Daily Limerick
Archives: January 2007

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

 

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

 

DAILY LIMERICK 1/1/2007:

As countdown ends, they say a kiss

sets one's New Year on course for bliss.

Most do so on lips

but I say get ripped

and plant kiss from where one does piss!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 1/1/2007:

Oh. Oooh. Yikes... Shhhh!... Oh... Ohhh... OhhhhowwwwOWWWwww... Ohhhhhh...

***

SPECIAL"PULL-OUT" MONDAY"OPEN UP 'N' TAKE YOUR MEDICINE" HAIKU HEALTH SECTION 1/1/2007:

By David Sher

 

TODAY'S HAIKU: Somnolent Haiku

 

You have a problem

When you have narcolepsy

Plus sleep apnea

 

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

So sound off:

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

******

DAILY LIMERICK 1/2/2007:

It's lame-ass, but somehow quite fitting,

Subway's diet (small print) bullshitting

has found fake "athlete"--

pro "wrestler"--to bleat

'longside Jared to do shill's bidding.

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 1/2/2007:

A combination of automobile crash safety technology and naming of popular Apple Computer products has brought us... iDummies.

And... Naw, too easy...

Funny, but despite those of us in states like Illinois being all too free and willing to bash "Red States" for their ignorance toward facts such as Evolution, my decisively "Blue State" Chicago Sun-Times devoted SIX PAGES of yesterday's edition to "astrology."

One man's 14th Century mumbo-jumbo is another man's fact...

******

DAILY LIMERICK 1/3/2007:

Though, of course, it's ads that do pay

for NFL games, we've malaise

'cause now advert breaks

bring us back so late

they oft have us miss half a play!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 1/3/2007:

Over the Holiday season, the Jackie Robinson Elementary School in Chicago decided to treat its mostly underprivileged students to a meal at Old Country Buffet.

In the Jan. 2 Chicago Sun-Times, Sheila Fleischhacker, a "nutrition scientist" at Loyola University, writes in about the sending "the wrong message blah blah blah," what with our population fattening up by the second and all.

We'd think the Old Country Buffet trip would be a great opportunity for those kids to learn about making smart choices in the face of plenty.

Oh, that's right! We're banning smoking in the health havens of bars and New York's just banned trans fat--we're not responsible for our health anymore! We've passed that duty on to government.

Can't imagine anything possibly going wrong with this arrangement...

The latest edition of the "Complete Peanuts" compendium includes an introduction by...Diana Krall?

Well, Schroeder is the featured cover character, and he plays piano, but... Did they try Dave Brubeck? Elton John? Hell, Rolf from "The Muppet Show" maybe but... DIANA KRALL?

I guess that, since DL/S&Y runs that Friday "Entertain Yourself" section mostly focusing on musical acts, younger Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers can look forward to "The Complete Daily Limerick" one day, with one edition bearing an introduction by Kevin Federline...

***

SPECIAL "PULL-OUT" WEDNESDAY "EAT IT!" SECTION 1/3/2007:

TODAY'S EDITION: Ice Cream Interpretations of Candy Bars

Ice Cream Candy Bar Interpretations

At first we were suspicious of the Snickers, Reese's, etc. ice cream offerings.

It seemed to us that Big Candy was capitalizing on well known brand names to usurp market share from legitimate ice cream professionals who, after all, brought us such delights as malt cups and chocolate frozen bananas and Dreamsicles.

But recently, in a post-late-night-show snacking frenzy, we scooped up a Twix and a Nestle Crunch ice cream bar, plus another candy-named one that we've forgotten over the Holiday Haze. (Admittedly, the Crunch variety isn't of the new breed, but now an old standard.)

And you know what? These creations are not mere half-assed knock-offs. They're legitimate CULINARY INTERPRETATIONS, translating candy bar into the language of ice cream.

For instance, the Twix ice cream bar, for starters, has ice cream, which a Twix candy bar lacks--and maybe that primes the creative pump for interpretation in all of these cases. The Twix ice cream bar has chocolate and some caramel--but less of a caramel-to-the-rest ratio than a typical Twix--and it only includes bits of cookie, rather than resting the whole treat on a cookie, as does the candy bar.

Thus it answers the question, "What would a Twix bar be if originally conceived as ice cream?" while not trying to copy the Twix formula into an alien snacking medium.

While some of these interpretations are better than others, of course, we've found the artistry to be common ground among various candy-bar-to-ice-cream offerings. And we apologize for initially doubting the trend and for avoiding these treats in the grocer's freezer.

Having avoided them so long is punishment enough for our misdeeds, we believe. We'll make it up to you, Big Candy, all on our own...

******

DAILY LIMERICK 1/4/2007:

'Mong tabloid celebs, she's humdinger--

subject to many talk show zingers

and though she's quite hot

we nearly forgot

that Britney Spears found fame as "singer"!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 1/4/2007:

Headline:

"Lou Rawls Jr. Sues Marvin Gaye III"

Geez. And I thought that "Muppet Babies" and "Tiny Toons" trend was annoying...

Chief Limericist checking in, here, with another headline:

"Mannequin Fetish May Lead to Life in Prison"

Well, the sex must be as least as good as with my ex!...

JOKING! Just JOKING! Couldn't pass it up...

Actually, NOT joking--but I didn't say WHICH ex. Certainly not any that would be reading this...

******

DAILY LIMERICK 1/5/2007:

So New York has now banned "trans fats"

'cause folks eat bad--we can't have that!

Thus morality

of Lib'ral elite's

enforced: Taliban tips its hat!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 1/5/2007:

Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers may have read about the scandal involving pharmaceutical company Abbott's marketing of its more affordable AIDS drug, Norvir, in a way so as to discourage too many people from buying it, to profit even more from its more expensive AIDS drug, Kaletra.

Reportedly, an Abbott exec even described Norvir as "tasting like someone else's vomit."

At long last, Life imitates "Spinal Tap"...

Read today that the '80s musical nightmare Air Supply will be playing the 20th Anniversary Alzheimer's Association Rita Hayworth Gala this coming May.

Well. In this case, everybody will be envying the actual victims, as they'll be the only ones present who'll have little trouble forgetting this attack of cultural terrorism...

Chief Limericist checking in, here.

My roommate/renter recently bought a full-on, honkin' box of clementines. A bargain, I suppose. Perhaps a New Year's Resolution, to eat more fruit, gone wrong.

And she's hardly eating any of them, but she invited me to help myself so they don't all go bad.

So now, whenever I peel one open, a song launches in my head: "Oh my darlin', oh my darlin'..."...

***

SPECIAL"PULL-OUT" FRIDAY ENTERTAIN YOURSELF SECTION 1/5/2007:

TODAY'S EDITION: Blackbox

Blackbox makes good, dependable, theatrical, never-out-of-style rock.

(That's a safe description. It was some time ago I jotted them down on the Entertain Yourself roster and I'm, of course, the World's Worst Music Critic to boot.)

When I saw them, they ALMOST, I say ALMOST talked two hot, dancing audience babes into coming up to gyrate onstage.

I learned later that the cats in the band don't even drink. So they're balls-out nuts (in a good way, as opposed to an ex-girlfriendy kinda way)--and fueled purely on a rock 'n' roll high.

Oh, and these ambitious bastards also have a show on Fearless Radio, an Internet station. Fridays, 4-6 p.m. For more info:

http://www.myspace.com/blackboxfever

http://www.myspace.com/blackboxfever

******

DAILY LIMERICK 1/6/2007:

When some chicks mount flirting attack

they'll brush boobs lightly 'gainst your back

as if accident

but off guys'd be sent

if we did the same with our sacks!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 1/6/2007:

Excerpt from a newspaper feature story:

"Join the Morton Arboretum's 29th annual Yule Log Hunt..." Hmm.

I was trying to get one of those goin', myself. Only I didn't think it was still a "Yule" version...

******

DAILY LIMERICK 1/7/2007:

It comes out, Obama used...drugs!

Up some folks' butt, that puts a bug!

So did most of us

but facts cause a fuss

so Drug War sweeps them 'neath a rug!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 1/7/2007:

Saw a "help wanted" ad for the American College of Healthcare Executives.

If anybody from Homeland Security's reading, there's a terrorist training camp tip for ya'.

***

SUNDAY STORY TIME 1/7/2007:

A SPECIAL, TOUCHING SECTION APPEARING SUNDAYS ONLY

(Touching in some manner, anyway)

TODAY'S EDITION: The Tale of the Derelict Renter/Roommate, Chapter Nine--The Derelict REALLY Loses It (and I thought he already HAD)

On August 16, The Derelict's hearing/possible release date, I checked my home messages from work all day. Called The Derelict's brother. Returned home to find no Derelict, called his brother again... Had no idea whether TD had gotten out or not. Neither did his brother.

I was emceeing a show that night and, by the time I left (around 8 p.m.), there was still no sign of T.D. so I allowed myself the cautious hope that he HADN'T been released. "Second violation of a probation on one charge, following multiple charges in the recent past for the same thing--maybe they won't release him," I told myself.

When I came back from my show, in the wee hours of the morning of August 17...he was there. Sleeping in his room. But he was back. This sucked total ass, of course--so I pumped myself with optimism. "There are only six weeks left on the lease," I told myself. "Six weeks."

I went about my typical, pre-bed, late-night ritual. Updating the Web site, cleaning the cats' litter box one last time, etc. The Derelict awoke at some point and heard my stirring. He came out and hugged me. "I'm back! Good to see you!" Blah blah blah. Typical Derelict behavior--acting as if he just returned from a long trip overseas or something rather than coming off a jail stint he lied to me about.

I mostly shrugged off the hug and immediately indicated that I wasn't buying this Old Pal routine. I'd been debating for some time exactly WHEN to tell him that I wasn't renewing his lease--the "catch" being the possibility he'd live in a more dangerous and/or destructive manner to me and my place after that bomb, balanced against my desire to have him find future living arrangements sooner than later to avoid him trying to "hole up" when the lease ended, especially considering his mental state and accompanying slowness in accomplishing anything, much less something actually difficult, like an apartment search.

(His new living arrangement search was made more frightening by the fact that, although his brother and therapist tried convincing him over the next couple of weeks that a halfway house or other managed setting was his best option, TD stubbornly resisted. Increasing the possibility that TD would fritter away hopelessly seeking an apartment, with no credit or rental history--and unable to use me as a reference, as I'd bluntly told him--and end up with nowhere to go come October 1, forcing me into an actual legal eviction and possibly leaving him in my place beyond the lease's official end.)

But after his ridiculous hug, I just blurted it out. "I've decided against renewing your lease come October. So you better start looking for a new place right away."

He was crushed and it was obvious. He asked why. I didn't have time or patience to go into all the reasons (and felt, really, them to be obvious), but I did mention his lying to me about being in jail. Perhaps I said a few other things. He argued the fact that he was lying ("I WAS in a psych ward, just within the prison") and pulled the best "Old Pal" routine his pea brain could muster. He even pulled the fakest cry I've ever seen, followed by, "Sure felt good to cry. Hadn't done that in a long time."

He told me that he'd looked at me as a "mentor"--which I noticed to be true in the strangest of ways, such as his imitating my use of foot powder in shoes kept by the door. He said he was "just getting started" with his "massage business." (Having only moved in a mere THREE FREAKIN' MONTHS ago.) He talked about plans for building a balcony off the condo (?) and how he thought we could become "partners" in the condo. (As if I'd want to partner with him on anything and, well, as if he had any sort of money to pay for something like that were I indeed truly nuts.)

