Daily Limerick
Archives: September 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)!



Golden Boy Obama has went

on trip to the Dark Continent.

If he wants to see

abject poverty

there're hoods HERE--time/cash better spent!




"Hurricane John Hits Mexican Pacific Resorts"

Hmm. Hurricane John.

Good job, meteorological community.

Now, bring on Hurricane Sloop!...



TODAY'S EDITION: Frat Boy Hecklers

As a comedic performer--Chief Limericist checking in, here--I'm not a big fan of hecklers.

That statement may seem to go without saying, except that some comedians actually like the bastards--many even have canned insults with which to deal with them and they're always itchin' to try out the latest.

While I don't have one-liners at the ready for hecklers, I've learned ways of dealing with them over the years. And whatever doesn't kill you on stage only makes you stronger, so usually a heckler only barely disturbs my act. So I don't particularly fear them, as I did when I was green around the loins.

But I still don't like 'em.

There are different types of hecklers. Some are serial hecklers--they go to shows regularly and, you guessed it, heckle performers regularly. Usually, they like to think that they are more funny than whoever is up on stage but, lacking the ambition or drive to actually pursue a comedy career, feel they can "prove" their "talent" in the only way they know how--downing too much liquor at a comedy club and harassing a working comic.

The titular Frat Boy Heckler is more-or-less a heckler of opportunity (although some are serial hecklers in training). They don't plan on heckling--in fact they may not have even originally planned to see comedy. But they find themselves out in a social situation, get a few drinks in them, realize they're not the center of attention and lash out at the guy/dame who IS the center of attention.

While Frat Boy Hecklers can be some of the loudest and most obnoxious, they're also the easiest to deal with.

I ignore them. And, like a schoolyard bully who'll actually befriend you once you show the spine to simply fight back (whether or not you're stronger), when handled this way they become a "fan" by the end of the evening.

That's enough about hecklers for today. Any questions?

Uh... Yeah, you! In the (ugh) leopard skin Speedo at the Dell?... Oh, hands-down, the absolute WORST hecklers are women. Which should fit in with the rest of your World View.

Pay attention, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers. With time, life eventually makes a little sense.

You might not LIKE the conclusions you reach, but it does, little by little, make more and more sense...



Now what the hell's with "break-up sex"?

To me, there's "light switch"--off for ex!

I protect my heart!

What, there's one small part

non-torn you'd like to match the rest?




"Tourists Flee John"

Good riddance! Come back again and I have even DIRTIER Limericks to welcome you to town with!



Ernesto's now "ex-" hurricane.

Thus, to Florida, did explain--

it's not state, but he

that caused "ex-" to be--

and they'll still be friends, he does claim!



Word is, Jessican Simpleton injured her throat somehow and... So? We KNOW that media consumers care about the most trivial of things concerning celebrities, but this still seems a little... Huh?

Ohhhh... Now we learn that Simpleton is actually a singer. That's what landed her on "reality" TV and... We suppose the hubbub sorta makes sense now...


"Hurricane John Seems to Spur Famed Resorts"

Well, that's because...er, because... All right. Enough milking of this joke well. We'll at least hold off until there's a Hurricane Sloop...

Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers, we need your input!

We know you rarely tend to write-in, but this is research, of a sort, for a future Sunday Story Time.

The topic? This thing they call "break-up sex." Heard of it? Done it? How often? What were the "results"? Would you do it again? Etc.

We'll be eagerly awaiting your replies.

Well, we'll be awaiting your replies, anyway.

Actually, we'll assume you WON'T reply and, if you do, delightful...




(Touching in some manner, anyway)

TODAY'S EDITION: A Life's Dream--Fulfilled!

Back when I was a child, as soon as I caught onto the phenomenon of nitpicky neighbors whining about things like the lawn maintenance of others on their block, I decided that one day, when I had a home and yard of my own, I wanted to be the "bad boy" of the neighborhood.

See, from a young age, I decided that, whatever I grew up to be (career-wise, etc.), I wanted to be anything but "normal." "Normal" translated, to me, as "boring," "conformist," etc.

Thus I imagined myself getting flack over the length of my lawn, perhaps bitched out for having a strange statue in the yard, shunned for not sending my kids to Sunday school like the rest of the lemmings--what have you.

I still don't have a yard or kids or any of that garnish. But accidentally ending up a condo owner, I now, finally have the ire of my condo association!

I didn't even do much to gain this honor. Complained to the board president (who takes his position WAY too seriously) about a window remodeling project that anally raped my wallet (which I voted against in vain). That started it.

Oh, I'm certainly the weirdo. Unmarried and ungay. The writer/editor/performer, as opposed to an accountant/lawyer/salesschmo. I've sat out in our courtyard a lot in the summer, wasting time, getting frightened looks from fellow condo owners--although I've hardly "rallied others against the windows project" as the board president accused me of. (I did badmouth it, a bit--but journalism training must have taken hold of me like instinct, for I couldn't help but encourage others to read into the matter, and mention the "other side," so as not to affect bias, namely citing that the better insulation provided by said new windows would save us money on heating bills.)

I always use the abbreviation "Ass." when paying my association fees, rather than the less innuendo friendly "Assn." There was the little matter of my tenant/roommate getting hauled out by the men in white coats... Ahem. (Said we wouldn't go there until a Sunday Story Time after he's gone.)

I guess that, in the end, the reasons I've become the Condo Association Bad Boy don't matter. I aspired to be the Black Sheep of the Neighborhood when I grew up and became a property owner--and I now am.

So I'll just focus on the fact that one of my life's dreams have come true. One down and...others to go...







TODAY'S POEM: Burning in window


Rice pours down from cracks in the

ceiling. Each of my fingers is a bell

that plays across your xylophone bed.

Call me in the morning when the sun covers

the street in hot broth. I'm waiting


for the sound of envelopes teased open

and clay figures kneeling on your roof.


[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.]



For Jess, tidings ill the news brings--

Ms. Simpleton's voice is hurting!

Still, when the fans pouted,

their reasons we doubted--

then we recalled... That's right! She "sings"!



So al-Qaida's latest direct-to-video release is out and this one features... Azzam the American!

Despite the star's show-bizzy name, though, he doesn't so much as pull a rabbit from his hat...



By David Sher


TODAY'S HAIKU: Philosophical Haiku III


A dichotomy

Is not a pup tent built for

Two philosophers


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



I'd like to be kept in the loop

on hurricane naming rule poop.

"John" made cheap thrill rise--

keep lobbying guys

'til we see a "Hurricane Sloop"!



Take today's Limerick to heart! Contact your representatives, or whatever! We need a Hurricane Sloop!...

Reminding you again that, although it's the day AFTER the holiday, we wrote today's, er, "entry" on said holiday...



