiculous stunt.

You wouldn't think it'd get too much worse, would ya'?








TODAY'S POEM: Your back


I do not know what your back looks like.

I have not spent enough time with you,

so it becomes a composite of all the backs

I've seen. Not too many there, unless

you count statuary and porn magazines,

and there too, not too many there.


It must be a fine slope. Soft and warm

and easy to hold onto, and easy to let go of.

If I brought my nose right near it, I think

I would smell soap and below that the

comforting closeness of your skin against mine.

But you're not here. So what does it matter?


When I feel sentimental and angry, I decide

I hate women's backs. They remind me

that I sleep alone with my lack of courage

and with too many questions about my well-being.

But I wish I could remember your back. I do.

It would make the rest of you real to me.


[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 11/20/2006:

The stock of Starbucks has went down--

s'been years since a drop came around!

It brings me much hope!

Should quash stores' encroach-

ment upon my whole freakin' town!


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/20/2006:

"See Inside"-kinda headline from a Sunday commentary section--that we can answer!:

"Unglamorous Ending: Will Women and Girls Learn From Model's Anorexic Death?"



Then again, as good Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers should know, Human History is all about repeating the same mistakes over, and over, and over again. Our Grand Plan is to simply repeat the mistakes in new and innovative ways--and, oh to manage to include all minority groups in the mistake-making, so we're all equal in hopelessness--and to perhaps one day be repeating those mistakes among the stars...



By David Sher


TODAY'S HAIKU: Flying Karamazov Haiku


"I am what I am!"

What God said to Moses, or

Popeye to Olive


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


DAILY LIMERICK 11/21/2006:

Though it leaves chicks with egos bruised

a guy finds just small things to lose

from manipulation

if it nets forn'cation--

it's kind of a thrill, being used!


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/21/2006:

The Good News is this:

To help kick-in the real (post-Thanksgiving) start of the Holiday Season, we'll be bringing you the very first installment of "Slappin' and Yappin'/Letters to the Idiot: The Lost Editions"!

Here's the Bad News:

That's only because we sorta, er, e-misplaced today's edition!

And here's Even More Bad News:

From what we remember, it's pretty crappy, anyway!


DAILY LIMERICK 11/22/2006:

Some say that they're "profiling"...dogs?

In insurance companies' cogs!

I think, "What the heck--

should I turn redneck?"

if this is the stuff they call "prog."


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/22/2006:

Insider's note on Michael Richards' Not So Excellent Stand-Up Adventure at L.A.'s Laugh Factory:

The hard-to-please quality of comedy fans grows from east to west--and the Laugh Factory is simply the easiest comedy venue in the universe. Perhaps it's the fact that people pay $8+ for a cover and feel obligated to get their laughs' worth; perhaps it's the likelihood of TV cameras being present and the compulsion to do what the producers think you should do; perhaps it's just the hella-lame-ity of L.A.

Nice set-up, isn't it? Our "Entertainment Capital" held to the standards of easy-to-please plastic ditzes?...

And what's with all the big-name standups crawling out of the eaves to grab a little PR with their "expertise"--explaining that Richards stumbled into this out of "inexperience."

I'd never put up window blinds before this week, and a lot of cuss words flew, but strangely enough, I didn't call anybody a "nigger." (Chief Limericist checking in, here, for the rest of today's edition.)

Oh, that's RIGHT. I have some stand-up experience. This has nothing whatsoever to do with latest racism...

Since we're sure as hell NOT going to indulge any of this ridiculous pre-Thanksgiving Christmas crap, we're sure as squat not giving anything to you annoying bell ringers at this point in time.

Yeah, yeah. You feed some poor and hungry. But doesn't that kinda balance out, what with the nutcluster religious fundamentalism you push on those same poor and the rampant homophobia?...

We're sick of all this space that gets wasted in the newspaper with mumbo-jumbo that nobody in their right mind pays attention to! Horoscopes, Ziggy, NHL team stats...