Over the next couple of weeks, it seemed he thought he could change my mind about the ending of his lease. He was extra nice, talkative and engaged in cleaning various sections of the place. Knowing he was The Derelict, I regularly reminded him that he'd have to find a new place to live soon (and had better start looking).

Although he was trying to be on his best behavior, TD at the same time had managed to unlearn the basic condo rules I'd worked so hard to drive into his head before his jail stint. He'd run his room's air conditioner while running both the washer and dryer, blowing the circuit breaker. He'd wear outdoor shoes in the house. He even came up with a few new stunts, like opening the dishwasher while it was running.

In fact, The Derelict started to show signs of getting even worse. One day, he'd thawed some chicken breast that he'd gotten from a food pantry or something and had left clogging up the freezer for months. He asked me how to cook it. I told him that the easiest way was to buy some Shake 'n' Bake... And then he had questions every step of the process, no matter how simple the procedure:

"Where do I get Shake 'n' Bake?"--"I don't know; I'm sure they have it at the Walgreens or the CVS." "Okay, I have the Shake 'n' Bake; what do I do next?"--"Read the directions!" "Is it done?"--"What did the package say? Does it LOOK done?" "How does it look when it's done?"

After months of hinting to remind him of the purpose of the living arrangement, which I'd dubbed a "roommate duplex" in ads and included him having and USING his own living room and leaving me to mine, I finally just told him to stay the hell out of my living room. So he'd hang out in his most of the time, although that didn't push him to finally take the rash step of, oh, CLEANING UP and ORGANIZING his freakin' room. No, he'd sit at his computer, which didn't even work... The delusional bastard perhaps THOUGHT he was actually working on the computer. I don't know.

He'd often follow me around like the helpless derelict that he was, really getting on my nerves. One night, he was annoying me even more than usual, and I was thinking about the need to continue Tough Love, and I thought I'd call him some name, some awful name, to vent some of my anger and perhaps shout him "into shape" or something...and the best I could come up with was "jellyhead."

Jellyhead.

It wasn't an inaccurate name, I supposed. But...jellyhead.

Jellyhead?

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

***

MIKE'S ACCURSED VERSE 1/7/2007:

A SPECIAL SUNDAY EXTRA SECTION

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

BY MIKE "BOOM" CHMIELECKI

 

TODAY'S POEM: Word

 

I need to trim my beard.

I can imagine the red-gold hairs

drifting into the sink. Though I'm

nowhere near it, I can picture

the stained porcelain bowl,

the scratched upright mirror.

I can almost reach out and

grab the round clear knobs

to turn the faucet on and off.

 

What is the word for that feeling?

 

[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 1/8/2007:

Today marks the birthday of Elvis!

So make sure and celebrate well-vis--

find someone for bout

of wild in-and-out

and wiggle like mad with your pelvis!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 1/8/2007:

...and why the hell isn't Elvis' Birthday a national holiday?...

(And, yes, we realize that you could see the Limerick's end rhyme coming a mile away)...

First, during the NFL playoffs, we found ourselves barraged with Diet Pepsi commercials featuring NFL PLAYERS.

Manly men. Shilling what was once AKA "Chick Pepsi."

Then, we found this headline in the Chicago Sun-Times' Sunday "Controversy" section:

"Men Who Love Burgers and Loathe Sex"

Gather 'round, grandchildren, and I'll tell you about an extinct species known as the "human male"...

***

SPECIAL"PULL-OUT" MONDAY"OPEN UP 'N' TAKE YOUR MEDICINE" HAIKU HEALTH SECTION 1/8/2007:

By David Sher

TODAY'S HAIKU: Self-Abuse Haiku

When masturbating

Penalty of fifteen yards

For roughing the pisser

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

***

LETTERS TO THE IDIOT 1/8/2007:

Blackbox checks in regarding the band's feature in Friday's "Entertain Yourself" section:

> wow!!! thank you!!!! that was super cool of you...i'll post the link

> thanks

> damon

You know... (Chief Limericist checking in, here)... One of these days, is it too much to ask for a band to toss me one of their chicks? Years of emceeing these music/variety gigs, sniffin' around the hottest chicks in the room only to find the drummer, or guitar player, or whomever, is their boyfriend...every single freakin' time... And another thing... [Chief Limericist being involuntarily checked-out, here]...

******

DAILY LIMERICK 1/9/2007:

Obama versus Hillary?

The winner'd be easy to see:

We gave blacks first, note,

'fore women, The Vote.

(Chicks with pow'r we find most scary.)

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 1/9/2007:

As we prepare to enter the Entertainment Industry's awards season (which lasts about as long as the NBA's "playoffs"), here's some telling information from our Chicago Sun-Times:

Headline:

"Martin Scorsese Just Can't Win"

And then a caption next to a photo of Kevin Costner:

"Swept Oscars"

We'll give our Witticism Department the day off and let that speak for itself.

***

LETTERS TO THE IDIOT 1/9/2007:

Here's that cat from Blackbox, featured in last Friday's Entertain Yourself section, replying to my reply to his letter, itself a reply to the Friday mention and... Ahem:

> sweet ass

Actually, we prefer our ass sweet 'n' sour...we think. Or are we just used to it that way?

In any event, thanks for your, um, pithy analysis.

******

DAILY LIMERICK 1/10/2007:

Now comes half-nude pics of Obama--

a ploy for Election-O-Rama?

Though Hil's built like dude,

O, she still wins nude

'cause she's got parts of chickie mama.

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 1/10/2007:

Headline:

"Theft of Schools' Bell 'Could be a Prank'"

Evidently, there are some detective geniuses out in Naperville, Ill. They've already eliminated any other explanations! Out of so many possible ones, such as...oh...er, well, Quasimodo needing a spare...

***

SPECIAL "PULL-OUT" WEDNESDAY "EAT IT!" SECTION 1/10/2007:

TODAY'S EDITION: Annual 'Healthy Eating' Feature

First of all, we're not going to commit to any sort of regular feature on "healthy eating"--'Eat it' is all about tasty food and if its contents accidentally happen to have a healthy angle, well, that's not our fault.

But today we have a question that SHOULD be of interest to that slew of Americans trying to lose weight and/or eat healthier:

Why the hell does anybody pay any attention whatsoever to Bob Green--the 'diet guru' for, of all people, OPRAH???

Isn't that a bit like taking a rocket science class taught by Paris Hilton? Or something? There's a witty analogy here, we just know it...

***

LETTERS TO THE IDIOT 1/10/2007:

So Damon of Blackbox checks in again, replying to our reply to his reply to...somewhere along the line, a mention of Blackbox in the Friday Entertain Yourself section:

> soooo what yer telling me is this: if i keep replaying to you....your just

> gonna keep posting it?  well in

> that case maybe this will stick in peoples minds BLACKBOX ROCKS BLACKBOX ...

It goes on.

And on.

But we have to put a stop to this nonsense.

Whaddaya think this is--an open mike night?

******

DAILY LIMERICK 1/11/2007:

Though we're 'mong the football-crazed pack

its pundits oft take us aback.

Wish they could refrain--

'cause it just screams "pain"--

from use of the term "sack attack."

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 1/11/2007:

Headline concerning the latest in the City of Chicago government's perpetual corruption charges:

"Aldermen: Don't Call us 'Ho's'"

Strange that those in City Hall would be upset over this. "Ho'" is a lot less degrading than "big city alderman"...

There's a homeless and/or extremely poor individual who hangs near my grocery store most of the time with a little cardboard sign reading, "Homeless--Please Help" next to a can set out for passersby to toss money into.

(Chief Limericist checking in, here.)

I've heard him speak on rare occasion--so it's not as if he's mute. Most of the time, however, he just sits there, staring off into space, napping, hallucinating--whatever it is he does. He just can't be bothered to actually beg for money.

The other day, I past the guy's set-up and...he himself wasn't there.

Might as well have put up an "out-to-lunch" sign.

When I left the grocery store a bit later, the "out-to-lunch" set-up was still there. He still wasn't.

So the laziness epidemic truly is affecting everyone.

Why are we such a fat-ass nation again? Oh, that's right: trans fat. But we're turning our health over to Big Mother government, so everything will be all right...

******

DAILY LIMERICK 1/12/2007:

Bob Green's made it big off the grim

fact that most folks need to be slimmed.

But since his fame gainer's

that he's Oprah's trainer

why's anyone listen to him?

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 1/12/2007:

Today's edition is brought to you by the National Foundation to Eradicate Writer's Block and Slow News Days.

***

SPECIAL"PULL-OUT" FRIDAY ENTERTAIN YOURSELF SECTION 1/12/2007:

TODAY'S EDITION: Farewell, Lily...er, Yvonne

This section usually focuses on music. Pure coincidence that many bands are spotlighted as seen in my emceeing gigs.

But actress Yvonne De Carlo has died at the tender young age of 84.

What?... Lily Munster, ya' muffinpumps!

Yes, that's how I remember her. And Lily, or Yvonne, or Lily/Yvonne, helped this young boy, er, find himself. Or a key part of himself. (Hey, this IS the "Entertain YOURSELF" section!)

Lily Munster? Sex symbol? Arbiter of feminine perfection?

Looking back over my "romantic" life (for lack of a more appropriate term), things make a little more sense now.

God help me.

Farewell, Yvonne!... And Lily.

******

DAILY LIMERICK 1/13/2007:

There once was a man from Woonsocket

who stuck his cock in a light socket

then did party tricks

with his 'lectric dick

like cooking flesh skewered Hot Pockets!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 1/13/2007:

So now, Justin Timberlake is boinkin' Scarlett Johansson.

Let's take inventory, here... Got famous as a boy band member and rightfully should be lucky to be assistant manager of an Arby's now... Still makes a living mincing about like a homosexual... (Not that there's anything WRONG with that--if you are, indeed, a homosexual, anyway)... Was nailin' Cameron Diaz, primo tail WAY beyond his league... And HE broke up with HER... And now this.

Just a reminder. In case you were starting to think that the realm of love, sex and romance has any logic and/or fairness involved.

******

DAILY LIMERICK 1/14/2007:

Who's now boinkin' Scarlett Johansson?

A guy famed for mincin' and dancin'!?!

Take note, lest start thinkin'

there's some sort of likin'

'tween logic, fairness and romancin'!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 1/14/2007:

Board members of the Bulletin of Atomic Scientists magazine plan a joint announcement Wednesday concerning an advancement of the nuclear Doomsday Clock.

That Doomsday Clock, of course, rates the impending threat of nuclear annihilation, with midnight meaning nuclear holocaust. The closest the clock has come since its inception was two minutes to midnight. It's currently at 11:53 p.m.

So we'll have to wait until Wednesday to see how much closer we've inched thanks to recent world events.

Even if we leap forward five minutes or so, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers need not fear--just yet. This is humanity we're talking about, so you know that full-on nuclear annihilation won't really show until, say, 12:10, 12:15, maybe even 12:25...

So, with the Dems and Nancy Pelosi now in charge...a stem cell research bill failed...mostly lip service to the idea of pulling out of Iraq...but they've taken real action in banning smoking in one room in one Congressional building where it was still allowed!

So now a dozen or so Congressmen aren't threatened with "secondhand science," er, "secondhand smoke" while they're enjoying, by their choice, as adults, firsthand smoke!

Prepare for more Big Changes for, unlike the Republicans, Democrats are only interested in taking away the civil rights that aren't politically correct...

Learned this weekend that "Two 1/2 Jokes," er, "Two 1/2 Men" has been awarded one or more "People's Choice" awards.

This fact is a perfect example of the wisdom behind the old saying, "The more things change, the more they stay the same."

Things stay the same in this case because it only strengthens DL's decision to completely ignore Hollywood's Awards Season.