Al-Qaida is trying to cease

it's evil tinge, seeking new lease

of hip with "Azzam"

but knows flicks will bomb--

thus direct-to-vid'yo release!



Continuing with the topic of today's Limerick... If al-Qaida is trying to hip it up, what with that trendy Shazzam, or whoever that much heralded American is, appearing in their latest vid, I sure hope they're not planning to wear white robes and turbans in the next release.

It being after Labor Day now and all...



TODAY'S EDITION: Social Snacking

Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers have undoubtedly noticed copious references in Daily Limerick to Little Debbie snack cakes and other such pogey bait. (Put "pogey bait" in your vocabulary knapsack-it's an old term my dad picked-up in the Navy.)

Well, contrary to popular belief, the DL staff isn't snack-o-holics... Okay, okay, I'll speak for myself. Chief Limericist checking in, here.

This is not to say I'm snack-o-phobic, of course. Only that I'm inconsistent. As an absent-minded-professor-like writerly stereotype, I'll admit that I often "forget to eat," so to speak. That is, I won't eat much for most of the day. But at my appointed dinnertime, I'll cow down in near record proportions.

Concerning snacking, when left to my own devices, I don't do much of it. The term "binge snacker" might apply, except that, recently, it occurred to me that I have a curious thing goin' on with my snacking pursuits. I noticed that I haven't been snacking so much over the last two and a half months--and, curiously, this lack of snacking has coincided with the end of a relationship.

It's been long enough since the heart-rape that my snack deficiency can't be attributed solely to emotional upset. Thus I can only conclude that I am a "social snacker."

Meaning--somebody come down here, quick, and cozy my Willie before I starve!... Oops, Sorry, I... (Chief Limericist checking out, here)...

"Cozy your Willie"? Sheesh...



If al-Qaida wants to portray

a new image, in modern way.

That 'Mer'can, Shazzam

(What's his name? The ham!)

Should lose white robes post-Labor Day!



Was reading a story on autism the other day and discovered that one symptom of the disorder is "head-banging."

Explains a lot about the '80s, no?...


"Man Arrested in Killing of 7-Eleven Clerk Over Taco"

Well. You gotta admit it's a better reason to off someone than religion.



In G-rated terms, deserves dang-ing--

the '80s so-called "music" clanging.

But sense has arisen--

reading on autism

learned one symptom of it's "head-banging."



So Steve Irwin, aka "The Crocodile Hunter," is dead. And you probably haven't been expecting some form of DL/S&Y tribute, but here it is:

At least this'll finally put the kibosh on those damn comics and their Irwin impressions, if any natural force can put a stop to it, anyway...

Saw two guys in sunglasses, tapping their way down the sidewalk with white canes.

One was guiding the other along.

Thought that was a metaphor to avoid but, hey...

As a performer (Chief Limericist checking in, here), I became a bit retroactively jealous the other day in thinking of how Elvis and The Beatles allegedly caused "spontaneous orgasm" in young female spectators.

Best I can hope for is that I've caused a spontaneous bowel movement...

Is a sex therapist working voluntarily thus doing "pro boner" work?



TODAY'S EDITION: Taking the Title Literally

Today's entry might've been a Letter to the Idiot--but it wasn't sent to Daily Limerick, but to me (Chief Limericist still checked-in, here). It was sent in reply to an ad I've been running to find a new renter/roommate and thus actually pay for the far-too-expensive condo I was saddled with via divorce.

And this fills the titular function to "Entertain," at least as it concerns... Well, me.

It begins:

> Hello.....

>   I am writing just to confirm if you  still have the room for

> rent..............If YES Please I will like

> to have answers to the following questions below:

So right off the bat she establishes that she's not some boring English major type. She then goes on to ask a list of questions that were already answered in my ad, with a couple "special" ones added, like this:

> 8) Lastly, I will like to know more about you and also

> I will like to have your pics as for me to know how my

> roommate to be looks like.

At this point, I began to wonder if I'd accidentally placed an ad somewhere seeking to be a reverse mail-order husband. Or something. (Cue "Forest Preserve Theme"--which somebody oughtta write.)

And oh, it gets even more loopy:

> I would like to go out with you on weekends and weeknights when we are both

> free.  I like going

> to movies,, concerts ,, plays,,I like camping, hiking, bike ridding...

However, she's not one-sided about the photo demands:

> I will take my time to get you one of my pictures in my next email ,so you can

> know how I look

> like, I am sure you will like me.

Now, I'm used to this sort of thing with women. And, sure, acquaintances and friends.

But does my Nut Magnet know NO bounds?



A fella, 'round chicks so long flustered,

hit lonely wall--socially blustered

'nuff to bang Ms. Hetzel.

Twisted her like pretzel--

sweat-salted and dipped in his mustard!



There's an old metaphor that goes, "After you touch a hot burner, you won't do it again."

Well, we're here to elaborate on that:

Sometimes you toss your whole nutsack up on a hot burner--and not only don't do it again, but avoid the stove altogether; hell, you stay out of the freakin' kitchen.

Then again, eventually you strap some bandages from your taint on up and hobble on in, needing to cook something at some point.

Hmm. Those nutty metaphors.

Ahem. Well, we have lotsa letters tomorrow, okay?



The untimely death of Steve Irwin

though tragic, does bring us a sure win--

bad comics' impressions

of Steve stop--a blessin'!

And thus for all, a his and her win!



I hope you all enjoyed the unavoidable festivities of "Peace Day."

Er... It was Thursday. I myself learned of it by seeing a boxed photo and caption in Friday's newspaper.

That was the only coverage of Peace Day I saw.

In fact, the only reference to Peace Day I encountered.

Telling in its own way, no?...

New pop culture term that will prove useful:


Those Buddy Holly-lookin' glasses hipsters are wearing, going for that whole "nerds are cool" air?

Lame. In fact, hella-lame.

Stop it. Stop it now...

Although we've been frequent cell phone critics, we just noticed the other day that, without cell phones, there would be no conversations on most public trains and buses...




(Touching in some manner, anyway)

TODAY'S EDITION: Timelines for Heartbreak?

I again feel compelled to remind Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers, right off the bat, that topics for Sunday Story Times are penciled in ahead of time--sometimes months ahead of time. Thus I am not currently the pathetic, shell of a man today's entry might otherwise indicate.

That being said, brief recap first... My summer kicked-off with a breakup. M'Lady up and left, so to speak. I did not handle this well. Oh, I didn't engage in stalking, or haul a gun up into a book depository tower, or even embark on a chick-bangin' festival o' "Love 'em 'n' Leave 'Em." My "not handling it well" was internalized, you could say--no bawling all over friends or family's shoulders or even bending their ears endlessly by prattling on about things.