Opened my newspaper this morning to find, on page three of my Chicago Sun-Times...a photo of a model whom I've hit up on, looking so damn delicious it's almost supernatural! "Local people of interest" kinda story.

Well, I hit up on her in my own, signature, wishy-washy way, of course. And she was with the drummer in a band I was introducing as part of an emcee gig. But I made her laugh. It was her birthday, actually, and I wrote her a limerick. (There are perks, you know, to dating chief limericists.)

She's hot-diggity-hot and she should really date me.

But enough about my poor man's half-assed brush with fame and glamour...

I've always been fascinated with the point in weddings where they ask, "If anybody has any objections blah blah blah, speak now or forever hold their peace." Of course, I figure that 99 percent of any objections take place in the world of Hollywood, but I always feel uneasy, look around the room, when I hear the line in real weddings.

The other day, I was thinking about all the assorted nuts, kooks and whacktoasts who've formed the rogues gallery of my dating/love life and I realized:

I have the type of life where an objection to a wedding actually COULD happen during my own.

I'm thinking, of course, it'd come from Ari Khatib, perhaps...



TODAY'S EDITION: Turkey is for Turkeys

You've probably planned your Thanksgiving dinner far ahead of time--but then again, maybe not, as you ARE Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers--or, actually, you're probably not the one in charge of planning such things, being a Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers, so perhaps our point is moot, although (everybody!:) that's never stopped us before... But this being our Thanksgiving edition we must pipe-in:

You don't HAVE to eat turkey for Thanksgiving.

We recommend ham. Or duck. Hell, the first Thanksgiving featured eel on the menu, so you have lots of choices.

And vegetarians? Tofurkey's lame. Have cheeze enchiladas or Little Debbie cakes or something.


DAILY LIMERICK 11/23/2006:

I've got a real prob with "Tofurkey."

It's fine if you're veg and shun turkey

but other veg treats

taste good and for meat's

protein I've got thing you can jerky!


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/23/2006:

Happy thanksgiving!

Ya' Slapper Yapper Grasshopper bastards...

Both Clay Aiken and Ruben Studdard's second CD releases have bombed.

So not only do we go into the Holiday Season with extra proof that God exists--but there seems to be a little more hope for the human race, as we're finally getting the hang of that Commandment about "not worshipping false 'Idols'"...

In-house Announcement in newspaper dated yesterday:

"Chicago Sun-Times Season of Sharing For Chicago's Needy Children: Help Fulfill Kids' Holiday Wishes!"

Ain't after Thanksgiving yet, pals. We're not bothering you with your Valentine's Day personal ad rates or, for that matter, asking how to list events in your St. Patrick's Day calendar, are we?...

So what are we thankful for here at DL/S&Y? Well, you're READING this, mostly.

Chief Limericist checking in, here:

I'm thankful that I have not yet heard from my ex-wife for Thanksgiving, meaning we can finally drop the ritual of contacting each other for holidays, birthdays and such and I can throw out or sell the rest of her crap.

On its face, that might sound a little callous, especially seein' as we're about to head into the official kick-off of the Holiday Season at midnight. (At least for those of us who are good, decent and not Satan worshipping, holiday cheapening ass-bastards.) But truthfully, the Holidays should be about GENUINE feelings, not token efforts at relationships based solely in ritual.

Now if you have children with an ex-, or are in other situations demanding a continued relationship--working at the same place, for instance, although I'd still recommend a new freakin' job, in that case--I'll of course make an exception, but otherwise... Well, this isn't high school. We're not all passing each other in the halls every day.

The idea of maintaining something with the exes is just hokey, hippie-dippy craploaf. Deal with any feelings for them you still have and get that over with. If you've guilt, find a better way than repeating the mantra "but we're still FRIENDS" of dealing with it.

So for myself, and as my advice to others in the ex- arena, I'll defer to my spokesman, newly appointed solely to speak on my behalf regarding ex- matters:

The Raven.


DAILY LIMERICK 11/24/2006:

TODAY starts the Christmas Time Season

despite all the marketing treason.