But it pushes toward change because, honestly, it puts a few chinks in the armor of that whole "power to the people" idea...

***

SUNDAY STORY TIME 1/14/2007:

A SPECIAL, TOUCHING SECTION APPEARING SUNDAYS ONLY

(Touching in some manner, anyway)

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

One day, The Derelict wakes up, takes a piss, ambles into my living room and asks, "How cold is it outside--ya' think I should wear my boots?"

I don't remember if I even replied verbally, beyond a funny look and headshake.

It was, after all, late August in Chicago.

He then announced some strange plans for the day. "I have to get dressed and go vote."

Again: late August.

The Derelict had been asking me, multiple times since his release, if I wanted to see what he was "working on" during his jail stint. I repeatedly said, "no." I guess he referred to various written exercises in insanity, such as the plan to build a balcony off my condo. (Which certainly would've went over gangbusters with the condo association).

He babbled about the friends he met in the jug, a guy would could help him start a Web site--I guess to facilitate his burgeoning sleep-all-day-whacked-out-on-pharmaceuticals-and-engage-in-various-Three Stooges-esque-antics business.

Mostly, he started to worry me. At the same time that he gave me reason for hope.

See, when TD stumbled out asking about the need to don boots in August, a light bulb metaphorically appeared above my head. More of a honkin', Las Vegas neon number, actually: He'd finally officially flipped. I could call 9-1-1!

I did just that and told him so. He said I shouldn't have, that there was nothing wrong with him, that he was just taking drugs prescribed by a doctor (actually, by half a dozen or so doctors each not knowing of the others)... But I did. And a group of paramedic types showed up.

That day, I learned much about the circumstances under which one who has gone loopy can be hauled off. The first thing they asked The Derelict? "Who's the current president of the United States?" And TD knew that one. So it was explained to me that they couldn't haul him off--he was borderline crackers, but had enough of a grasp of reality that taking him away could be considered kidnapping.

Oh, they knew things weren't quite right. Even admitted that he probably SHOULD be hauled off, if the legalities would cooperate. They looked into the drugs he was taking and scolded him about it, tried to talk him into going to a detox. TD remained adamant even in the face of these medical professionals, insisting that he had a "bad back" and that the pills were all prescribed, legal and on-the-level.

So, there was nothing the paramedics could do. One took me aside before they left, however. "He DOES have a slipped disc in his back," she said, "and it's pretty painful and can interfere with normal activities. But I have the same thing. And look at me. I'M working."

But concerning the precarious limbo I was in, housing a Derelict who was caught in a limbo between Loopy You Can't Do Anything About and Actionable Loopy, she worried for him and sympathized with me, offering some tips. "If I took as many pills as he's on right now, I'd be dead within 20 minutes. Keep an eye on him and be ready to call 9-1-1 again. He knows who the president is now, so we just can't take him."

After the paramedics left, TD told me again that I shouldn't have called, again said he was fine and just following doctor's orders. But I was keeping an extra close eye on him and more optimistic than I'd been about the situation at any point.

I'd known for some time that The Derelict had been abusing pills. But I didn't realize quite how bad that abuse was until speaking with that paramedic and seeing her eyes widen when mentioning TD's quantity.

I talked to TD's brother after the paramedic visit, told him about the detox advice and the concern that TD would kill himself. The brother was concerned, but at this point convinced that there was nothing anybody could tell TD to get him to follow such advice. The brother did begin trying to arrange for TD's therapist friend to talk TD into finding some sort of managed care after his lease.

I learned another interesting tidbit from the brother: That The Derelict was supposed to be taking "good" pills for his "manic-depression or whatever." TD had mentioned at one point that he was diagnosed as bipolar--and also mentioned a brain damaging car accident at some point, as a partial excuse for opening the running dishwasher, I believe--and I guess I'd just assumed that, amid his Disneyland O' Pills, he was taking something for his chemical imbalance. But the brother doubted, perhaps drawing on TD's history, that TD was taking those.

One day, The Derelict pet my cat and told him, "Don't let them take me away, Chester." A remarkable lucidity about reality and his overall situation occasionally surfaced amid...well, being The Derelict.

A couple more days passed--it was then about halfway through the last week of August and The Derelict had been out of jail less than two weeks--and I awoke to an especially disturbing scene in the bathroom.

There was a pile of shit on the floor--and it wasn't from my cats. But it wasn't the sort of shit that may have come from an inebriated and/or diarrhea-stricken individual somehow missing the toilet. The poop was in the middle of the bathroom floor, at least three feet away from the toilet. Wrapped in toilet paper and wet.

I'm still not sure exactly what happened in the bathroom that morning. The plunger was out, but the toilet showed no signs of being recently clogged. The sides of the toilet weren't wet, for instance. I honestly don't think the poop was pulled out of the toilet--it appeared WRAPPED PURPOSEFULLY in toilet paper; it didn't look like shit that was yanked out, mixed up with toilet paper, to clear a clog, for instance.

Toilet paper was all over the bathroom--but still in rolls. It seemed that a half-dozen or so rolls of toilet paper were taken out and arranged around the bathroom for some inexplicable ritual.

I immediately headed to The Derelict's room, where the light was on. He peeked out.

"What in the hell happened in the bathroom?"

"I was just about to clean that up," he said.

He picked up the poo package and went toward the kitchen.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm going to throw it in the garbage."

"Put it right there in the toilet and flush it!"

He flushed it down and I made an announcement:

"One way or another, you're going somewhere today. To a hospital, back to a halfway house...somewhere."

"Okay," he said.

Now, this was the day that The Derelict had an appointment to meet his therapist friend after church for lunch. The therapist was to really push for TD to make halfway house arrangements that afternoon. But it quickly became apparent that TD wasn't going to make church on time, much less lunch afterward.

While a part of me hated the Derelict bastard, I was also hoping to work with his family and friends to make things go smoothly and had been wishing TD could get to church and have his therapist friend see him in this state--and from there, I figured, TD would be taken somewhere for the care he needed.

After the Poop Incident, The Derelict wandered around in bizarre attire. He had dress slacks on--starting to ready for church, evidently--with a bathrobe thrown over it. He started to pack a duffel bag, for some reason--with audio and videotapes. He went into the kitchen to fry some bacon and I reminded him that he was going to lunch.

"Okay, then. Maybe just two pieces of bacon?"

"That's up to you," I said.

"How about just one piece of bacon?"

He made the one piece of bacon and, watching the clock, I became certain that he wouldn't make it to church on time. I called the brother. Called the therapist. Left messages. Waited.

Time passed and The Derelict's behavior waxed more and more whacktoast..well, not more whacktoast than the Poop Incident, but compared to everything else. He'd started arranging his shoes in a strange way in the entrance hall. Carrying around these jugs of Arizona tea he had, staring at them, wiping them as if they were trophies. He took a vacuum cleaner from the hall closet, seemed especially interested in it, but showed no signs of doing any cleaning.

I asked The Derelict who the president was. He started reading me a 1-800 phone number off the vacuum cleaner.

A-ha!

I called the brother and therapist friend again, getting voicemails, and told them I was gonna have to call the folks in the white coats soon. The therapist was to be in the city at some time anyway (he resided in Northwest Indiana) and I figured one or both of them might wanna come and take TD away, as familiar, trusted figures.

I decided I'd give it until a certain time (I forget the details at this point), perhaps 1 p.m.? (And I informed the brother and therapist of the deadline, too.) By that point, The Derelict was kneeling in his dress pants/robe attire before the vacuum cleaner. It looked as if he was praying to it.

The brother called back. He informed me that the meeting with the therapist was scheduled for much later than I'd thought and he told me to go ahead and call 9-1-1. So I did. And as the earlier paramedics had advised, I told the dispatcher that it was a "psych call" and that they may want to bring handcuffs, as The Derelict was a risk for resisting.

"When are they coming?" TD asked me.

"I guess [your therapist friend] is coming closer to 3," I said.

"I don't know if I can wait that long," he said.

This time, I wasn't sure about informing TD of exactly what was going on and thought I'd play it up as if the meeting with his therapist friend was still on. But it seemed almost as if TD knew he was going to get hauled off. I guess I'll never know what was on his mind, concerning that or the shit sculpture or, well, dozens of situations associated with The Derelict.

It also occurred to me that, although TD had a "wanna be free" streak, as exhibited in his displeasure at my earlier 9-1-1 call and in the whole idea of him moving out of managed care after God knows how many years, he would also occasionally feel backed into a corner and welcome the comfort of outside help. He'd earlier described the prison stint as "good for him." And if I was reading the signs correctly, he couldn't wait for the paramedics to return, take him away and save him from himself.

The ability of human beings to acclimate and live their lives in a "normal" manner amid the most abnormal of circumstances amazes me. I just had wasted so much time worrying about and accommodating The Derelict and his situation that I felt, "I'll be damned if I let this throw my life even more out of kilter." So I just sat down and went through the Sunday newspaper as was my typical routine.

The Derelict was reading, or scream reading, the warnings and labels on the vacuum cleaner. The English AND the French versions. I'd flip through an ad flyer and he'd yell out, "Should I read it again?" I'd say, "Sure." He'd complete another vacuum cleaner read and I'd be on the "Showcase" section and he'd ask, "Should I read it AGAIN?" And I'd say "sure."

Eventually, the buzzer went off.

The first one through the door was a cop, which put TD on the defensive. Nonetheless, the copper was obviously trained in these sorts of situation and he started asking TD about which drugs he was supposed to be taking. As the authorities filed in, The Derelict hugged the vacuum close to his body.

What followed was a poor man's version of an episode of one of those police procedural shows that are now on every other channel at all times. They'd talk calmly with TD until something would frighten him, causing him to hug the vacuum closer. Then they'd retreat and try a different tactic, slowly talking TD into letting go of the vacuum cleaner, then into climbing into an upright seating stretcher.

They managed to get The Derelict to cross his arms across his chest by asking him to play King Tut (the better to toss the straight jacket on him). While it was a big game tricking TD into being hauled off, more signs surfaced that a part of him knew exactly what was going on. "Don't let 'em hurt my girlfriend!" he yelled. And my strange emotional mix of sympathy and despise for TD had me think, "You mean the girlfriend who never WAS your girlfriend and who's refused to talk with you for months?"

(Still within my Summer of Suck, a part of me I'm less than proud of needed to affirm my take on reality--specifically, that if I was at a point of feeling completely and utterly alone in this world, you can damn well bet that some derelict who'd made my summer even more of a living hell sure as hell didn't have a girlfriend, either.)

I'm not sure what they told The Derelict as part of the "Trick This Kook Into Hauling Him Off Game" that spurred it, but I heard him singing the song from the old "Batman" TV show as they carried him on the stretcher through my building's hallway and out the door.

And that was the last I heard or saw of The Derelict.

For a long while, anyway.

COMING NEXT WEEK TO SUNDAY STORY TIME: The Light at the End of My Tunnel Appears (if Obscured by Fog)

***

MIKE'S ACCURSED VERSE 1/14/2007:

A SPECIAL SUNDAY EXTRA SECTION

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

BY MIKE "BOOM" CHMIELECKI

 

TODAY'S POEM: Piss and poems

 

I'm writing you a story. Here

is the beginning. It tells you

everything you need.

Make the decision to read it.

 

We're going to have to hit the

middle at some point. Hopefully

not for a long time. I will

do my best to keep things moving

at a leisurely pace.  It will frustrate

some of my readers, but I want to

revel in these moments,

these tiny cracks in routine

that mean so much more than routine,

while reminding us why routine

is necessary.