I just thought. And thought. And thought about it. Over. And over. And over again. Oh, I went out and sought all sorts of diversions. Read a lot, wrote a lot, kept my general routines and responsibilities running mostly without a hitch. Many weeks, went out socially four or more nights.

Yet, due to the nature of my being, I could not help thinking about it. Over. And over... Ahem.

I'm an optimistic person. Even amid rough periods where my gut instinct is to think "I can't wait until (this month, etc.) is over," I chase negativity away with other thoughts, like "This is life, you could get hit by a bus tomorrow--so do your best to enjoy THE NOW." And I've grown pretty good at such self-therapy over the years.

But nonetheless, this summer was an emotional and psychological hell. Seconds seemed like hours--and I think that's what bothered me most. As a control freak, well... In most cases, if I'm upset about a situation say, at work, or in my writing, I can easily make myself NOT think about it (or think about it less). I can take steps to correct, say, a writer's block or a co-worker's obnoxious behavior.

But, in getting over this summer's breakup, all that seemed to work was time. After two weeks, it was ever so slightly less painful, for instance. After the first month, I went from near-overdosing on sappiness and blaming myself to a period of anger at her and, frankly, any remotely attractive female.

During a phone conversation with my sister, I said, "I just want to reach a point when I stop and think, 'Hey. I haven't thought about HER in a day or two!'" (And I thought to myself afterward, "I'll settle for a day when I don't think of her FIRST THING IN THE MORNING.") And I wanted to know how long I could expect to feel the way I was feeling, although I don't think knowing stats or facts on the matter would've help matters much.

So I found myself thinking about past heartbreaks--trying to find some sort of gauge or guideline--although, honestly, this was probably the most painful breakup I've ever went through, even counting my divorce. I looked on my computer for the dates certain files were created (poems)...thought long and hard to remember when, exactly, I felt "normal" (whatever THAT is) after past breakups (although I also have a philosophical theory that we never truly, completely "get over" things like this)...to no avail.

The breakup process is something you don't want to dwell on. And even though I couldn't stop thinking about it, I didn't want to--and I sure as hell wasn't going to engage in any activity that would CAUSE more thinking about it, such as writing dates on a calendar ala, "week I returned to masturbating daily again" or "first dinner, post-breakup, that was enjoyed as opposed to forced down."

Thus, the nature of breaking up is such that you almost CAN'T learn from it for the future, or at least not very much. And analyzing things like breakdown timelines is more-or-less admitting that you're planning to go through more of them in the future, which defeats my general quest for optimism.

Overall, I learned something about the seemingly un-definable, magic nature of love. When it's good, you don't want to define and analyze it so as not to spoil that magic. When it's bad, you want to stop thinking about it altogether. So, outside of a few "dwell in it," self-pitying poems, it remains a magical, inexplicable realm for me and for most of us.

Hmm. Somehow, this edition ended on a sappier note than I'd originally intended. Which is telling in its own way. For, try as I may, I doubt I'll be able to do the sane, safe thing and avoid women altogether from here on out. No, there will be many more summers flushed down the toilet... Er, I mean there will be many more delightful and romantic evenings.

Oh, what the hell: Love sucks donkey balls.









I is a lonely word and stands straight

up and down in the coffin of his making.

He is also half the equation of two

giants that fell and killed thousands,

and a war that kills more thousands.

I don't see God in the flag and I don't

see the flag in God. I is a nail in the

skin. But not the nails that pierced holy

flesh, nor missiles that smashed a holy land

and the fumbling attacks back. More a broken

nail, a microscopic look at the individual

and his problems, when really it is the world

and her problems that need consideration and

a salve.


Don't say salvation there. Again you are reading

too far. A solution would help us more.


A word that is a sideways bridge

joining the land and the sky, borne of

us. Seen as the highest reach for those of us

who are more, and less, than we wish we are.

I have not counted up where the lines are drawn

and where the wounds most cut and when the whips

have lashed, how much blood has soaked into the ground.


We can visit audio graves whenever we want,

the public property of anguished voices crying

on the line. They chant and scream and pray. The owners

of these voices know they are going to die and they know it.

They are calling out because they want to burn the stone,

scald it with memory and husks of grief that soak open freshly,

and they do not want to die alone as the I's buckle

and their eyes and ours

are open to it all. And even as they wither, they blossom,

and we try our best even when we wear out.


[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.]



This knuckle-humper checks in regarding an e-mail excerpted in Friday's "Entertain Yourself" section from a nutball, wannabe renter of my extra room:

> Regarding that e-mail from the potential roommate:


> Run the other way, dude.

Thanks. I would've never pegged her as a possible kook based on her request for a picture exchange, and insistence that we'd have to go out on weekends, alone. But where the hell were you with your red-flag noting advice BEFORE I got involved with my last girlfriend?

> Dear John,


> This is it: crunch time for getting the slanderous ABC television docudrama "The

> Path to 9/11" yanked off the air. The network schedule has this slanderous

> attack on Democrats...

I'd work on shutting up the Democrats themselves, first, considering this is an election year.

Oh, and here's ol' Mike, of Accursed Verse, er, "fame," checking in originally concerning a e-mail separate from DL/S&Y content but which also implicates said content as of late:

> Yeah, I've been on a roll lately. I've been more receptive to ideas lately.

> I'm glad you're working on new things, as well. However, unless you're

> either a teenager or dying of cancer then "Maybe it's the pain/Maybe it just

> is" is something you should think twice before uttering. I think that pain,

> and love, are both concepts that are better talked about implicitly instead

> of explicitly -- by how they make you feel instead of by their names. "Love"

> and "pain" are two overused words that diminish in power with each new emo

> band spawned to screech about the lead singer's self-involved heartbreak --

> he who is alone in the world with his guitar and his zits and his drama. In

> such a setting, words like pain and love and loss turn to ashes in the

> mouth. You're better than that shit. I hope things look up for you soon.


> (feel free to toss this one on the "Letters to the Idiot" fire)

Now, off the bat, I was not making an attempt at poetry with the taken-out-of-context-here lines, "Maybe it's the pain/Maybe it just is."

Also... Well, I wouldn't say that things are looking DOWN or anything, 'cept, of course, when there's a loose blouse in front of me but... Ahem.

Are you sayin' the S&Y Psychiatric Couch needs another fumigatin'?



On fifth ann. of September 'Leven

I think of hijackers, endeav'rin'

to get all those virgins--

my wish for them, surgin's,

that they'll "get" my exes in "Heaven"!



Here's an educational loan firm for ya':

First Marblehead.

He he. No need for a witty capper, we suppose...

Saw a Sunday newspaper ad insert which included a plug for a "boppy pillow."

Guess it's some sort of baby thing.

The term takes on a whole new meaning once a boy turns about 12...