Christmas is like sex:

Desire can be flexed

but Magic killed with TOO much teasin'.


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/24/2006:

Hey, bro's? What goin' down? Catch ya' on the upside... Ahem.

For Thanksgiving dinner, we think we ate some bird of the "Jive Turkey" variety.



TODAY'S EDITION: ...This Section Was Prepared on Thanksgiving...

So "Entertain Yourself" is taking the week off, ya' loaf-toasters!

And since it's called "Entertain Yourself," why don't you do just that! Oh...sick... Well, what do you expect when you tell Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers to entertain themselves...


DAILY LIMERICK 11/25/2006:

Bein' lonely, the rebel could bear'a

but one chick entranced--could just stare'a!

Swore off swear'n off women;

found new goal for livin':

a quest to put the "ah!" in Sarah!


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/25/2006:

If a cannibal eats a Goldstein, you could say he/she has a meal "au Jew."


DAILY LIMERICK 11/26/2006:

The strangest thing 'bout tale o' Kramer's

not wild racist rant and de-famer

but that bomb, did he

at Laugh Factory--

the world's eas'yest gig--can't get lamer!


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/26/2006:

We know, we know--we've been using punnery as our comedic crutch lately, or more properly our "comedic" crutch, but... Well:

Do software pirates wear iPatches?...

So after the big anti-relationships-with-exes rant for Thanksgiving (Chief Limericist checking in...here) the Ex-Wife checks in via e-mail on Thanksgiving Day.

And I know that, writing wise, two forms of the verb "check in" in one sentence is bad form--should change one, I suppose--but "checks in" really best describes any contact from the Ex-Wife.

I could've thrown the whole missive into "Letters to the Idiot" because, well, Dating and later marrying medidn't generate sufficient interest for her to read my work, so why the hell would she pick up the habit now?

Back to the story: I replied to her e-mail. I may have some assy attitudes from time to time, but I am not real good at playing the actual ass role.

The Ex-Wife didn't happen to mention how her breast implants were doing.

And breast implants, somehow, really seem to sum up the whole concept of keeping a relationship with an ex...




(Touching in some manner, anyway)

TODAY'S EDITION: The Tale of the Derelict Renter/Roommate, Chapter Five--The Derelict Hibernates

The Derelict's take on our living arrangement was the opposite of mine. I'd hear him talking on his cell phone (when he had minutes paid for) with all his pals, most of whom were halfway house denizens or from similar strata of society, in a "they said I couldn't live on my own and 'pfft!' to them" tone. An oft-repeated phrase was, "Oh, I'm in heaven!"

In a way, it proved to be a reinforcement of life perspective--from another's point of view, my funk over having to rent out the second room in order to afford a condo I was "stuck with" was whiny, when it boiled down to it.

T.D. had actually gotten LAID with his kitchen-destroying friend and, although I certainly didn't envy the tail, I gotta admit that the very idea pissed me off. I had a Lady at the time--we broke up mid-June, about six weeks after T.D. moved in, to complete the framework for the Summer of Suck--but I knew that, were T.D. and my roles reversed, I'd have never reeled in a piece within a month.

Here I was, far from Donald Trump but owing a place; far from rich and famous but having a career--and despite what we're all led to believe, it doesn't mean much, getting' lucky wise. Then there's The Derelict, with just about nothing and little hope of attaining much of anything--but he had the chutzpah and lack of hang-ups to bring home the deal. Maybe it took him 50 tries, but he'd make those 50 attempts in a month. I'm not entirely sure I've made 50 in my lifetime.

T.D.'d told me at some point that he'd been with every type of girl but now wanted to meet a nice Polish girl and get married. That was another of his wildly optimistic and virtually impossible dreams. I'd eventually learn, however, that he wasn't necessarily bullshitting. He was delusional enough to believe these things.

