Daily Limerick
Archives: May 2008

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)!



U.S. biz, in Baghdad, will fly,

a Disney-like park for a try.

That's using their heads!

Paint it white and red

to match it's theme: giant bull's eye!



Speaking of the amusement park featured in today's Limerick... Are they gonna run with the obvious theme? With a daily "Civil War Parade" and all? Why not just call it, "Terrorland"?...

Anybody else wondering if the Rev. Jeremiah Wright is actually on Hillary's payroll?...



On Rev'rend Wright, spotlight keeps dolling,

so crackpot views he keeps extolling.

Much to the dismay

of Obama... Say,

could Hil be behind Wright's payrolling?



Whenever you see/hear a media mention of a crime being "drug-related"...well, place the blame where it realistically belongs and substitute THIS phrase:

"Drug POLICY-related"...


"School Bus Driver Slammed Brakes to Punish Kids: Cops"

Big difference between a school bus driver and a big city public bus driver.

Judging from the driving habits of Chicago bus drivers, such an act gets you nominated for employee of the month...

A Chicago Sun-Times features package yesterday asked:

"What If Women Ruled Chicago?"

Hmm. We'll avoid prattling on too much about the standard DL/S&Y line on this kinda stuff--no, men would NOT wear high heels, as women aren't turned on by such stuff (if they WERE, men would regularly be stumbling around in 12-inch heels); it'd be tough to plan much ahead of time, what with all the changing of minds; blah blah blah.

Instead, let's focus on... Well, what the hell do you MEAN, "What if?"

Women have a monopoly on sex. (Excepting, of course, our gay brothers. You go guys!) They ALREADY rule Chicago AND the world. Perhaps not in the conventional sense, but don't kid yourself, they have ALL the power...



TODAY'S EDITION: Dylan Thomas' Daughter Likes Me!


Okay. Well, maybe she doesn't like ME, per se, but when leaving the Green Mill's Uptown Poetry Slam here in Chicago, she made a point of telling me, on her non-gentle way out into the dark night, that she liked my poem.

I didn't stand in her route of egress or anything. Or even talk to her, actually (she was the featured reader; new book out, move on her father coming out). So it wasn't one of those awkward, poet-on-poet deals where you feel you HAVE to tell somebody you liked their poem.

Oh, and at the Green Mill, I almost NEVER win the damn Slam competition. My rhymey, silly stuff rarely beats out the "man's keepin' me down," socially conscious and/or hip-hoppy drivel.

So this was some consolation.

Not sure how this helps YOU, the Slapper Yapper Grasshopper, entertain yourself. But thinking about it is entertaining ME so... Well, that's an EXAMPLE of how you, too, can entertain YOURself.

First, of course, you have to impress some famous poet's daughter.

Dylan Thomas' daughter likes my poetry!

Nyay-nyah, nyah-nyah, nyaaaaah-nyaaaaaah!...



There once was a girl named Jeanine

whom, if you cast eye on quite keen,

designs could discern

on toenails, which burned

one's thoughts to kink and the obscene.



A hurried misread of our newspaper's TV grid brought a bit of truth in error:

The Chicago Cubs game on Comedy Central...



This cat checks in about our recent assertion that women do, indeed, rule the world, as they have a monopoly on sex:

> Hiya Sloop!


> I like that idea. Can you expand on that a bit more fully

> and get it published? I would like to read more on that.

> A number of years ago I went to a writer's conference and

> the theme of one of the panels was, "Is film gay." That

> peaked my interest and seemed to, with all of the sliding

> and emulsion -- and I do not mean KY -- ring true.


> I have no idea what was said. But still...


> Enjoy the day.


> I leave for Moscow and St. Petersburg on May 24. Back on

> June 9. I am very busy networking and trying to find cheapies,

> to stay, if not freebies.


> Enjoy the day,


> Fast Eddy


Chief Limericist, summoned and checked-in, here.