Time for a correction:

In Sunday's edition, we mentioned a "Peace Day" that had taken place on Thursday, Sept. 7.

In Googlin' however, we've noted that a "Peace Day" is slated for...Sept. 21? So we're not sure if there's more than one such day or what. And we don't feel like looking into it much more. So this is more of an apology than an actual "correction."

Nonetheless, another telling nugget comes from http://www.peaceday.org:

"peaceday.org's server crashed and all was lost. The back up was corrupted so I have to rebuild it from old back ups. It will be back, but currently the email server isn't working properly and all email is being bounced."

Thus our original "point" in the mention is still valid.



By David Sher


TODAY'S HAIKU: Greek Legend Haiku II


I know that cows can't

Fly, but when you're in Greece, watch

Out for Pegasus


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



It's Fall and thus time for new sitcoms.

Will one of them be the new it-com?

More likely than not

that Hollywood lot

is throwing us even more shit-coms.



Received a letter via e-mail recently, by an acquaintance, and it was signed:



Oh, how we long to receive one signed: "Fondle-y."

He hee.




I often rant 'gainst cell phone squawkin'

but on public trans, use I'm hawkin'--

for our lonely masses

are, socially, asses

and, lacking cells, there'd be no talkin'!



A new alleged delicacy is hitting the scene: espesso.

That's no typo. Espesso is reportedly a solid form of espresso you can eat with a spoon.

Hmmph. Nobody calls it a delicacy when we leave the coffeemaker on overnight.



TODAY'S EDITION: Hot Pockets Overload

We here at DL/S&Y, for "Eat It!" and otherwise, have long extolled the virtues of Hot Pockets.

And it hasn't been easy. Hot Pockets are a frequent pop cultural target. Friends and acquaintances bash them. That comic I otherwise like, Jim Gaffigan, has a whole Hot Pockets-bashing spiel! But some things are worth fighting for--like Hot Pockets!

Well.. Sorta.

Chief Limericist checking in, here: I started enjoying the wonders of Hot Pockets about a year ago. I work as a host of music/variety shows approximately once a week in Chicago, and they're usually on weeknights and thus I'm to be up semi-early the next morning. The shows usually feature at least four bands and run as many hours. I eat before the show, rush home in a hurry, find myself somewhat hungry again and... Well, Hot Pockets fit the hunger job description and are convenient, to boot, when rushing around updating a Web site and preparing for slumber.

Soon after catching the Hot Pockets bug, a friend of mine told me that he, too, had been there--but that he'd gotten tired of them at some point and couldn't eat them any longer.

Hot Pockets are starting to linger in my freezer. I've lately spurned them in favor of, say, a frozen, microwaveable burrito or something. Thus I myself have faced this fabled Hot Pockets Overload.

Oh, I haven't knocked them off completely. In fact, in writing about them, I'm getting a taste for them and think I'll have one after a show later on... Ahem.

Perhaps the best was to deal with Hot Pockets is to never start using them.



We all agree Kate Couric's perky.

But pick for "real" news seems quite quirky.

'Least with network blather

she sure beats Dan Rather

if, watching, you give it a jerky.



So the City of Chicago is fixin' to repeal its recently passed ban on foie gras.

Take note, Big City, Big Mother alderman everywhere: You CAN take these legislative exercises in political correctness back.

Am I the only one noticing a lack of an afternoon crowd, where there once was booming business, in all these delightfully smoke-free restaurants that're supposed to see increased business any second now?...

As members of the Authors Guild, and folks who generally keep up on news related to the written word, we've been reading a lot about developments such as e-books and various theories concerning the future of physical books and periodicals.

Personally, we read our newspapers on public trans and such thus, despite being semi-tech savvy, can't foresee ever getting the majority of our news from anything but that most user-friendly of forms (not to mention wireless).

But when folks start whimpering about the "feel" and "smell" and "bookshelf filling" traits of books, well... Shut up. Just shut the hell up.

Actual albums were great for rolling, er, cigarettes, too but, well, in case you haven't noticed...

It seems that, for the fall fashion season, black nail polish is "in."

Wow. Coming off of those ill-conceived ready-to-open-envelopes-length toenails of this past summer, it only makes sense to promote that just-dug-up-worms-by-hand and/or recently-slammed-all-of-my-fingers-in-the-door look...

Imagine, if you will, a world run by Daily Limerick!

Oooh, sorry... Stop imagining that... Really: STOP IT! We don't want to take responsibility for the emotional trauma...

Continuing Adventures of the Adult Charlie Brown:

(Chief Limericist checking in, here.)

I have been sending out query letters and packages recently, seeking literary representation for my book-to-be, "Stand-Up Poetry."

The other day, I received a rejection slip. Nothing out of the ordinary, given the circumstances--even the most successful of books generally receive dozens of them.

Except when I checked my database tracking this process, I realized that the agency in question had ALREADY rejected me.

Rejected twice from the same agency.

Guess they just wanted to be extra sure I got the point...


"3 Gallery Shows About Women's Trouble With Men"

Oh, my! Three WOMEN having trouble with MEN. Let us pause to weep. In fact, let's declare a National Day of Mourning! Those poor, poor women, who would never, EVER cause a MAN pain or sorrow or... (Chief Limericist being involuntarily checked out, here)...



It's "in" once again--black nail polish

so't least have our 'pinion acknowledged:

That dug-worms-by-hand,


look Fashion World should just abolish.



Media folks:

Why do you bother "reviewing" Katie Couric's first night as anchor, Meredith Vieira's "Today" debut, etc.?

Chances are, anybody who cares saw those shows and anybody who didn't, well, skips your stupid reviews anyway.




More or less a solo singer-guitarist, I caught Chris with an accompanying bongo player.

I'm getting sick of wacky cover tunes--yeah, punk band covering Kenny Rodgers, shock-o-rama--but I did enjoy his version of "Gold Digger," or whatever Kanye West calls that tune. I have to subtract a few points, though, because Chris was afraid to sing the word "nigger," leaving an awkward silence in the refrain made even worse by the fact that it was supposed to rhyme with "digger."

As I'm not noted for being a whiz at describing performers' music, let's leave it at this:

Chris dwells in acoustic love songs and on the night I saw him, I was...well, in no mood for love songs. But he had me toe-tapping and even noting the brilliance of his lyrics.





Of bad taste, analingus jokes reek

'cause many find topic quite bleak.

They're best left alone

or told in right tone--

I find they work best tongue-in-cheek.



I had the most offensive dream last night.

It wasn't pornographic or anything. Merely ex-rated.



Ms. Hilton says charges ain't fair--it's

not the DUI that does scare us

but that she has license--

she so dumb, we're frightened

when she's merely Driving While Paris!



A riddle for ya':

When is a friend not really a friend?

When he or she comes from a MySpace "friend" request!