I'd overhear T.D.'s cell conversations in which he'd repeatedly brag about a "28-year-old Polish girl" he was seeing. On pure persistence, evidently, he even dragged her to my place once. For her, I guess, it was an excuse to leave her residence in the halfway house T.D. formerly lived in. She looked frightened as hell of The Derelict--a relief, as I was worried about her until noticing the terror in her eyes.

After she left, T.D. told me, "I can't get anywhere with her; you can have her." And as nice as it was for him to offer me a chick as I'd offer him a leftover, barbecued chicken thigh, shacking up with a woman in a halfway house wasn't exactly the next fork in Life's road I was looking to take.

It was all more evidence supporting my inescapable conclusion that something wasn't quite right with T.D. Evidence that, of course, wasn't needed to "prove" the point but which continually painted the true picture of his hopelessness as worse and worse. You'd think that at some point, somebody can only BE so hopeless but... In my experience with The Derelict, I never found a low he couldn't lower.

There are little rules to any roommate situations--some dependent on the quirks of the living space in question. For instance, I have wood floors and try to clean as rarely as possible, so I enact the simple rule of no shoes worn in the house--take 'em off at the door. Oh, and don't run the microwave when the dryer's going or the circuit breaker will trip. Oh, and don't' open the dishwasher when it's running or dump bowls still full of uneaten food into the dishwasher... I didn't think these things were overly nitpicky. But he need to be told over and over again. And over again. And over and over again.

T.D. let food rot, oblivious to laws of decomposition. Once he had a trout filet in the fridge. For a couple weeks. It stunk, and I told him I'd have to throw it out. "Nooo!" he whined, seizing the fish, placing it in the freezer. I ended up tossing out that trout when he was hauled away--one of the times he was hauled away...but I'm getting way ahead of the story.

See, T.D. would haul home massive food depositories and such...and then not eat any of it. At first, I attributed this merely to his not knowing how to cook anything. And I mean that last line near-literally. I saw him make eggs and bacon. And heat up canned goods. And mix those things together. Oh, and mac and cheeze from a box. That's about it. After telling him how, for the fourth or fifth time, to, er, "prepare" frozen microwaveable fries--which he conveniently stored an army-sized bag of in my smaller-than-average freezer--I abandoned all hope for teaching him a damn thing. About cooking or otherwise.

But it was more than his general anti-know-how behind the lack of his food vanishing. He'd still be asleep when I'd leave for work. He'd be asleep when I'd come home. Sometimes, he'd be home and I wouldn't see him all day. This would lead to the extremely annoying trend of his waking at 2 or 3 in the morning on some nights--then having the gall to sit in the living room right next to my room--mine, not his--with the lights on, coughing and generally making derelict noises.

Why, I was locked out one night and our Godawfully booming and frightening buzzer wouldn't wake him (I eventually bummed a cell from a passerby and had to call him to be let in).

After learning early on that it apparently wasn't drinking that landed him in the halfway house, I now thought the reason to be pills. His brief stint of computer classes now over, most of his references to leaving the house involved seeing doctors for his "bad back."

I scrounged through some of the "notes to self" he kept in his wallet and such one day, rounded up numbers of a friend he oft referred to (who helped him move in) and of a therapist/professor pal who'd befriended him and took him on as a sort of case study, and I called these contacts. Told them what I knew and that I was worried about the guy's possible pharmaceutical habits and his sleeping a larger percentage of time than my cats.

Nobody seemed inordinately worried. "I'll talk to him," they each said.

At this point, however, I'd been tossed the hot potato that was The Derelict--and I was gonna have to handle the most unfortunate situation on my own.








TODAY'S POEM: Considerations


He is a mentor but

also a competitor.

(I wouldn't have noticed,

but a friend well-versed in noticing

shared this truth with me.)


The man just got back from Shanghai.

His stories about it are unvarnished,

but also quivering with joy.

Yes, the system there is exploitive

and the sky tastes like burning exhaust,

but I can already tell he's grown in stature.


Which is why I don't understand.

A trip to Germany has been offered to me

and he has let me know he does not approve.