 

I want to tell you about a swan boat

I helped peddle with my feet to make

the paddles churn the water. We glided

across the lake that always had a few

swan boats on it, alongside other tourists

paddling them along with their feet.

 

I want to tell you about going to Ruggles Mine

as a child, and, half joking, my dad and I

brought his Giger counter to see if we could

find any uranium. We did. And we kept the rocks

in a paper bag in the closet until years later

the bag was full of deep wrinkles.

Scared by the slick, dusty texture of the paper,

thinking it was the radiation causing this,

I tossed all the rocks in the trash.

 

Sit with me and I'll tell you about eating pizza

in a mountain town in Banff. And the first time

I went to Las Vegas and lost a 20 on the slots.

And (memory does not follow chronology, time

is tugged along after it) driving deep into the

New Hampshire forest in search of a lighted tower

we had always seen just over the next hill.

 

These moments might not mean as much to you

if you were not there with me. But try to picture

them, the honesty, integrity, sadness and joy

of those nights. They bleed together, all lilacs

and shorelines and hard frost and blood

and kisses and records and piss and poems.

 

But I can't stop it, my friend. It has to happen.

We are mortal, we make mortal things, and so we've

come to the end of this story.

I thank you, humbly, for picking me up,

gracefully perusing my pages, laughing, feeling bitten.

Placing me down gently, next to your bed.

Then shutting off the light,

we sleep.

 

[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 1/15/2007:

It's King Day--and everyone should

acknowledge his deeds brought pure good.

And though there're still schisms

brought on by racism

today folks must 'least hide their hoods!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 1/15/2007:

Now that post-first generation "American Future Trivia Question Answers," er, "American Idol" winners have--surprise, surprise--proven unable to follow-up first albums with success, the corporate conglomeratized yet, of course, objective major media are running stories about how the show has become, nonetheless, "taken seriously."

One story we read cited AI Grammy winners as "evidence."

Curiously unmentioned, however, is the fact that the Grammys are little more than an attempt by the Big Music to TELL US what to take "seriously"...

...And we guess it's about time for our semi-annual reminder, directly concerning the Grammys but indirectly reflective of all of Hollywood's self-congratulatory Awards Frenzy, that Pat Boone won far more Grammys than either the Beatles or Elvis. (We think he actually won more than both Elvis and the Beatles combined, but don't find the Awards Frenzy worthy of any more time wasted on research.)

You do have more Pat Boone than Elvis or Beatles in your iPod, don't you, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers?...

***

SPECIAL"PULL-OUT" MONDAY"OPEN UP 'N' TAKE YOUR MEDICINE" HAIKU HEALTH SECTION 1/15/2007:

By David Sher

 

TODAY'S HAIKU: Eavesdropping Haiku

 

Her hearing was so

Acute, she could hear a mouse

Pissing on cotton

 

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

******

DAILY LIMERICK 1/16/2007:

The Lib'ral Elite's whinin', cryin'--

folks' choices, with them, ain't complyin'!

Pass laws, 'cause they can,

as Health Taliban

revolving 'round "secondhand science"!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 1/16/2007:

Headline:

"Obama Was Against War Funding, Now He's Undecided"

No firm opinion on an issue of major importance?

Yup! Obama's running for president...

Well, duh duh d'oy and hoo hoo hee! E-mail has come into my inbox from a date far in the past! Must be important! Must read fully and order whatever it is they're selling! Yes, sir!...

***

LETTERS TO THE IDIOT 1/16/2007:

> Please remove

Wow! We think that's a record! Only one month and two days between a) asking to be on the Daily Limerick Special E-Mail List and b) being offended enough to ask for removal!

One New Year's resolution out of the way...

******

DAILY LIMERICK 1/17/2007:

So "Two and a Half Jokes" has beat

'em all for the People's Choice seat.

While progressive steeple

cries, "Pow'r to the people!"

with this, now we're wond'ring, "Retreat?"

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 1/17/2007:

Saw an ad today seeking guinea pigs...er, study participants regarding a new, experimental anti-obesity drug.

Seems like a rash step. Especially considering that we happen to know of a secret, time-proven anti-obesity treatment called "diet and exercise."

Oh, that's right. The diet industry, lawyers and pharmaceutical companies wouldn't get a cut. We'll just keep it under the Chief Limericist's hat...

...So, you're out to eat and a hot little number (with hot little numbers) comes into the restaurant, and you have a point of conversation, just having seen her at the convenience store... (Chief Limericist checking in, here)... but you're out-to-eat with your PARENTS and...and... How can you hit up on a chick in front of your parents?

Any tips, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers?

Hmm... Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers...tips on romancin'... On second thought, hold off on those tips. As if I need to tell you NOT to write in...

But, hey! It ain't only us having a slow news day here. Our newspaper contains pages of coverage of some...Golden Globes? Yeah, some event with Hollywood bending over backwards to celebrate itself, despite the fact that it's celebrated every freakin' day in publications and on TV and the Internet...

***

SPECIAL "PULL-OUT" WEDNESDAY "EAT IT!" SECTION 1/17/2007:

TODAY'S EDITION: Fast Food Combo Thoughts

Had a "combo meal" at one of the major fast food restaurants the other day and we have some thoughts on this uniquely American, delightful phenomenon.

Firstly, while the option to "up" one's meal is a fine development, we should also be able to "selectively up" said combo meal.

That is, we should have the option to, say, "up" the fry to a large without "upping" the drink. (And, yes, we realize we've gotten silly with the "quotation marks" today.)

And just who in the hell wants a drink in those "large," "jumbo, "leviathan" or whatever they're dubbing 'em sizes? Sure, sometimes we'd like to bring some beverage on home, but in this case, the already watered-down pop gets further watered-down as the ice melts and...ahem.

Secondly... Hmm.

Perhaps this is just a "Fast Food Combo Thought"...

******

DAILY LIMERICK 1/18/2007:

Our newspaper, for which we pay's,

just covered a big self-"Hooray!"

that Hollywood sings--

some "Golden Globes" thing--

a textbook case of "slow news day"!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 1/18/2007:

President Bush recently hosted the World Series champion St. Louis Cardinals at the White House.

The Cardinals won the World Series, of course, last fall.

Well, I suppose there's SOME smidgeon of consolation in the fact that he's slow on the uptake figuring out when something's been WON as well as when something's been totally, hopelessly lost...

"See Inside"-style "Lifestyles" headline:

"'Born Again Virgins' All Have Their Own Reasons"

And the story focuses largely on couples. Thus, "own reasons," as far as the males are concerned, translate as "in the closet"...

Timely pick-up line for ya', Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers:

"Are you running for president? 'Cause if you are, I'd love to head up the 'exploratory committee.'"

Keep us posted on your results.

******

DAILY LIMERICK 1/19/2007:

Just now, to the Cardinals, Bush tossed,

kudos for the World Series boss.

He's slow, too, as sin

to notice a win

as he's to note a hopeless loss!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 1/19/2007:

Don't know why the hell we're all expected to come into work today, but, anyway... Do your best to have a Happy Edgar Allan Poe's Birthday!...

...Well, alright. As long as I've blasphemed, I can take time from deciding between all the Edgar Allan Poe parties tonight for an actual nugget...

"See Inside" kinda headline:

"The New Faces of Beauty"

Inside is a story wherein... Oh, chickie features do this regularly: Such-and-such is famous and so this means that the very nature of what men find attractive has changed! (Typically, the celeb examples cited are be-euphemismed with words like, "curvaceous.")

Spotlighted in this particular treatment are America Ferrera and Jennifer Hudson.

Hmm. We looked at the accompanying photos a couple times.

Nothin'.

Oh, neither are hideous, by any means. In fact, they're both attractive, on some level.

Still, we didn't feel any "va-va-voom!"

But, we'll take your word. They're the "new sexy." We'll work on altering our penises' reaction to reflect this, as will, I'm sure, every male in America...

Okay, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers (Chief Limericist checking in, here)... So a relationship is long over, and the likelihood of you even seeing her, much less being two together, again is at the probable point of "nevermore"...but for some inexplicable reason, she finds it important to say, as if it'll somehow give your life a permanent boost or something, that she'll "always love you" or "always have feelings for you"... Well, the operative question remains:

So what?

Hmm.

Maybe I'm just burning off some Poe Day angst, but I'm far from the only one who sees it that way...

***

SPECIAL"PULL-OUT" FRIDAY ENTERTAIN YOURSELF SECTION 1/19/2007:

TODAY'S EDITION: Edgar Allan Poe

It's his birthday today. And it also happens to be a Friday and thus time for another editions of "Entertain Yourself." So this seems destined or something.

Oh, Worst Music Critic in the Universe checking in here--but not too shabby at poetry and literature criticism. Or any shabbier than I am with the rest of this drecky site, anyway.

I look at Poe as Schroeder of the "Peanuts" gang looks at Beethoven. I have a giant wall poster of the guy. (Although it's not currently up--having enough trouble as it is getting traffic in the ol' boudoir.) I have a Poe action figure/doll on my home computer desk, complete with a raven that fits into notches on his shoulder. I have a deep purple hued image of him as a desktop pattern on my laptop, which frightened the, er "artist" formerly known as M'Lady but... It's currently proudly displayed, so "nyah!" to her and all of her ilk!

Many modern poets may not know this, but poetry once (gasp!) rhymed. Not only that, it actually employed the forgotten arts of "meter" and "rhythm" and--this may be a real shocker to today's free verse scrawlers--an especially arcane technique known as "not sucking ass."

Not that there's anything necessarily wrong with free verse. (Just that there's something USUALLY wrong with free verse--you lazy, untrained bastards.) But, as with everything else in life, one needs to know the rules of rhyme/rhythm/meter before one can break 'em. Poe's prose proves this point adequately.

While it is a toss-up as to whether Poe's better known as a poet or a fiction writer, the paeons for fiction writing would not exist without his poetry base. (He has writings on the art of poetry, too, which are fascinating and useful. Consider giving a copy of one these essays to a slammin' free verse poet near you. And then kick him in the nuts, just for kicks.)

Oh, I could go on and on. And am in danger of doing so now... But let's end this Love Fest by revealing that Poe is the reason I became a writer/poet/artsy-fuck to begin with. He also gave me a jolt of permanent self-esteem, teaching me that one's integration to society didn't matter in the long run. A loner, whackjob and social outcast could find himself amid an immediate environment that despised him--and still influence a national, even international culture far beyond what millions of those individuals who wrote him off could, combined. "Men have called me mad--but it is not yet decided if madness is, or is not, the loftiest of intelligence."

He taught me that one could die alone in a gutter, even giving the authorities a hell of a time finding someone who could even identify him--and nonetheless remain beloved far beyond his material life, through countless generations.

I'm not saying I expect that for myself. (Well, maybe the part about the gutter...kidding. I think.) Just that YOU can't possibly know it won't happen. By definition, being "ahead of one's time" simply cannot be noted in the present. And even if you're NOT "ahead of your time," if you're some putz piddling away hopelessly... SOMETHING is driving you to do it. So follow your instincts and do what you're driven to do. To hell with everybody else. If nothing else, you'll thus be fulfilled on one very important level.

And it was Poe's tale, "The Black Cat," that led to my understanding of what art is--that it can make a serious, even ingenious, point while it entertains.

The idea presented in "The Black Cat" of doing something simply because it's the last thing imaginable you'd ever WANT to do... Well, in addition to being brilliant, it also helped flush my college years and early 20s down the drain--on a typical human social level, anyway. Yet great learning resulted--knowledge that would've never been possible for me by other means. So you're forgiven, Ed.

Although I don't know if the rest of the world will so easily forgive you for your part in unleashing this hack on the world...