Whether or not film is, itself, "gay"... I don't know. As you say, would have to know more. And good luck in Russia. May you discover the women there to lack the U.S. "flaky gene."

Regarding women's monopoly on sex... Would I ever get laid again if I expanded on that more? I'm puttin' myself out on a lonesome limb with some of this stuff as it is... Could be worse. Could be ComCast with the monopoly on sex.

And I think ComCast's working on it, actually...



When chicks ponder the "fantasy":

If women ruled world, how it'd be...

It's pure hooey-hoo;

they already do--

for, on sex, they've monopoly!



Chief Limericist checking in, here.

Don't you hate it when you get trapped on a Saturday morning among a group practicing primitive rituals, scientifically frozen in the Sixteenth Century--and besieging you with horrible music, to boot?

No. I wasn't stranded on an island among savages. But enough about my nephew's First Communion ceremony...

As a child, during one of the (thankfully) few times I was dragged to mass, I remember thinking, "Now, the more intelligent one is, the more easily one becomes bored... So, if I'M bored out of my skull with these tired hymns and parables, and have only been around a sliver of 'forever'...could any god stay awake for this crap, even if he DID care to listen in?"...

Don't get me wrong. I firmly believe in a God or gods and a meaning to life and the universe and all--but I don't see what the hell that has to do with this "religion" mumbo-jumbo...

Now THIS edition sorta fits a Sunday theme, don't it?...




(Touching in some manner, anyway)

TODAY'S EDITION: Stumbling into Waitress Greatness

Familiar with the Warren Zevon Song, "Lawyers, Guns and Money"? I have that song in my head all the time now. Because it begins: "I went home with a waitress/ Like I always do."

Actually, I didn't go HOME with her, per se. Or at all, really, per se or no. But I got her number, called her and we're supposed to go on a date.

Now, I all-too-fully realize, due to recent disastrous events in the name of a "romantic" life, that agreeing to a date doesn't necessarily mean the date will actually happen. There are unmentioned boyfriends, wishy-washiness, our generally rude and flaky society and, well, an inherently fickle woman to contend with before it actually goes down.

I'm bragging about this because she's a waitress. A bar waitress, to be precise. At a bar where I perform poetry regularly. Ever since my first tavern outings, when I fell for the flirty-for-tip-money waitress bit, I've operated under the guy wisdom: You don't hit on a waitress/bartender; EVERYBODY hits on the waitress/bartender.

This is supposed to be an accomplishment solely for the accomplished pick-up artist, picking up a waitress. It's supposed to take a conscious plan--ignoring her, yet lightly socializing with her every-so-briefly, now and then, all the while carrying a certain attitude and... I wouldn't know.

I don't know how I accomplished this. I wasn't even particularly looking to accomplish this. I certainly wasn't thinking, "It's tough to pick-up a waitress; so I've GOTTA pick-up a waitress!" I mean, it's delightful and all; she's Godawful purty and such but... Well, for Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers looking to me for advice, specifically on how you, too, can pick-up a waitress... Number one, don't look to me for advice on any matter, whatsoever.

Number two... Well, DON'T hit on the waitress.

From there, you're on your own...







TODAY'S POEM: What's next


Sometimes the light makes me warm

and happy, other times just sleepy.

It's a common theme, the thread

of life -- light and its absence.


Winter used to be my favorite season,

when I was little and it just meant play.

And then Fall was my favorite for years --

it colored the streets with boxes of crayons.


I've always hated Summer -- uncomfortable

with the intense heat and intense feeling

that everybody else on the bus is having sex but me.

But Spring has become my favorite.


Thin crusts of snow receding into the dirt,

the roofs dripping, the trees putting on their clothes.

And the light in the windows is just right,

it says get ready for what's next.


[If you'd like to praise or berate the poet, e-mail him at mpchmielecki@gmail.com. He won't bite--although he may chew a bit.]