Well, riddles are for kids.

This one's great for younger kids. Those who haven't yet caught on to what makes something funny. Except, of course, that kids THAT young shouldn't know about MySpace.


(Chief Limericist checking in, here.)

I actually called somebody a "jelly head" this summer.

I was going for mean. Which is rare for me. And that's what came out.

"Jelly head."


Details? Keep watching Sunday Story Time, this fall!...

Chief Limericist, again--fuck it, we're fumigatin' the goddamned S&Y Psychiatric couch soon anyway.

Got a semi-annual e-mail from the ex-wife this weekend.

It said very little, but did mention that she's getting a boob job.

In a homey kitchen somewhere, one of those collectible Norman Rockwell plates falls from its wall nook, shattering into pieces upon the floor...




(Touching in some manner, anyway)

TODAY'S EDITION: Breakup Sex, Friends With Benefits and Booty Calls

Short version of today's edition: I do not, have not and plan never to engage in the titular activities.

A couple notes before delving into this further: One, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers can rejoice in the fact that these sap-laden, break-up related topics will stop ruling Sunday Story Time soon. And, two, there's the reminder that these topics are slated ahead of time, as they're thought up (since topics oft come faster than Sundays)--so one cannot judge your friendly neighborhood Chief Limericist's personal state of mind at any given time by what's revealed herein.

All right, then.

I've never been much for casual sex. Oh, there were periods in life where I thought that I, as a man, should be bangin' chicks left and right, devil may care, love 'em and leave 'em... At the risk of sounding politically correct, I was trying to conform to a seemingly "cool," macho gender role. Only I wasn't trying very hard because that didn't fit my individual personality, as I'm naturally shy (and--shudder--sensitive). So thinking I SHOULD be a Prince O' promiscuity and not pulling it off actually sent me into a self-destructive pattern which... Well, is perhaps a topic for some other Sunday Story Time.

I've had very few one-night stands and, of those, most weren't even One Night Stands Proper. That is, rather than meet a woman and nail her, same night, it'd be a friend of a friend or something, whom I'd meet and hang-out with a couple times and then end up rolling in the hay with once (as an example). And every time I've had these near-one-night stands, it hasn't worked out well for me. Either I ended up falling for and near-stalking the chick who wanted nothing more than that one Tantric Tango session or I regret getting involved with her on any level, leaving me wallowing in guilt and with an overall dirty, ugly feeling.

You could say that I have a difficult time keeping emotional attachment-type "love" out of physical "love." In fact, I was talking about this semi-recently and I called myself a "girly man" as it relates to casual sex.

However, the more I've thought about it, I've refined that position. Sure, "girly man" is all funny and everything but, not to be nit-picky... Well, when I think of the topic logically, I truly feel that guys into accumulating sexual partners are the "girly men"--trying to prove to themselves and the world that they're "real men." A "real man" tackles much harder tasks, such as keeping his word and commitments.

But girly man, sensitive poet type--whatever you want to call it, that's what I am. And, for the most part, I've come to accept that and to stop trying to craft myself into something I'm not.

The idea of "break-up sex" floors me. I've known of its existence for some time, I guess. I've had friends over the years tell me about how they hung-out with an ex, usually soon after a breakup, ended up letting emotion get the best of them and did the nasty--and, almost unanimously regretted it afterward. But it wasn't until recently that I learned this was prevalent enough to justify the term, "breakup sex." And I had no idea that some are actually of the opinion that "you can't have 'closure' and move on until you have breakup sex."

DL/S&Y conducted an informal survey on this. We weren't overwhelmed, but did get response. Some, apparently, have had breakup sex EVERY SINGLE TIME they've broken up. Nonetheless, I found nobody who would actually RECOMMEND it (outside of the "necessary for closure" remark). And I know of nobody who did the break-up sex thing and found success. "Success" here meaning... Well:

Just after my semi-recent breakup, during "explanatory" conversations or whatever the fuck you call 'em, I had a distinct feeling that the villain...er, that my ex was sorta hinting around initiating sex. Now, we had these talks more than once, and in between such meetings, I asked my sister about the whole idea. She'd advised, "Go for it! What do you have to lose? It just might rekindle those old feelings for her!"

I didn't follow my sister's advice. For one thing, I could only imagine more pain coming after such a thing--and I was having a bitch of a time going about my daily routines with the levels of pain that already then consumed me. Also, I have a "light switch" attitude toward relationships. If you're in a "friend" or perhaps "coworker" or "comrade" category, I'll likely never, ever hit on you. And once you go from "M'Lady" to "ex"... The switch is off.

As I was going through all of this crap, I'd occasionally "beat myself up," as the touchy-feely therapist types say. "Go for sex with her--for once in your life stop thinking about the repercussions or what you 'should' do; roll with instinct!" Or, "Just BANG that chick who's obviously coming on to you while talking about her boyfriend out of the side of her mouth. So what if this doesn't look like a path to the relationship you're seeking--have no-holds barred, mindless, no-strings-attached sex for once in your life!"

In fact I still sometimes wonder if I'm just alien or something. On the outside looking in, a mere spectator of the game of life--that there's something WRONG with me for never having a "real" one-night stand, a booty call source or breakup sex.

But as the pain has assuaged, time has passed and my head has cleared, I'm glad I acted exactly as I did. I have no reason to rethink my views on casual sex, breakup sex or any of the other titular activities.

Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers, of course, can do whatever they want.

But as far as I'm concerned, breakup sex is completely, utterly insane.







TODAY'S POEM: Heritage edition


There are those who discover themselves

by identifying their heritage.

It is like a swan gliding toward them

when they see their family tree is but

a single cluster of the dendritic reach

of community, strangers and love.


But I am Polish. What I know of my heritage

is a dim understanding of Solidarity,

the sweet taste of boiled cabbage

pouched against meat, the deep scrutiny

of spiritual doubt in The Decalogue, and

quite possibly I read one time of an important

man -- a duke of Poland? -- who was assassinated

and found decomposing on a Polish river's muddy bank.


My roommate, she's Irish, has searched for a

green spark in her soul. She sometimes

listens to Celtic strumming on encoded

discs, and she went to Ireland a few

years back. Her purse was stolen at a local

pub by a girl who distracted her with

faux good humored Irishness. At least she used

the stolen money to see one of Ireland's

own geniuses at the local playhouse.

This is according to the credit report.


I admit envy for those who are able

to internalize the donning

of ancestral clothes and ways.


But I also think they're mimes,

and I am a clown in the crowd.


[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.]



In regards to Saturday's Limerick, which focused on an analingus joke:

> Hey...I want at least 1/10th credit for this one.