***

LETTERS TO THE IDIOT 1/19/2007:

Regarding yesterday's "Letter to the Idiot" (evidently, the most scintillating writing in this heap of e-crap), which spotlighted a record-breaking journey from signing on to the Special E-Mail List to asking for removal all offended, this wahoo checks in with:

> They didn't even bother to include punctuation, they were in such a hurry to

> remove your views from their heads. Now that's awesome!

Most interesting about this comment is the belief that this Offended One possesses more than one head.

Now, the saying goes that two are better than one. And we question that.

For we're starting to believe that absolutely no good can come from that second one...

******

DAILY LIMERICK 1/20/2007:

Cunnilingused, a waitress at Hooters,

asked for salad toss, 'tween licks of pooter.

He obliged--liked it so

when, for boinkin' did go,

he went so far as to play "salad shooter."

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 1/20/2007:

Whooah! Laid it on a little thick yesterday (see "Entertain Yourself" section)... Damn, we feel like we've all dyed our hair jet black, taken to hangin' in coffeehouses and writing poetry about hanging ourselves in the garage... Promise more upbeat stuff for some time... Yeesh...

...Anyway, we think there was an error in that nugget in that it appears only myth that Poe was found dead in a gutter. We believe he was found on a barroom floor, actually but...well, here's "upbeat," as promised, as this is becoming a bit too meaty for a Cheezy Saturday edition...

Isn't it exciting when you find a tortilla chip that's kinda folded over, in a way that makes it look like a Mexican hat?

What? That's upbeat! In fact, it's downright festive...

******

DAILY LIMERICK 1/21/2007:

There's new trend toward "born again virgins."

Guess chicks don't need too much encour'gin'

but guys in a coupling

who won't nail the dumpling

are hiding their gayness from surgin'!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 1/21/2007:

The Chicago Cubs Convention.

So, a bunch of people go out of their way, year after year, to get together and celebrate screwing up?

Guess it's not unheard of. There are, after all, 12 Step groups...

You know that "Sweetie and the Beast" Web site/podcast thing? We've been plugging it for months at the bottom of the site's home page because they're allegedly podcasting our Limericks?

Well, now that we have DSL here in the, er, Office Towers, we gave the latest podcast a listen to and... Didn't hear a Limerick.

It was entertaining, of course, but... Well, we're looking into this...

***

SUNDAY STORY TIME 1/21/2007:

A SPECIAL, TOUCHING SECTION APPEARING SUNDAYS ONLY

(Touching in some manner, anyway)

TODAY'S EDITION: The Tale of the Derelict Renter/Roommate, Chapter Eleven--The Light at the End of My Tunnel Appears (if Obscured by Fog)

With The Derelict hauled away, I figured I could relax a bit--he certainly wouldn't be back for at least a couple weeks.

I knew some things about addiction rehabs, though, and knew that most insurance companies wouldn't pay for more than that. I wasn't sure, however, how his mental problems would affect the equation. And even if he were set-up for a month stay, there were a few days left in August, so if that were the case, he'd be back with a few days remaining on his lease (which, again, ended Oct. 1).

I of course began checking in with his brother regularly again. His brother, however, complained about how little he could find out, thanks to medical confidentiality laws. He was told which hospital the Derelict was in but not much more. It wasn't until I talked a bit with the head of my condo association, of all people, that I learned exactly WHY TD's family, and his only close acquaintances when it boiled down to it, weren't filled in on his dire situation.

See, my condo board president happened to have worked, for some time, in "social services." And his wife still worked, at the time, in a mental wing of a hospital. I informed King Condo (a name I used for him due to his admirable yet easily ridiculed zeal for the position) of the TD situation, largely because I knew that many within the complex had their encounters with TD and I didn't think most were happy with my choice of tenant. So the initial discussion began with something on the order of, "I KNOW I've brought a less-than-stellar candidate into our little community here, but so you know, his lease is almost up and he might be already gone for good."

I also told King Condo that he could feel free to impound, call the city, whatever, concerning TD's motorcycle. I neglected to mention it earlier in the tale, but TD had a cycle, of all things. Someone who'd be a danger to himself and all around him on a big wheel drove, of all things, a motorcycle. A jalopy of a cycle, sure, but that was the instrument of the DUI that didn't happen I tried to catch him with earlier in the tale.

I told the Derelict about a city parking sticker and all, but he just parked the cycle up on the sidewalk. As did a bunch of urban city dwellers with scooters, so it may have been legal but...of course, TD didn't check into it. And the condo association had then recently voted against the perceived blight of any cycle-like vehicle on said curbs, so I turned TD in. For one, I saw it in the best interest of TD's safety to not be tooling around on that heap perpetually zoned out on pills and often more.

King Condo knew much more about TD than I'd have fathomed. He told me a story about The Derelict offering to buy another table and chairs set for the courtyard, if reimbursed, and dubbed it, "his attempt to fit in with a community." He cited TD's general demeanor--problems with personal space, for instance--and in fact diagnosed him as schizophrenic, rather than bipolar.

King Condo largely, to use a metaphorical cliche, filled in some missing puzzle pieces and confirmed some things I suspected--that The Derelict lived most of his adult life in some sort of managed setting but was a very good actor at times and was constantly seeking ways to be "let out" into normal society. I told him much of my tale and King Condo put it into medical context.

Regarding TD's family's difficulty tracking him down, turns out that, as I suspected, TD was borderline. One "falling through the cracks of an overtaxed system." He should probably never have been let out--hell, probably could use even more supervision than something like a halfway house provides--but he was also capable of dealing with normal life on a certain level.

During TD's lease, he'd even visited a few friends to make some extra money giving haircuts. And, of course, his whole "bad back gimme drugs 'cause I ain't some crazed addict" act, executed successfully for multiple doctors, wouldn't be easy for many to pull-off.

King Condo also mentioned that folks "like him (TD)" would continually go back and forth between wildly craving freedom to welcoming a managed environment--back and forth, back and forth.

Now, King Condo was of the opinion that TD COULD have been declared an invalid--but since he was "borderline," that would require TD signing over his "power of attorney" or whatever and... Well, he wouldn't do that. King Condo also informed me that, if TD had WANTED the hospital(s) to inform his family of the situation, he could've easily granted the hospital(s) permission to do so. But as with the prison stint, TD didn't want them knowing everything. He didn't want them pushing him back toward a managed setting. He wanted to "chill out" a bit and then go back to freedom, the Pharmaceutical Pharris Wheel and perhaps occasionally banging a She Derelict.

Maybe The Derelict knew, in the back of his head, that this freedom couldn't last. Maybe, like a dog sneaking out the back door when his owner comes home, he didn't even WANT it to last--but the opportunity was there and damned if he wasn't gonna pee on some fire hydrants and sniff some new dog ass while the gettin' was good.

While King Condo made me feel a bit better about things--the "devil you know as opposed to the one you don't" kinda deal--he couldn't improve my Hope. He couldn't give a solid rule for how long The Derelict would be away--he MIGHT be socked-away through the remainder of the lease and he might get out in two weeks or less. King Condo did assure me, as I'd regrettably suspected, that TD would be scheming to put on his best face and get out as early as possible. That TD was cunning about such things and aware enough of the passage of time, as it regarded his lease.

King Condo advised me to simply NOT let The Derelict back in. "He obviously needs a level of care you can't provide and he's not going to have the resources to get an attorney and hold you t the letter of his lease."

King Condo was probably right but I, of course, was still trying to adhere to the letter of the law, just in case...and my attorney couldn't bolster the Hope, either. Legally, I was stuck.

After a couple of weeks, the brother called. The family finally had met with TD and some therapist folk. But the brother didn't know much about the situation to help with estimates of when TD'd be out. TD's handlers were trying to talk him into managed care. TD was resisting. They couldn't force TD. Nothing new.

After The Derelict was away for...a little over three weeks, I think?... TD called. Said he was "working on" getting out of "there." Before he could even ask me to reconsider, I reminded him that his lease was done October 1.

"You sure?"

"Yup."

"I don't know where I'm gonna go..."

"Can't you stay there?"

"I can't stand it here any longer. You don't know what it's like. They watch you all the time..."

"What about the halfway house?"

"I'm not going back there."

"How about your mom?"

"I can't stay with her. She's ninety-years-old! I can go into a home, but that'll cost me...I won't have any money left over after paying the monthly fee," he said, referring to his monthly social security checks.

I got the feeling that the staff in the nuthouse was about ready to let him out and had asked, "Do you have somewhere to go?" I pictured somebody next to TD on the phone, listening to make sure he wouldn't lie. And The Derelict had obvious disappointment in his voice, having blindly hoped I'd have changed my mind.

TD tried calling me once again soon after that--more blind hope.

It wasn't until TD had hung up the phone the last time that I'd thought, "I should've asked to speak to someone on staff," because, perhaps needless to say, I didn't get any intelligent estimate on exactly when and if TD would be out. Plus, I would've liked to have made sure that his doctors knew that there was no way in hell I'd let TD sign a new lease--and also that there was no way in hell TD could live on his own. But between the competing factors The Derelict obviously being close to release and the fact that staff seemed to be suspicious of the wisdom of releasing him... I effectively knew nothing more than I had before his call.

"Worst case, I'll have to put up with him for a week," I told myself.

"Unless he manages to 'hole up' past the official lease."

Still, "A week at most left on the OFFICIAL lease," I told myself...

COMING NEXT WEEK TO SUNDAY STORY TIME: The End of the Derelict's Lease

***

MIKE'S ACCURSED VERSE 1/21/2007:

A SPECIAL SUNDAY EXTRA SECTION

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

BY MIKE "BOOM" CHMIELECKI

TODAY'S POEM: A poem for lonely nights

The phone is forty feet high. I can't

hold it. It rings and I can't answer

it. The machine picks up. Her voice

is not on it.

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

***

LETTERS TO THE IDIOT 1/21/2007:

In response to our Chief Limericist's Friday "Entertain Yourself" rant on Edgar Allan Poe, published on Poe's actual birthday:

> Happy birthday, EA Poe!

Only 363 days to go! Start celebrating NOW!

Then again, that could've been how Edgar started on his path to being found dead on a barroom floor...

******

DAILY LIMERICK 1/22/2007:

So Bush wants Iraq War troop surge

to die on the Civil War's verge!

He's no family there

so why should he care?

With lives, he feels, might as well splurge!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 1/22/2007:

More than half of Americans now live in cities or states with bans from secondhand science...er, bans ON secondhand smoke in the health havens of bars and taverns.

We won't go on any more about this topic. At least right now.

Most interesting, however, is that this data comes from an organization called "Americans for Nonsmokers Rights," the existence of which brings hope to angry white bigots by showing that a "National Association for the Advancement of White People" might not be such a ridiculous idea after all...

***

SPECIAL"PULL-OUT" MONDAY"OPEN UP 'N' TAKE YOUR MEDICINE" HAIKU HEALTH SECTION 1/22/2007:

By David Sher

 

TODAY'S HAIKU: Second City Haiku

 

If laughter is the

Best medicine, then why is

John Belushi dead?

 

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

******

DAILY LIMERICK 1/23/2007:

For scams we're like pigs to the slaughter

so fear for your friends, sons and daughters.

Advanced? By some measure

but, like sand in desert,

we actually buy bottled water!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 1/23/2007:

...Speaking of today's Limerick topic, having a renter/roommate (thankfully, no longer The Derelict of Sunday Story Time, er, "fame"), I have, try as I may to avoid it, been made a party to a sister scam and there is now one of those water filter devices in my home.

It advertises:

"Makes Tap Water Taste Great"

Hmm.