New York Slapper Yapper Grasshopper checking in:

> WKTU, a local radio program here had one of their call ins.

> It seems that woman would chose shopping over having sex,

> presumably, men sex over shopping.

Well, first of all, keep in mind that women in general were NOT polled here but, firstly, WKTU listeners and, secondly, women with nothing better to do than call in for a radio poll.

'Least that's how we're looking at it. You know, to fight off the urge to just shoot up the nearest Arby's...

And the "star" of last week's Sunday Story Time (regarding his Magical Marijuana Smoking Machine and fooling me with a red pepper hit) checks in, too:

> Very funny, but I wouldn't say I became a full on pot fiend.

> Gotta admit I'd forgotten about that incident but we were

> smoking pot so.....


> You should have been there the night we fed a visiting friend

> a shot of vodka with a good teaspoon of that pepper. Shortly

> thereafter a trip to the trask room to retrieve the mop bucket

> was in order in addition to dragging his 300 pound ass into the

> shower for more cleanup. If I recall correctly in my own drunken

> stupor a herculean effort was required to get his briefs back on

> with much pulling and tugging. Only in the morning did we discover

> they'd been put on sideways and the leghole which was now around

> his waist had cut off a fair amount of circulation. Needless to

> say he wasn't pleased.


I suppose it all depends on your definition of "pot fiend."

And, you know, Sunday Story Time started fairly innocently. Childhood stories and such.

Yet, despite appearances, it has NOT become Sunday Debaucherous College Story Time...



So Hannah Montana showed... SHOULDERS!

You'd think that she flashed her flesh boulders!

Parents are outraged

by some mixed-up gauge

for as 'tween tart, Disney did mold her!



From this last Saturday night through Sunday morning, the city of Chicago sponsored "Looptopia," a marathon of art taking the cue from Paris and other European cities shooting to be oh so European/Canadian.

What's the word for this? It's on the tips of our lips... Lame. Yeah, that's it. Lame.

Now, dwelling among the artsy-fartsy crowd, we often hear bitchin' from fellow U.S. artists about how "other countries" sponsor artists and...and... Now, especially with Dubya in charge, America is ripe for the bashin'. And we oft join in.

But... Art? Sponsored by government?

Now, absent a grant or program here or there, of course... If you don't see the potential problem, well... I don't know. Maybe you can crawl back in the womb, start over again--and, this time, pay attention...



Civilian boaters should be bearers

of torch, says Bush, in War on Terror,

'cause coasts are unguarded

thanks to the retarded

resource waste: Iraq War of Error!




It's the little bummers in life that can get you.

You follow a newspaper columnist regularly because he consistently dwells in topics, opinions and observations far outside the mainstream columnist grind...and then, one day, he pipes-in on "American Idol."

Oh, well. Hope is overrated, anyway...

If you tear off a piece in the bathroom of a train...does that make you a member of the "Sea Level Club"?...



There's term which, for us, long time's grated,

oft with inner-city crimes mated.

Yet it's quite misleading--

phrase we should be reading

is that crime was "drug WAR-related"!




"Naperville Cheerleading Coach Accused of Sexually Assaulting 13-Year-Old"

Daily Limerick tip for school officials:

Never, ever have a male fill the position of "cheerleading coach," unless he's flaming to a level of constantly mincing about.


Never hire a Boy Scout troop leader who doesn't have a son in the bunch...

This just in:

When you see or hear the word "sexist" these days, 90 percent of the time it is a load of donkey dung thanks to the squeamishness of our Puritan society and/or the refreshing burst women (and hopelessly guilty males) get out of attaching it to anything related to male sexuality...



TODAY'S EDITION: Lick Spoons for the Environment!

I suppose this only applies if you have a dishwasher, the use of which is supposed to be good for the environment and all, at least if you wait 'til that puppy's chock full before running it... So:

Rather than rinse your dirty spoons, pizza cutters, etc. before placing them in the dishwasher--which you often have to do, despite the dogma of the Green Nazis, unless you want grit-caked dishes coming out... Well, lick 'em.