> FH

Now, the Slapper Yapper Grasshopper checking in happens to be one Flabby Hoffman (http://flabbyhoffman.com), for whom I emcee live variety show extravaganzas. (Chief Limericist checking in, here.) In between bands, we give away prizes via this game show-type thing, for which he feeds me the questions--early this week, said questions unduly focused on analingus (as if any focus on analingus isn't unduly; geez, we're blushing and ashamed of ourselves again)... Ahem.

Anyway, I threw out the analingus joke in non-Limerick form during the show and now he's demanding credit.

Okay. I'm good with that. I'll direct 1/10th of the groupies I gain for Saturday's Limerick your way, Flab...



McCain and others GOP

in fighting Admin's torture spree

do contradict Bush

with their dissent's push

much more than from damn Dems we've seen!



Uncovered a redundant phrase in our weekend newspaper reading:

"Surprise hit game show."



By David Sher


TODAY'S HAIKU: Greek Legend Haiku III


Did Cassandra say

"Beware of Greeks bearing gifts"

Or, "...gifts bearing Greeks"?

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



As baseball gears-up for Fall Classic

some do find the prospect fantastic

but I say, "ho-hummer"--

go 'way, Boys of Summer!

Baseball's foreplay--football's orgasmic!



So, the Pope reiterates some ancient quotes from some holy what's-his-face, basically saying that Islam is a violent religion. Despite Popey's near-immediate apology, many Muslims became, understandably, pissed-off.

So pissed in fact that they... Oh, threatened to kill the Pope, for one.


Think all that through, won't you, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers?

Next time--and there certainly will be a "next time"--the Pope shouldn't waste energy on the apology...

Although she'll never admit it, you know damn well that Hillary Clinton hates Barack Obama.

And don't forget: We're more enlightened these days but old prejudices die hard--and this country gave blacks the right to vote BEFORE they gave women that right...


"FDA to Shoppers: Don't Buy Fresh Spinach"

Enjoy heeding that advice while you can, for you certainly don't see an FDA recommendation like THAT very often.

But do heed that advice, no matter what grandma says.



The FDA says: "Don't eat spinach!"

E. coli could be lurking in it!

So make sure and heed it--

you won't hear repeated

advice like THAT, 'fore your life's finished!



So, the fall fashions are finally "out" in New York!


Coming this weekend in Daily Limerick/Slappin' and Yappin': Post 2008 Election Analysis!...

We were reading recently about recipients of the MacArthur Foundations' "Genius Grants."

And we figured, shouldn't someone instead be awarding "Idiot Grants"? Don't THEY need the money more?

Then we thought about our elected servants, TV ratings, pop culture...and took back our original assessments: Idiots have far too much going their way already...



TODAY'S EDITION: Caramel Reese's

Reese's, of peanut butter cup fame, has a new snack out: Reese's Peanut Butter Cups with Caramel.

Mmmm. What a combo! And it's that gooey, liquid kinda caramel!

Usually, variations on classic snacks like this don't last long.

But we're willing to give in the "Daily Limerick Seal of Approval."

Not that they'd print it.

Which might be a good thing, come to think of it... But, no, DON'T think too much on it...



The Pope caught flak--called Islam violent;

now death threats, on his head, are pilin'.

Said "sorry" for slight--

but threats show he's right

(next time, skip the "sorry," stay silent).




"Iranian Leader: America Uses U.N. to Threaten"

Now, especially considering recent events, the U.S. is certainly a ripe target for all sorts of accusations.

However, THIS one... Well, is it really much of a "threat," considering, well... Is ANYBODY afraid of the U.N.?...


"Starbucks Aims Higher in Plan to More Than Double its Location in United States"

Ahh. So THAT'S what's behind the hammering and general clamor coming from the until above my home...

Read an interesting interview this week with Jill Tarter, director of the Center for the Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence Research.

Not impressed with Tarter's creds? Okay: She's the real woman that Jodie Foster's character in "Contact" was modeled on. Take a moment to wallow in FINALLY being impressed.

Anyway, Tarter stated that, should Humanity encounter alien life forms, "Maybe we'd understand that the differences we kill each other over are really trivial."

I wholeheartedly agree--"trivial" when compared to, say, the difference between us and those stinkin', job-takin', non-English-speaking E.T.s...

As long as we've veered into discussion of grand philosophical matters, lately we (oh, who're we kidding--Chief Limericist checking in here)... Anyway, we've, er, I've been thinking about how men have kept women oppressed and all throughout history, under most every culture and religion and historical period, and, well... Especially after this Summer of Suck, I see why!

I think it's a terrible, terrible thing to do, of course. Hell, I consider myself a feminist. Equal pay, blah blah blah. I'd vote for the right one for Prez. Hell, some of my best friends are... Ahem.

But I do understand the motive behind the oppression.

Chief Limericist, knowing when he's not wanted, checking out, here...

Do you recall the frothing, livid "comedian" who wrote in this summer to counter our Chief Limericist's allegation that comics, especially Chicago comics, are mostly asswipes who snivel and pout if they have to face an audience that's not completely friendly and nurturing?

Well, he has yet to show up at one of the show's the CL hosts to do comedy, as he said he would. Curiously, the same can be said for the dozen or so comics he could name offhand, for whom he made the same claim.


You know, we e-mail those "featured" in DL/S&Y fairly regularly, for publicity and such, but mostly with the hopes that some self-important wahoo will get all offended and sound off to us, for all our amusement.

Rarely is anybody stupid enough to take the bait.

So, do you all when that Chicago comedian wrote in about this? Rick March, of Laugh All Nite, Inc., 1360 Old Skokie Road, Suite 2N, Highland Park, IL 60035, 847-831-0484, rick@laughallnite.com, http://www.laughallnite.com?

'Member that?



Regarding yesterday's Limerick, which dealt with the e. coli/spinach crisis:

> I ate spinach that I bought on Friday and I lived.  Bummer for me, that

> would have made a big lawsuit.

Confess: That was a filler stunt for the new "Jackass" movie, wasn't it?



Iran says we use the U.N.

for, of all things, "threatening" them.

But "threats" work on fear

and it's rather clear:

With "threats" like that, who needs good friends?




"Tea Bag Protest Could Harm Mail Delivery: Postal Service"

Hmm. Reading further--

"Seeking a Midwest version of the famed Boston Tea Party, Illinois' second-highest politician..." Hmm, indeed.

From there, the story got boring. So I don't know what the hell they're protesting or how it'll effect mail, but please come down to the Daily Limerick Towers with your, er, "tea bag" protest... Just watch the teeth and such, of course...


"Tainted Spinach Found in E. Coli Victim's Fridge"

See yesterday's Letters to the Idiot.

And pray we haven't lost another Slapper Yapper Grasshopper.

But we did try warning you. Which gives us an idea for a catchy slogan--

Daily Limerick: Death awaits the non-reader...