Mixed with his professional, reasoned advice

is an unmistakable thing, a pale wriggling

jealousy. He's in anguish that I might see Hannover.


I don't know how to take this. A man I counted

as a friend has shown me his teeth. Do I smile back?


Or do I go for the throat?


[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.]



> Here's an inspirational Flabby Hoffman Familial Homestyle Holiday Limerick:


> For Thanksgiving I went to Nantucket

> I ate so much I through up in a bucket

> But things got real quirky

> When I stuck my dick in the turkey

> And I shit myself while I proceeded to fuck it.

Some say there is no such thing as a "bad" limerick.

Some are just plain stupid, too.


DAILY LIMERICK 11/27/2006:

With CD sales less than unbridled

lame Aiken and Studdard are titled

"has beens." So who reasons

we're modern day heathens:

We fin'ly don't worship false "Idols."


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/27/2006:

Some people complain about the overall friendliness of society--how they long for the days when people smiled at each other and said, "hello" (if such days ever truly existed, rather than being the results of selective memory).

We say: Don't smile at us unless you're possibly interested in our Johnsons! Really, things are pretty confusing on that level and it'd help out a lot!...

You know, in case Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers are pissed at the, er, less-than-newsworthiness of the editions lately, over the holiday weekend... Well, realize that most publications/columnists would just take the day(s) off.

I suppose it's in the eye of the Slapper Yapper Grasshopper which method is preferable...

Okay, okay! This nugget's newsworthy. Sorta. In a features kinda way:

I--Chief Limericist checking in, here--have been slightly troubled over the official beginning of the Holiday Season with Thanksgiving. Spent time with my nephews, who are, as one would expect, getting bigger all the time. And the Ex-Wife contacted me. So all of this and more set certain feelings in motion--regarding various exes and my spot in life as it relates to my dreams.

I'm an overwhelmingly optimistic guy and I've always been able to ride the Christmas Spirit, regardless of what else is going on in life. So I'm not worried about it but... Gotta admit I've went in and out of a funk, of sorts, over the last few days.

Then, printed right in my newspaper's TV Prevue thingie, was some help from above:

"SOLUTION: Jennifer Love Hewitt"

Why, of course!

Now, I suppose I should admit that this was a "SOLUTION" to the crossword puzzle deal with a partial picture of a celebrity in the center, but I'm goin' with it nonetheless.

So if you're thinking of sending me something for Christmas, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers, there ya' go: Jennifer Love Hewitt.

I won't get my hopes up, though. I know the Season isn't supposed to be all about gifts.

Something tells me that socks and underwear are more likely 'neath my Christmas tree, but it truly has been a long time since I had a present I couldn't wait 'til after breakfast to play with...



By David Sher

TODAY'S HAIKU: Fowl Business Haiku


In the chicken wars

Col. Sanders is outranked

By General Tso


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


DAILY LIMERICK 11/28/2006:

Today, pirates' most likely caches

ain't treasure--but software, in batches!

But here's what we're wond'ring:

Amid their e-plun'dring

are those pirates wearing iPatches?


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/28/2006:


"Trained Afghan Troops 'Are Our Exit Strategy'"

Nice to see that we have an exit strategy already for the one war we're involved in that DID have something to do with Sept. 11...

So Civil Rights Opportunist Jesse Jackson now wants to use Michael Richards' crap-act-turned-racist-tirade as a way of "opening a dialogue on race."

Call us old-fashioned, but we thought that intelligent, sensitive thought was best for "opening a dialogue"--not hateful, scatological, not to mention unfunny blathering.

And it was rough to do, but Jesse has found a new "winner" for the title of "Most Meaningless Jesse Cause in the Name of Civil Rights."

Always topping himself, that Jesse...

Was reading today that "researchers" are of the opinion that there's really no way to make yourself happy.

Unless, of course, you take some of the drugs those same "researchers" scrutinize...

We believe that yesterday's edition makes Jennifer Love Hewitt the most mentioned celebrity in the history of Daily Limerick!