Call me old fashioned, but I thought that water was supposed to taste, well, like NOTHING...

As, unfortunately, the 2008 Election Season is already well under way, and DL/S&Y has half-assed endorsed, or more often de-endorsed, candidates... We're just gonna throw this out there:

Good Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers should be able to figure out who DL/S&Y would be endorsing.

Really.

Read regularly, ya' muffin-stuffers...

Chief Limericist checking in, here. (Hey--the S&Y Psychiatric Couch of "Sunday Story Time" is currently reserved for that damn Derelict Tale, so I gotta expound, at least occasionally, somewhere.)

Lately, I'm working on reeling in another, er, M'Lady, and I'm again shooting much younger. Of course, some question my...well, going for much younger dames. LEGAL ones, of course--I'm a sicko, admittedly, but a legal and harmless sicko! And concerning the younger dames, I could throw out an entire manifesto of reasons, some actually practical, but here's more than enough justification:

The women of my generation only served to ridicule me, on the playground and later, sending me into a maelstrom of Charlie Brown-ism that I will never, ever fully recover from.

They had their chance. Let 'em become lonely, pathetic old maids, for all I care.

They all laughed at me--but I said I'd eventually show you all! I'd make the world pay! Moohahahaha! Well, who's laughing NOOOWWWW???...

(Actually, many of them are STILL laughing now, but, hey... Sigh.)...

As long as I'm here on the couch, here's an interesting tale:

Now, I'm a full-on introvert. And now and then, I think to myself, "I really SHOULD talk to people more--and NOT just hot chicks whose Love Porches I'm sniffin' around."

So recently, on a cigar puffin' break at the day job, I noticed this older lady whose smoke break schedule oft coincides with mine, whom I usually kept my distance from--after all, I have newspapers and such to comb through regularly.

So on this particular day, feeling a metaphorical lampshade upon my head, I said, "hello" and introduced myself.

"Blah blah, chatter chatter, yak yak yak..." She said.

"Blah blah, chatter chatter, yak yak yak..." She continued.

And continued.

And continued.

Now, she's a nice lady and all, but every time I see her it's:

"Blah blah, chatter chatter, yak yak yak."

The other day, I went to take a break, spied her before she spied me--and I scuttled off in another direction and took a smoke break in a less-than-conveniently located alley.

So let that be a lesson to you...or something.

Sometimes, us shy types are to be pitied. Come on up and speak to us!

Other times, we honestly prefer it this way.

So, how do you tell?

Hmm. Can't help you TOO much on that one. If you feel you can adequately assess whether you're a "hubbala bubbala boomski" and/or a chatterbox, you can take that into consideration...

By the way, do any Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers out there speak Chick?

Could use translation services every now and then...

***

LETTERS TO THE IDIOT 1/23/2007:

>HEY SLOOP!

>

> this is leah, the girl from time out chicago with red hair, we've met a

> couple times at the flabby hoffman show. hey, i was wondering if i

> could subscribe to your e-newsletter thingy? and also-hey, what's up

> with this bring back the honey bears thing, it's hilarious!! it would

> be cool to talk to you for the magazine this week-do you have some

> time?

>

> lee-uhh

>

>

> Leah Pietrusiak

> Associate Features Editor

Hmm. Chief Limericist checking in here, because this one's addressed to me.

("Time Out Chicago" is a weekly magazine here, for you non-Chicago Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers. And "The Flabby Hoffman" show is a live series I emcee here in Chicago.)

Since I'm in a good mood, I'll let you subscribe. Usually, there's a big, Secret Society initiation to it, involving a tea baggin', a Hot Pocket fight and a couple rounds of "21 Shrimp and Fries," among other things but...as I said, I'm feelin' benevolent.

By the way, some "Tim" guy over there in sports subscribed and then asked to be taken off within about a month. Not sure if he was offended or bored with it. (His tea baggin' skills were lousy, anyway.)

I've laid off the Honey Bears thing since the end of the Holidays, not wanting to drive it into the ground. (Although that doesn't usually stop me from overdoing gags.) Oddly enough, the Bears didn't jump to change policy, either. But now that they're Super Bowl bound... I'll put it back in until then, at least starting with this edition. And I'll get back to you outside of DL on the interview thing, so as not to bore readers. (Although, again, that usually doesn't stop me.)

But for purposes of our, er, demographics ('cause we do all sorts of, um, marketing stuff, focus groups and the like)...got you down for red hair but... Does the carpet match the drapes?

Sorry. Legal department-imposed regulations and all...

And, wow, my cousin checks in too, from... Alabama or California or Mexico, not sure where he's hiding...er, living right now:

> CUZ:

>

> I'm not a big smoker, In fact, I have allergies to cigarettes. But, it think are > rights are going to fast. Their are too many people that want to run everyone

> else's lives.  Keep up the good work.

Hmm.

If somebody's gonna call this crap "good work," we'll just leave well enough alone.

***

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

BRING BACK THE HONEY BEARS FOR THE SUPER BOWL!

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

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

(Normally, we have standards here, and wouldn't take a cheap shot at Virginia like that. But my late, maternal grandfather, Henry Hopp, hated George Halas, so I'm just keeping up the family grudge. Plus, the McCaskeys are like...secondhand Halas', or something. Then there's that John Mark Karr-esque Michael McCasky and...enough!)

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

So sound off:

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

******

DAILY LIMERICK 1/24/2007:

Dave Beckham moves over the sea

to play for L.A. Galaxy.

"Soccer will catch on here!"

they say, 'cross the pond, here--

but they've said that since the Seventies!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 1/24/2007:

Rep. Steve Kagen (D-Wis.) let the whole world know recently that he tossed out all sorts of slurs at Karl Rove and Bush and that whole cabal. The Media made a big deal of it.

Now, he says the slurs never happened. He calls it a "mishandled attempt at humor." As John Kerry dubbed his "joke" about the educated avoiding the military.

(Sigh.)

Does anybody else long for the days when The Left was GOOD at being funny?...

Wisconsin hunters donated 11,845 deer to feed impoverished families.

As thousands, perhaps millions of anti-hunting, dogmatically leftish, wannabe world-changers pause a moment in utter befuddlement before ignoring a fact that could potentially disrupt their entire concept of reality...

Florida police officer Nicholas Evans made national news recently because he arrested a homeless woman but was thoughtful enough to transport her shopping cart, containing all her worldly possessions, over to the jail so that, upon her release, she wouldn't lose everything.

Homeless advocates and such cheered. His fellow coppers ridiculed him. All sorts of department regulations were brandished to punish the guy.

So now, not only is Evans mandated for retraining--but COUNSELING.

Counseling.

As our Chief Limericist has noted in his trips home on the bus with many grocery bags, you have to be, literally, out of your freakin' mind to practice courtesy in today's world...

...Chief Limericist checking in, here.

You know how I dubbed myself "The Nut Whisperer" a few months back? On

account of the fact that, not only are nuts of all stripes drawn to me, but

that I have some sort of calming effect on them?

Well... This all gives me an idea for a new mantra, as a way of offering my

services to Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers with kooks in their own lives:

Daily Limerick: Let me soothe your nuts!

Er, on second thought, that might not be what I'm looking for...

***

SPECIAL "PULL-OUT" WEDNESDAY "EAT IT!" SECTION 1/24/2007:

TODAY'S EDITION: The "Philly's Best" Phenomenon

Now, granted, folks' taste in food varies from part of the country to part of the country. Or, of course, from nation to nation, for you international readers. Or do you prefer to be called "cosmopolitan"?

(Nonetheless, if you're a true Slapper Yapper Grasshopper, nobody in their right mind would refer to you as "cosmopolitan." Then again, you probably don't hang around with anyone in their right mind.)

That is, people who grew up in California are often brainwashed into thinking that what they know as "pizza" is, indeed, pizza, rather than some thick-breaded crapola; people in New York think they're better in every way than everyone else in the universe, etc.

Well, there's a restaurant in Chicago, "Philly's Best." They boast of having all of their meats and other ingredients flown in from Philadelphia. And I've been to Philadelphia, love the town and especially love the food. Most notably, the sammiches.

But I find "Philly's Best's" sandwiches to be...mediocre, at best.

What's more, EVERYBODY I've spoken with about the place has a negative opinion of their sammiches--and they're much harsher than my assessment of "mediocre, at best."

EXCEPT people from Philadelphia, or at least from Pennsylvania. They only rave about the joint.

Now, I jotted this down as an "Eat It!" topic some time back. But when I was thinking it out... I couldn't tie this into a larger phenomenon. I couldn't say, for instance that, oh, Freddie's Minneapolis Fried Walleye, although I love fried walleye, is terrible to me but delightful to people from Minneapolis.

But nonetheless, I pass Philly's best on my way home from the train most every workday and...it just bothers me. It makes no sense. And this story thus has no real point.

Which, I guess, makes it a perfect "Eat It!" topic after all!

***

LETTERS TO THE IDIOT 1/24/2007:

Here's Scott, of Sweetie and the Beast (see Sloop's Glantameous Links), checking in about his previous plan to read our Limericks on his podcasts while juggling, which we checked into and found reason to doubt, at least in the latest episode:

> hey there,

> glad you liked the podcast. 

>

> wow, i feel bad, i really didn't mean to mislead ya.

>

> When i wrote to you my plan was to memorize the days news in limerick form

> every morning and go out busking on the streets.  then i might as well recite

> it on the podcast that night.

>

> well, my entertainment career has taken a few turns in the last few months and

> so far this idea hasn't come to fruition.

>

> i wouldn't blame ya if you took my link off the emails, no hard feelings, but

> in any case i'll talk about you on my next episode.  

>

> sorry for the misunderstanding, write me back if you get bored.

Hmm. So he THOUGHT about reading our Limericks while juggling but, when reality hit, felt better of it.

Well...it WAS an entertaining podcast. Certainly blew away anything on the mega-mergered traditional radio. Although I guess that's not saying much.

But it was good enough that I'll keep it in the Links.

And if I held it against anybody likely to have grand plans for me but in the end rethink them, well...I wouldn't ever date again...

***

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

BRING BACK THE HONEY BEARS FOR THE SUPER BOWL!

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

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

(Normally, we have standards here, and wouldn't take a cheap shot at Virginia like that. But my late, maternal grandfather, Henry Hopp, hated George Halas, so I'm just keeping up the family grudge. Plus, the McCaskeys are like...secondhand Halas', or something. Then there's that John Mark Karr-esque Michael McCasky and...enough!)

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

So sound off:

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

******

DAILY LIMERICK 1/25/2007:

I lost my damn notebook again--

pathetic'ly, my closest friend.

If DL seems shitty

today, well my kiddies...

So, what's new? (No need to pretend.)

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 1/25/2007:

Today's Limerick is, unfortunately, true. All my crackpot ideas for Limericks and S&Y nuggets, not to mention my grocery list and... Well. Second time losing this particular notebook. Last time, somebody called with it, as my phone number's in there.

Then again, anybody picking it up finds some of my, er, "poetry" in there and, well, just may decide that it's for the better of Humanity to toss it out...

...Thus, S&Y is half taking the day off today due to befuddlement...

Oh, okay, here's something':

Saw a woman on the train today reading her horoscope in Polish.

We'll leave that alone--and you should give us credit, as it's tough not to fall into a target THAT huge...

***

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

BRING BACK THE HONEY BEARS FOR THE SUPER BOWL!

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

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

(Normally, we have standards here, and wouldn't take a cheap shot at Virginia like that. But my late, maternal grandfather, Henry Hopp, hated George Halas, so I'm just keeping up the family grudge. Plus, the McCaskeys are like...secondhand Halas', or something. Then there's that John Mark Karr-esque Michael McCasky and...enough!)