We were excited to open our newspaper yesterday and discover a "Dealer Locator" section in the center spread.

Until we realized it was a GM car dealer locator.

We initially thought it was for, well, um...ham. Yes, ham.

Sounds good about now, tasty ham--perhaps for Rosh Hashanah tomorrow...

We should've been calling this month "Slooptember" all along.


Mark your calendars for next year...



TODAY'S EDITION: Jaik Willis (Again)

We profiled Jaik back in January for this section, but he didn't have a Web site then, or at least he didn't mention it. Now we know of them--yes, he has two, sorta--so we're tossing him in again for this edition.

Folksy, unique voice; oft with a near-yodeling quality; delightful lyrics; and a song called "Shoot Bush." So--


But he says that one's more "corporate" (to give out to producers and the like) and that his MySpace account is more "gritty" or whatever:




Here's Mike of Accursed Verse, er, "fame" checking in:

> Hi, John. I know what you say about your life in your e-newsletter is often

> unguarded, but I need to ask for more clarification on this one:


> [Mike then quotes yesterday's S&Y, specifically a nugget wherein I said I

> understood the "motive" behind men--in every culture, religion, time period,

> etc.--keeping women oppressed although I, of course, think the practice

> nonetheless "terrible." Oh, chief Limericist checking in, here.]


> What is the "motive" you hint at but don't spell out? I mean, I know the

> recent relationship collapse has left you rattled. But is this something

> you'd say if you weren't in the throes of that pain? Full disclosure: when I

> broke up with my first girlfriend, I wrote a seething story about how "all

> women are sluts," as I so artfully put it. Now I see that story for what it

> was: me in pain, lashing out with anger and hate, in deep sadness, feeling

> lost and discarded. I just think you should let this one sit for a while,

> and come back to it later.


> Oh, and my girlfriend told me she read one of your Daily Limericks out loud

> to her young brother recently. I thought that was sweet -- and strange.


> Talk with you soon


I thought maybe that one would piss somebody off (Chief Limericist still checked-in, here).

My point was... Well, to use a similar example: O.J. Simpson. Wife left him, he saw her with another man... I can understand having the URGE to kill the guy (and her). Let's face it, we're hunter-gatherers and, instinctually, we've evolved to kill others who might be encroaching on our hunting grounds, or stealing our cave women, should the need arise.

However, we're civilized and all that crap (somewhat), so I can't imagine killing my fictional ex-wife in this case IN REALITY, but I do understand the human anger welling up and the irrational thoughts going through one's head. And I think that O.J., or others performing such acts, should, of course, be locked-up for life and all that.

By the same token, I can understand the motive behind a whole plethora of crimes--date rape, pie-cooling-in-the-window theft, etc.--at the same time I morally condemn them.

So perhaps it came out wrong, but my point was: I can understand Grook the caveman, or Chuckius the Roman, or whomever, having had his wife run off with another man she met at a ball or whatever, decide, "Let's pass a law that women cannot leave their homes unattended by male escort!"

Yes, as I mentioned, I was pondering this in coming off my Summer of Suck--but just because I can UNDERSTAND THE MOTIVES of Grook or Chuckius or whoever, I still think they'd be nuts, and dangerously so, to actually go through with the law or whatever. Not to mention that Grook or Chuckius perhaps should learn to help out around the cave more, or write his woman a poem now and again, or be more attentive in bed as a means of keeping the next woman. And they should also realize that, sometimes, shit happens and that a woman is an individual--no matter how much it hurts, she has the RIGHT to leave you and, even if you pass a law to keep her in shackles, that won't make her love you.

It was supposed to come off humorous through "emotional exaggeration." But I guess I "missed."

And I encourage Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers to read Limericks to children. I'd probably avoid Saturdays, though.



Chicks' sexy fall boots are now red

hot, so guys' fall dreams are well fed.

Though they're nice for staring,

prediction: chicks wearing

those hot boots right over their heads!



Officially the first day of fall! Celebrate the official end of the Summer of Suck!...

Now, TV grid listings don't allow a lot of room for their writers to summarize shows, especially those only a half-hour in length, but:


Performers leave."

Sounds like a pretty good episode to us.



These shows where B-list stars do test

their singing or dancing, the pests,

have me wond'ring who

is watching this spew--

they're washed-up at what they do "best"!



So, after centuries of hatred for the Jews, Hamas, responsible for getting most of the Palestinians' international aid cut off, backed into a corner... Suddenly declares, "screw history and centuries of tradition--we renounce violence and accept Israel as an independent state!"

So, wow. Peace in the Mid East has been accomplished. Just like that...

Wal-mart will soon be offering $4 prescriptions.

We didn't know medicinal sweatshops even existed...

They're raising prices again, so it's time for a much needed reworking of an old saying:

A fool and his money...go to Starbucks...

Wow! Barry Bonds tied Hank Aaron's National League home run record--and the story's far from front page, or even front-of-sports page; in fact, it's tucked away in the sports section.

Hmm. Wonder why that is? We can't imagine...

Reading the theater listings in our local paper, we realized that there are TWO shows with titles making a pun on the '80s (?) film, "Breakin' II: Electric Boogaloo."

Funny name--and funny puns. When we first heard some of them over 10 years ago.




(Touching in some manner, anyway)

TODAY'S EDITION: The Closure Myth

Ahh! The last run in a long line of sappy-assed, breakup related SSTs!

(Editors' Reminder: Topics for Sunday Story Time are e-penciled in well ahead of time, thus we remind you that the psychological state of our Chief Limericist cannot be discerned at any given time by the contents of any current SST. The psychological state of our Chief Limericist within Daily Limerick but outside the realms of SST perhaps can... In any event, we advise Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers against dwelling within the topic for our Chief Limericist's psychological state, in any way, shape or form.)


It's that hip and edgy end-of-relationship buzzword. "I do declare; I finally feel we have CLOSURE on the relationship." "We really need to, like, work on getting CLOSURE to 'us,' you know?" "Blah blah fucking closure blah."

First of all... How do you define "closure"? And is there some magic talk or action that gives both sides this "closure"? Or is one side, perhaps the close-ee, the one with the alleged, "spiritual," hippie-dippy pile of dunk called "closure"?

Closure. Pffft.

You know what? I'd venture to say that MOST of my relationships arguably lack "closure." Oh, I understand some of them--and many times I've most certainly been at fault, if we must assign one to that F-word. But a good chunk of them don't make sense to me. I feel I wasn't completely filled in. That key facts were curiously just left out of any explanation. And...so? The end result is the same and you have to deal with that.

And guess what? Your significant other breaks up with you tomorrow, you have no idea why he/she is really doing this, didn't see it coming, you start to discuss it and he/she runs out the door in a huff, you run after him/her--but not in time, as you watch helplessly as he/she walks right in in front of a bus, kablooey, kersplat!?