We didn't count references or anything. But it did form a fine excuse to stalk...er, e-mail her again.

Her new Web site, for those of you still carrying a torch for DL/S&Y's quest to get JLH to pose nude in Playboy:


And now the LOST SLAPPIN' and YAPPIN'/LETTERS TO THE IDIOT that time almost left behind (last week)...


"Dog Owners Protest Insurers' Canine Profiling"

And that's NOT a "black lab"--it's an "African-American lab"!



Whaddaya know? Concerning the Friday, Nov. 20 "Entertain Me!" feature, this cat checks in (http://www.myspace.com/bizarromyspace):

> JOHN* and DAILY LIMERICK*,,,,,thankyou for your shalamalama fantastik review

> fantastique of The MIGHTY BIZ* live and in technicolour*,,,

> All the beszt*,,,,

> ASTON MARTIN* and the rest of *BIZARRO*

> p.s. there once was a band from Nantucket*,,,

Don't tell us--the band Boston was actually out of Nantucket, huh?

Anyway... Oh, we're a little flustered, this being the first time anybody's called us, or anything we've done, "Shalamalama."

Hold on a second here... Is that some sort of slur? We were taken aback by that "Macaca," too...


DAILY LIMERICK 11/29/2006:

Kramer's "comedy" Hyde 'n' Jeckling

to Jess Jackson, seemed med'ya beck'ning.

But di'logue on race

should stem from wise place--

not racist who can't handle heckling!


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/29/2006:


"Israel Offers State--Hamas Calls it 'Conspiracy'"

Well, of COURSE it's a conspiracy! If the Palestinians obtain the state they've been seeking for so long, it'll interfere with the their national pastime of Jew killin'!



TODAY'S EDITION: Important Holiday Reminder

Since other publications are already busying themselves with tips for eating healthy and exercising and all that crap over the next month or so, DL/S&Y feels obligated to step in and present this Public Service Announcement, and it doesn't appear anybody else will do it:

Don't forget to overeat this Holiday Season!



Checking in about yesterday's comment on how there's an exit strategy for Afghanistan, a nation that DID have something to do with 9-11:

> John, Don't get caught up in the political talking points. Theirs a lot more to

> it than that.


> Todd

Well, of COURSE there's more to it that our one-liners can do justice to. At least when WE bomb, we don't throw the "N word" around...


> Sugano Masahiro <superkamada@hotmail.com> wrote:


> Hi, friends. Please rate the following video for 5

> stars on YouTube.


> I'm doing some experimentation to see how many

> people I can bring in to the

> site.


> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=syrKOSXRp6o


> Eye from the Sky, Inc is considering a mini-YouTube

> series featuring Monte.

> Need your help, pals.


> Thank you.


> masahiro

You Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers check it out and get back to us. We're too busy getting un-caught-up in political talking points at the moment.


DAILY LIMERICK 11/30/2006:

For Holidays, most outlets bleat

tips to avoid too many treats.

Our PSA calls:

When you deck the halls

please don't forget to overeat!


SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 11/30/2006:

We were reading a bit recently about this push to make breastfeeding acceptable, legally and socially.

And we stumbled across the argument that it's a "natural" process.

Now, we don't have a problem with boobs being whipped out in public for whatever reason. But the "natural" argument just doesn't fly.

After all, it's natural to take a crap--but I wouldn't want to have people doing it in, say, the public library...

There's a farm in Janesville, Wis. famous for seeing the births of the rare white buffalo. Three of them, in fact.

White buffalo are believed by many Native American tribes to be omens of good fortune.

Early this week, the latest white buffalo calve to be born was hit by lightning and killed.

Now, we don't believe that a god or gods is constantly intervening among the human populace in our affairs. But...whoah.

Perhaps a commentary on Indian casinos?...


"Almond Joy! Cops Crack Nut Case"

And I--Chief Limericist checking in, here--was just wondering the other day why I never hear hide nor hair from any of my exes...


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


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