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

So sound off:

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

******

DAILY LIMERICK 1/26/2007:

It's good thing John Kerry's been coaxed

to not run again, dames and blokes.

Let's hope he's learned, too,

that he should be through

attempting to tell freakin' jokes!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 1/26/2007:

So Al Gore's flick is up for an Oscar.

Do you think, should he lose in the category, that he'll demand a recount?...

Thank God the Academy Awards take place in California and not Florida...

Chief Limericist checking in, here because, of course, the "Sunday Story Time" S&Y Psychiatric Couch is occupied for the time being by the Tale of the Derelict:

For two and a half years now, I've emceed these underground music/variety shows in Chicago and watched and/or courted hopelessly the hot women, who were either with, or seeking to be with, somebody in one of the bands.

Well, the other night, the underdog went away with a fine lady's phone number in hand, receiving a dirty look from a drummer along the way.

In the lyrics of an old Willie Nelson song:

"Justice, sweet justice, you travel so slow... But you can't change my love for the rose"...

***

SPECIAL"PULL-OUT" FRIDAY ENTERTAIN YOURSELF SECTION 1/26/2007:

TODAY'S EDITION: Phil Yates and the Major Majors

Phil's a legitimately funny musician.

Many of the form's wannabe practitioners skimp on the "musician" part at the expense of the "funny," and vice versa. What's more, Phil pulls it off with an ability to pull emotional strings as well. Something certain, er, humor poets know well to be a rough battle.

For example, from Phil's "Without You":

"...Like PBJ without any bread

Like a funeral without any dead

Like the Flintstones without Fred

That's how I feel without you..."

Oh, and Phil's known for whipping out a kazoo now and again, so what's not to like?

I've heard Phil solo and with a full-on band, the Major Majors, who are their own band and have their own Web site, etc.

Haven't seen the Major Majors without Phil, but by process of imagination, can vouch for their artistry.

So:

http://www.myspace.com/philyates

and

http://www.majormajors.com

***

Daily Limerick will be featured...or quoted...or at least mentioned (we think) in the magazine Time Out Chicago (2/1/07 edition)! Why? Good question... Oh, regarding its public service of drawing the Chicago Bears' lack of cheerleaders into public scrutiny! (See below.) Pick up a copy or check the Web! (You know how to Web search, don't 'cha? Just put your lips together and... Well, you DO know how, right?)

***

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

BRING BACK THE HONEY BEARS FOR THE SUPER BOWL!

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

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

(Normally, we have standards here, and wouldn't take a cheap shot at Virginia like that. But my late, maternal grandfather, Henry Hopp, hated George Halas, so I'm just keeping up the family grudge. Plus, the McCaskeys are like...secondhand Halas', or something. Then there's that John Mark Karr-esque Michael McCasky and...enough!)

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

So sound off:

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

******

DAILY LIMERICK 1/27/2007:

Chick playfully tugged on guy's tie

which gave him a hormonal high.

Her hotness? Sublime!

For him? 'D'been some time--

so small spot in pants wasn't dry!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 1/27/2007:

For a while there, we wondered why in the hell actress Sienna Miller went back with Jude Law, who'd slept with the babysitter while she was pregnant. And we believe he had dalliances before that but... Well, we may spend a lot of time on ridiculosity, but we draw the line on researching something like THAT.

Now, we read of Sienna indulging in Celebrity Karaoke at the Sundance Film Festival.

If you pay attention, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers, life DOES begin to make sense, at some points, on some levels...

***

LETTERS TO THE IDIOT 1/27/2007:

Regarding the early tip-off to his mention in yesterday's "Entertain Yourself" section (as well as that of his oft-times backing band, the Major Majors--see Sloop's Glantamerous Links), musician/kazoo impresario Phil Yates checks in with:

> That sounds good...especially since we're playing at

> Lilly's in Lincoln Park this Saturday.

>

> Talk to you later!

> Phil

"This Saturday," of course, being today. A helpful plug, if you happen to be a Slapper Yapper Grasshopper in or near Chicago.

Lilly's being a bar. Not some chick's pad.

Although, hell, WE'D play some chick's pad.

That sounds a bit ugly, don't it.

A good note to end another Cheezy Saturday edition on...

***

Daily Limerick will be featured...or quoted...or at least mentioned (we think) in the magazine Time Out Chicago (2/1/07 edition)! Why? Good question... Oh, regarding its public service of drawing the Chicago Bears' lack of cheerleaders into public scrutiny! (See below.) Pick up a copy or check the Web! (You know how to Web search, don't 'cha? Just put your lips together and... Well, you DO know how, right?)

***

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

BRING BACK THE HONEY BEARS FOR THE SUPER BOWL!

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

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

(Normally, we have standards here, and wouldn't take a cheap shot at Virginia like that. But my late, maternal grandfather, Henry Hopp, hated George Halas, so I'm just keeping up the family grudge. Plus, the McCaskeys are like...secondhand Halases, or something. Then there's that John Mark Karr-esque Michael McCasky and...enough!)

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

So sound off:

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

******

DAILY LIMERICK 1/28/2007:

For snore image, Gore's antidote:

Becoming filmmaker of note!

But will nomination

for Oscar bring nation,

with loss, a recount of THAT vote?

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 1/28/2007:

Hillary Clinton v. Barack Obama?

Time for the Dems to prove they can be every bit as divisive within their cookie-cutter political philosophy as the GOP!...

Two headlines from the same page in our daily newspaper:

"Women Win View at Tucson Mosque"

and

"Kentucky Judge Says Christians-Only Health Plan Can Continue"

Nothing like organized religion to bring people together...

The Wine Market Council has put together its now annual list of Super Bowl wine pairings, for such foods as nachos and sloppy joes.

What... It's not enough that you guys have the snooty, buy-anything-you-tell-them-to folks on puppet strings? You want the common, blue-collar, buy-anything-you-tell-them-to market as well?...

***

SUNDAY STORY TIME 1/28/2007:

A SPECIAL, TOUCHING SECTION APPEARING SUNDAYS ONLY

(Touching in some manner, anyway)

TODAY'S EDITION: The Tale of the Derelict Renter/Roommate, Chapter Twelve--The End of the Derelict's Lease

As The Derelict's lease entered its final days and his strange, non-informative phone calls heralded his possible appearance before its end, I had an idea.

I poked through what seemed to be his "immediate" belongings. The things on his desk, on his Monster Waterbed's built-in shelves (functioning as nightstands, of sorts), etc.

And I found what I hoped I would: His keys to the place.

The Derelict's second vacation, like the first, wasn't exactly well planned. The packing he did was of the useless variety and the only things he did manage to take with were thanks to me. Just before he was strapped to the straightjacket gurney, I brandished some things that were obvious and immediate--wallet, coat, that sort of thing.

I'd known where his checkbook was since the prison stint--when he'd instructed me to write myself the rent check. And at some point, TD wrote his last rent check early--when he was showing signs that a part of him realized he was "going away somewhere" soon, during his between-jail-and-nuthouse week and a half--so I made sure to snag that check off the top before giving the paramedics his checkbook.

Now, I'm not the type of guy who, as many exes have bitched, "shows emotion." I could win a million bucks and, upon learning that, would do little but smirk. Perhaps excited on the inside but... Nonetheless, upon finding TD's keys, I came about as close to dancing a jig and screeching out a "yee-haw!" as I come.

This meant...he was likely gone for good.

With five days left on The Derelict's lease, he left a message while I was at work. "I don't have your work number anymore...but I'm about to get out of here and I found out I don't have my keys."

Yes!

I could say I was out of town by my parents...working and performing too much to be able to run into him...it wasn't my fault he'd lost his keys and, while I might have a landlord duty to provide new ones, I had no obligation to drop whatever I was doing and furnish them immediately! I started screening EVERY Call. Not answering the door buzzer. (Usually, having the door buzzer go off without hearing that somebody's coming by is trouble, anyhow.) I'd even keep the blinds closed and keep the lights off, at least the ones that'd be most obvious to those outside looking in.

Four days left on his lease--another message while I was at work. Then another, screened, soon after I came home. Then yet another...by a social worker at his former halfway house. "Mr. Biederman, I hope you can call back as soon as possible, as Mr. [The Derelict] needs to pick up some of his belongings."

While TD had put me through a nut-encrusted hell, pumped up the stress in my life, completed with his antics what will always be known to me as The Great Summer of Suck of 2006...I felt some sorrow for his situation. I knew that, now, he was completely a broken man. His big attempt at freedom, officially cancelled. When he'd really begun to lose it, after the jail stint, he revealed to me that, at the halfway house, he bragged to the other members, many with no chance whatsoever at ever leaving, that he was getting out and that he'd "come back and buy the place" one day.

There he was. In a managed setting made even worse with the taste of freedom fresh on his tongue. And undoubtedly being laughed at by the others over his failure, to boot.

I called the halfway house woman back. Arranged to have TD come by the next day, "accompanied by someone," to retrieve some junk.

I'd already began running ads to find a new renter/roommate come October, even showing the place a couple times, despite the unkempt status of the rooms for rent. So I began packing and organizing TD's stuff. Planning just how I was going to fit his stuff in my storage (as it didn't seem that an organized moving plan was of high Derelict priority at that point) and also preparing "to go" bags for stuff he'd need right away--clothing, toiletries, etc.

Going through The Derelict's stuff was entertaining. Some would think "interesting" to be a better word, but it was truly entertaining. There was humor--ridiculous plans he'd made but never followed through one, evidenced by things like a baritone ukulele, "marital aids," business cards of women obviously WAY out of his league. There was surprise--an actual license to practice massage (long since expired), seemingly well used, regulation boxing gear, including gloves and a punching bag. There was fright--dozens of pill bottles stashed in cunning places, seasoned pornographic films on reels!

And there was drama--photos of him as a young child, yellowed, ancient cards with a feminine cursive proclaiming, "I love you."

The next day, marking three days remaining on The Derelict's lease, he came to pick up some stuff. I'd never seen him look worse. His eyes were sunken, his hair unkempt, grayer than I'd ever noticed. He shuffled about like a nonagenarian. I imagine they had TD on especially high levels of pills--to calm his insanity and probably to stop him from fleeing, resisting and/or causing trouble.

He was not accompanied by halfway house staff, but by his "friend," a black halfway house denizen whom he'd recruited to help move, twice, before (and whom he always finagled into doing most of the work), but one he'd rarely even called, once free. And his friend didn't move much faster, being permanently drugged, not to mention aged, himself.

"I have to get my keys from you," was one of the first things TD said, proving that the "freedom fighter" within wasn't completely dead, which only came across as sad.

"You're living in the halfway house again, now," I answered.

"Yeah, but I still have three days left..."

I told The Derelict that I hadn't found his keys and that it was silly to make new ones, now. He requested the keys a couple more times during his visit. And that visit lasted at least 45 freakin' minutes.

TD insisted on looking over his belongings, although he added only a couple things to the bags I'd pre-packed for him. And he moved in slow motion, made worse by the fact that he seemed to have no short term memory at all--going from perusing the hall closet, to the bedroom, taking a bathroom break and going back to the hall closet only to be reminded that, "You've went through there already."

But I was patient. I had things to do, of course, but knew this could very well be the last time he'd be among the belongings he'd accumulated over a lifetime. It could very well be the last time he'd see the material trappings representing what was once his fairly normal life, now lost as an obscure chapter of history.

Keeping things on the legal level, as I had throughout The Derelict saga, I'd typed up a written notice of his having 30 days from the end of the lease to remove his belongings--and I'd stuffed that into one of his "to go" bags. I also mentioned that situation to him. As he FINALLY went through the last door, stepping outside my condo complex, he mentioned something about coming back for more stuff, after asking again for his keys to no avail.