You're not gonna die on the spot because you didn't have "closure." In fact, you'll eventually move on and life will be more or less it was before you met Mr. or Ms. Poopypants.

Closure, my ass.







TODAY'S POEM: Slipped under


You stir the sea with a giant spoon

connected to anchors and weights.

The moon turns into a dime in your spill

and cannot be exchanged for another offer.

Ships are sleepy reminders of day.

They glide. The fish are circling a circle

encased in glass and sopping wet words.

I remember that night. The docks were high.


[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.]



Regarding Friday's Entertain Yourself section:

> You assumed that i had no CD

> you should have asked me that directly

> I have more than one,

> though that night i had none

> cause I had sold them all perhaps hopefully


> I've had 2 websites all along

> with recordings of some of my songs

> if you'd looked on google

> a search may have been futile

> if you didn't know I spel my name wrong


> you said I have a song called "shoot Bush"

> its illegal to say that as such

> i never said what president

> you infer what it meant

> though I'ld be glad to hear he had been ambushed


> in any case if you want for a disc

> you can get one as easy as this

> I'm at the bars to play

> like Wise Fools on Tuesday

> 9pm each week if this week you miss


> - jaik

> jaikwillis.com

> myspace.com/jaikwillis

Not bad. Perhaps not Chief Limericist material, but not bad.

In any event, you shouldn't take Entertain Yourself seriously. Nor the rest of this site, for that matter.

Nor anything, really.



Its prices are always in flux--

just upward, but that won't stop shmucks

from their trendy run-nies:

"A fool and his money

go to coffee trough of Starbucks"!



A new movie, "Man of the Year," casts Robin Williams as a comedian who becomes president of the U.S.

Robin William? Playing a funny guy?

Another one of those tough "real actor" roles he's been shooting for lately, huh?...



By David Sher


TODAY'S HAIKU: Greek Legend Haiku IV


Medusa's uncle

A cheese head from Wisconsin

Named Gorgonzola


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



High cost drug prescrips we soon will

at Wal-Mart, for four bucks, have filled!

'Nother blow, Mom-and-Pops--

didn't know that sweatshops

existed for making of pills!




"37 Shiites Killed Ahead of Ramadan"

Over-commercialization of the Holidays doesn't seem quite as bad, somehow...



Mass killings kicked-off Iraq nation's

big holiday, Ram'dan cel'bration!

Though I'm critic frequent

now don't feel like nitpick-

-ing over Yule commerc'yalzation.



I'd like to have a studio audience follow me around. (Chief Limericist checking in, here.)

And there's a reason I said "studio audience" and not "laugh track." Wimpy Hollywood fucks--earn your laughs after facing years of evil, drunken, wouldn't-know-good-humor-if-it-came-up-and-bit-'em-right-square-on-the-taint crowds that send you moping home, bawling, rushing to bed and curling up in an embryonic ball... Ahem.

Anyway, I think a studio audience would well suit my life. Not all the time, of, but in certain periods like... Well, like right now:

"The tenant roommate still technically COULD get out of the psych ward before his lease is up!... The ex-wife announces she's getting breast implants!... And another ex- calls up out of nowhere, mysteriously ends the conversation practically mid-sentence, and then promptly disappears yet again--next Sloopfeld!"



TODAY'S EDITION: Snacks as Meals

Have you ever started snacking in the afternoon and gotten so carried away that you weren't hungry for dinner?

It's not a bad idea. Well, perhaps it is. Leaves your stomach with a funny feeling. And you could very well end up being REALLY hungry well past your normal dinner time, wreaking havoc on your digestive system and besetting you with wacky dreams.

If you HAVEN'T made snacks into a meal--try it, today! Bastards. See how YOU like it.



That new movie, "Man of the Year,"

does have Robin Williams appear

as comedian--

achieving his plan

of tough roles that actors hold dear!



COUNTDOWN: Two weeks (er, 13 days--whoops) until Daily Limerick's Second Annual National Salisbury Steak Day! (AKA, National Salisbury Steak Awareness Day.) Mark your calendars for October 11th!... (Normally, it would be October 4th as it coincides with the first "South Park" of the fall season, but the Chief Limericist has a performance that night so, well... So there!)


"Man With 10-Year Erection May Lose Award"

We can see where that might present problems with, say, a "Father of the Year" or something.



It's more festive than is December--

just too bad I didn't remember

'til we're at month's end

that we should pretend

that it's really called, why, "Slooptember"!



COUNTDOWN: Twelve days until Daily Limerick's Second Annual National Salisbury Steak Day! (AKA, National Salisbury Steak Awareness Day.) Mark your calendars for October 11th!...

The Chicago Poetry Foundation has named Jack Prelutsky the nation's first Children's Poet Laureate! "Children's" because, well, his stuff rhymes and even has (gasp) rhythm, making him ineligible for any sort of modern adult poetry distinction.

Most exciting, however, is the fact that Prelutsky also gets a $25,000 prize for the endeavor, upping the count to four living poets able to (possibly) survive for a year off of writing poetry!



TODAY'S EDITION: Team Performance Poetry

Team performance poetry is probably almost as old as poetry itself, but lately we've noticed it becoming semi-hip. Perhaps a tad more prevalent than in the past. We think, anyway.

In any event, the point is: It's lame. Oh, there are exceptions, blah blah blah. Theoretically the team approach can bring the equivalent of harmony to verse--two voices making their point in different ways, the addition of a dramatic element, etc. But we've yet to see it fully utilized that way.

Oh, we've seen it used to exercise poets' penchant for sketch comedy--conveniently under the umbrella of "poetry," however, and thus not under pressure to be actually funny (should the poets fail in that endeavor and, should they not, well--theoretical win-win). Of course, this comedy without pressure is a feature of much so-called performance poetry, as well.

In any event... We could blather on and on about this. Hell, we could do it with a team approach! But point (again):

Team performance poetry is lame.

Make that hella-lame.



Man heard, of a party he'd kick at,

"more fun than you can shake a stick at."

Took that lit'rally

and dampened the glee

caught by punchbowl, shaking his dick at.



COUNTDOWN: Eleven days until Daily Limerick's Second Annual National Salisbury Steak Day! (AKA, National Salisbury Steak Awareness Day.) Mark your calendars for October 11th!...

Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers may know that I, Chief Limericist, rent out a spare room in order to afford the condo I was blessed/cursed with in divorce fallout.

Perusing classifieds, I've noticed many seeking a "professional roommate."

Personally, I don't like the sound of that one bit...

And speaking of classifieds, did you know that a "coat attendant" at Chicago's Museum of Contemporary Art somehow qualifies as an "administrative and professional" position?

Requiring thinking outside...the hanger?


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


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