"If you come back again for more stuff, it'll have to be with someone from the halfway house. I don't have time for this."

The Derelict and his "friend" went and started up TD's cycle. It sputtered, it started. It stalled. Eventually, he drove it around the block or something, returned and parked it somewhere different--somewhere equally as unacceptable to association rules but, in his Derelict mind, perhaps enough of a change.

That process, of course, took something like a half hour. And it was pathetically comical in its own way, complete with the bike and each of the derelicts falling over at points.

When I came home from work the next day, the cycle was nowhere to be found. Whether TD managed to find somewhere to store it or it was hauled away, I'll never know.

As previously mentioned, and a staple of the sage, I had some sympathy for TD and, as long as I was storing his stuff--which was a huge pain in the ass, especially moving it all and dismantling the damn waterbed--a part of me considered this line of thought: "You know, I could jus SAY '30 days,' to scare him into sooner than later, but allow him to pick up his stuff within some reasonable timeline past that."

But another part of me won out, with THIS line of thought: "TD should never, EVER be let free again--and I can't allow some poor guy at some point in the future, needing to rent a room, live through what I did. And if by some miracle The Derelict CAN straighten out enough to handle life on his own, he needs to learn what that can entail--when most people abandon their belongings after a lease, they lose them. And that's just what is going to happen."

During that last TD visit while his lease was currently valid, he expressed some delusions regarding his belongings. "Some of the young, strong guys from the halfway house will come to help me move all the stuff"; "My brother should let me store it all in his garage."

Neither of those things happened.

The Derelict did come by once, after his lease, to move some things. I'd called him and his brother frequently during that time, as I'd need to schedule such a thing and I didn't expect TD to be too on the ball--I imagined him just buzzing one Saturday morning and announcing he'd was moving his stuff.

This "scheduled" move included borrowing someone's car, as opposed to renting a truck, and enlisting a couple halfway house denizens just as old and out-of-it as he. (He was in better shape that the previous time I'd seen him, but not up to par--or as up to par as a Derelict could be.) In typical fashion, TD largely "supervised" and watched the other two do most of the work. He only picked up the remainder of his clothes and most of the toiletries, plus some assorted things that caught his eye in my storage.

He told me there'd be another move--and I told him I could only do weekends and that he had two more left in that 30-day window.

King Condo had predicted that, "Oh, he'll talk people into moving and storing all his stuff." "Trust me," he said, "he's manipulative when he needs to be."

And I'd expected to hear from The Derelict sometime well after his 30-day window, trying to talk me into getting the remainder (should it, well, remain in my storage).

But mid-week, just before The Derelict's last weekend of moving opportunity, I called him and said I'd have to know if he would be moving crap that weekend.

"No. I'm done with it. Do whatever you want with the stuff now."

And that was the last I ever heard from The Derelict.

COMING NEXT WEEK TO SUNDAY STORY TIME: The Tale's Epilogue

***

MIKE'S ACCURSED VERSE 1/28/2007:

A SPECIAL SUNDAY EXTRA SECTION

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

BY MIKE "BOOM" CHMIELECKI

TODAY'S POEM: To L.v.T.

You wrap your characters in a suffocating press,

the precise weight of spider legs.

 

I'm not looking for entertainment

in your misery plays. Nor enlightenment.

 

Just a sense that you live in the world.

But you lash out in hatred at your creations.

 

Your traumatized puppets loom hugely out --

you rape them, murder them, destroy and deny them.

 

Give me some sense that you care about something,

some memento that cannot be wrapped in chains.

 

A kiss. A bird. A girl. Anything.

 

The frame shakes as the audience leaves.

 

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

***

LETTERS TO THE IDIOT 1/28/2007:

Well, first of all, this cat--prominent art writer and hedonist about New York (and beyond) Ed Rubin--asks for it. ("It" being to be added to the Special Daily Limerick e-mail list.)

Then he pipes-in with this:

> I am waiting to read Pepper Hardbutt and the Waffles. Great Title. It sounds like a Best Seller.

Hmmm.

There's a section on the site for "Biederman's Books," I believe it's called--one of our Chief Limericist's wildly optimistic, take-on-too-many-projects-and-go-ridiculously-slowly-on-many-of-them works in progress, a novel, about... Oh, check it out, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers, if you haven't already. (And I'm guessing you lazy bastards haven't already.)

The gist of that book oughta tell you a bit about Mr. Rubin's state of mind. As if joining the e-list doesn't.

But who're we to talk? Since we're the ones behind it, he's only a secondhand sicko!

***

Daily Limerick will be featured...or quoted...or at least mentioned (we think) in the magazine Time Out Chicago (2/1/07 edition)! Why? Good question... Oh, regarding its public service of drawing the Chicago Bears' lack of cheerleaders into public scrutiny! (See below.) Pick up a copy or check the Web! (You know how to Web search, don't 'cha? Just put your lips together and... Well, you DO know how, right?)

***

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

BRING BACK THE HONEY BEARS FOR THE SUPER BOWL!

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

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

(Normally, we have standards here, and wouldn't take a cheap shot at Virginia like that. But my late, maternal grandfather, Henry Hopp, hated George Halas, so I'm just keeping up the family grudge. Plus, the McCaskeys are like...secondhand Halases, or something. Then there's that John Mark Karr-esque Michael McCasky and...enough!)

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

So sound off:

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

******

DAILY LIMERICK 1/29/2007:

Can Hollywood folk BE incisive?

'Cause their support could prove decisive

as Hil, Barack face-

off. Sex versus race!

A P.C. Fest that proves divisive!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 1/29/2007:

Deck headline:

"'Bachelorette Jen Schefft Remains Single and Ready to Mingle--But She Won't Settle Down for Just Any Ol' Guy"

That's right--her dating pool's like a celebrity trial jury selection. She needs to find either a) someone who's been in a pop cultural cave for a decade; or b) an idiot--and not just the run-of-the-mill, dime-a-dozen sort, but an idiot of Olympic proportions!

***

SPECIAL"PULL-OUT" MONDAY"OPEN UP 'N' TAKE YOUR MEDICINE" HAIKU HEALTH SECTION 1/29/2007:

By David Sher

 

TODAY'S HAIKU: Plastic Surgery Haiku

 

Bosom enhancement

Operation; doctor wants

Big up-front payment

 

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

***

Daily Limerick will be featured...or quoted...or at least mentioned (we think) in the magazine Time Out Chicago (2/1/07 edition)! Why? Good question... Oh, regarding its public service of drawing the Chicago Bears' lack of cheerleaders into public scrutiny! (See below.) Pick up a copy or check the Web! (You know how to Web search, don't 'cha? Just put your lips together and... Well, you DO know how, right?)

***

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

BRING BACK THE HONEY BEARS FOR THE SUPER BOWL!

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

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

(Normally, we have standards here, and wouldn't take a cheap shot at Virginia like that. But my late, maternal grandfather, Henry Hopp, hated George Halas, so I'm just keeping up the family grudge. Plus, the McCaskeys are like...secondhand Halases, or something. Then there's that John Mark Karr-esque Michael McCasky and...enough!)

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

So sound off:

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

******

DAILY LIMERICK 1/30/2007:

Some say the advent of YouTube

saves us from the tube we call "boob-."

But 90 percent's

of talent-less bent--

kar'yoke and stupid-trick rubes!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 1/30/2007:

So now Hillary Clinton, at an Iowa "town hall meeting," has jumped into the Democratic Party act of tossing out unfunny jokes.

Why don't they just appoint Michael Richards the V.P. nominee and be done with it...

This just in! (For us, anyway.):

Perhaps you'd know this already if you're, well, 15-years-old (in which case you shouldn't be reading this) and on MySpace regularly, but we've recently found out that many list themselves as "engaged" or "married" on such sites when they're merely in a steady relationship.

'Cause we all know that what the world needs now is further cheapening of the meanings of "love" and "commitment"!...

In the interests of fairness and the, er, "journalistic" quest for truth--Chief Limericist checking in, here, and lying upon the S&Y Psychiatric Couch, as its proper place in Sunday Story Time is STILL occupied by the Derelict Tale, at least for one more week--we must provide an update on a recent session.

I previously related that, after nearly three years of hosting music/variety shows, and having all the hottest chicks already taken by damn musicians, I'd finally left with a phone number and a smug satisfaction at sending a musician home pissed off.

Well... That "number" appears to have possibly been a ruse. The current theory is that I was an object used to provoke jealousy or as part of some other sick, evil female trick.

So while justice, sweet justice, travels yet slower than I'd originally thought, I didn't want to misrepresent the poet/humorist's life.

Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be poets...

***

LETTERS TO THE IDIOT 1/30/2007:

"wesman" checks in with:

> http://youtube.com/watch?v=ZkuViukzzxI

>

> enjoy

"wesman" is of the band... Aw, they're on our list for the featuring in Friday's "Entertain Yourself" section, so we'll bump it up to THIS Friday.

Anyway, this little link is to a video of a cover of "Monster Mash" with our Chief Limericist singing backup vocals.

"Enjoy" may indeed be a tall order...

***

Daily Limerick will be featured...or quoted...or at least mentioned (we think) in the magazine Time Out Chicago (2/1/07 edition)! Why? Good question... Oh, regarding its public service of drawing the Chicago Bears' lack of cheerleaders into public scrutiny! (See below.) Pick up a copy or check the Web! (You know how to Web search, don't 'cha? Just put your lips together and... Well, you DO know how, right?)

***

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

BRING BACK THE HONEY BEARS FOR THE SUPER BOWL!

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

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

(Normally, we have standards here, and wouldn't take a cheap shot at Virginia like that. But my late, maternal grandfather, Henry Hopp, hated George Halas, so I'm just keeping up the family grudge. Plus, the McCaskeys are like...secondhand Halases, or something. Then there's that John Mark Karr-esque Michael McCasky and...enough!)

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

So sound off:

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

******

DAILY LIMERICK 1/31/2007:

So Hil embraced new Dem'crat trend:

Told bad joke. Her punch? "Evil men."

It seems she's perplexed

'bout the "evil" sex--

for clue, should start dating again!

***

SLAPPIN' AND YAPPIN' 1/31/2007:

...Yeah, yeah yeah. Today's Limerick may seem bitter.

But we think the Chief Limericist has reached a level of at least "bittersweet" now, and that's progress...

As part of the Seattle area "Coffee Wars," some shops have baristas wearing bikinis and other scanty clothing.

Wow. Get that goin' in a coffeehouse near us and we might pay...well, ALMOST what Starbucks charges for a cup!

***

Daily Limerick will be featured...or quoted...or at least mentioned (we think) in the magazine Time Out Chicago (2/1/07 edition)! Why? Good question... Oh, regarding its public service of drawing the Chicago Bears' lack of cheerleaders into public scrutiny! (See below.) Pick up a copy or check the Web! (You know how to Web search, don't 'cha? Just put your lips together and... Well, you DO know how, right?)

***

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

BRING BACK THE HONEY BEARS FOR THE SUPER BOWL!

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

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

(Normally, we have standards here, and wouldn't take a cheap shot at Virginia like that. But my late, maternal grandfather, Henry Hopp, hated George Halas, so I'm just keeping up the family grudge. Plus, the McCaskeys are like...secondhand Halases, or something. Then there's that John Mark Karr-esque Michael McCasky and...enough!)

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

So sound off:

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

 

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

 

Web Site Sections:

Daily Limerick/ Daily Limerick Archives/ For Advertisers<