On second thought, even if you DON'T have a dishwasher, lickin' those spoons helps the environment, as you'll need less water to wash 'em up by hand.

Aw, hell. Just start lickin' stuff and tell yourself it's good for the environment. You have just as much right to be all "greener than thou" smug as the smelly, urban hippies getting in everybody's way on their bicycles who wouldn't be able to afford a car even if they DIDN'T have the bike...



Now pedophiles oft are deft dupes,

maneuv'ring 'round kid-safety hoops.

But don't court disaster--

don't name guy "Scout Master"

unless he has kid in the troop!



And now it's time for...

Daily Limerick Answers the "Question Headline," Eliminating the Need for the Space-Killing Fluff Story:


"Will They Find Success After 'Idol'?"





She'll do ANYTHING for a win

now, much to Dem party's chagrin,

courts in-fighting tension

and hostile convention...

Please Hil, it's time to pack it in!




"Comcast considers Internet usage caps for customers"

This on top of their move toward censoring Internet service, not to mention the Ivan the Terrible school of customer service... Can we de FINALLY declare Comcast a terrorist organization?...

Kudos to Major League Baseball for NOT taking action against the Chicago White Sox for the clubhouse "Blow-Up Doll Scandal."

Small step toward stemming the Disneyfication of society, not to mention the world of sports... But can ANYBODY, ANYWERE answer for us just HOW a blow-up doll is "sexist"? Unless, of course, they're talking sexism toward males--because, really, which gender takes a hit when a pathetic shmuck stoops to mounting a floatation device?...

To any Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers of the writerly persuasion... Avoid Guru.com.

At one time, I found the freelance-finding site useful. (Chief Limericist checked-in, here.) Of course, you're allowed to join free, while the paltry pickin's push you toward a paid membership, but I did round up some decent work, speech writing and such, many moons ago.

Nonetheless, these days, Guru's only useful purpose has been tipping me off to the existence of literary sweatshops.

Yeah. $5, even $1 for 300-word-plus stories. Guru's crawlin' with that crap.

Now, there may be ways of copying other articles from the Web, dumping 'em into some program and "re-writing" them to be "original" in a flash, so one could make a semi-appreciable wage with this grunt work. Or perhaps there somehow exist educated folk in the backwoods of Third World countries, happy to earn enough to buy a quarter-loaf of bread after hacking out 50 articles in a 80-hour work week.

Otherwise... Well, guess folks giving handjobs for cash in bus depots need workers to look down on, too...



TODAY'S EDITION: Art Gallery Openings

I prowl my way around the fringes of the Chicago art scene. Which, arguably, is part of the national/international art scene. And it occurred to me recently that, rather than always focusing on bands in this section (or blathering on about some topic with a tenuous link to "entertainment" section material), I should mention an artist here or there.

Here's the problem:

The most recent artist who floored me... Well, I'm hot for her ass. I made a play for her and, as is inevitable for me these days, she's "in a relationship." So even though I legitimately dig that hot little number's work, plugging her would come across as having ulterior motives. (Although, arguably, "plugging her" is the MAIN motive! Try the veal!...) Not sure why I care about appearing biased--I mean, look at my sleaze-ball "body of work"--but... Well, I DO care. I'm ethical in my own way.

So, getting back to today's Entertain Yourself tip... If you live in or near a large city, you're bound to have a section of town proliferating with art galleries. And, if the artsy-farts in charge of the galleries have any sense, they'll coordinate the openings of shows, so that you can make an event out of a "First Friday" gallery walk, or something like that.

In Chicago, the Pilsen neighborhood does just that--for Second Fridays. The snooty Old Guard gallery neighborhood, River North, has went to hell on that level but... In any event, you'll see a lot of cool art...and a lot of crap. But you'll get free wine and appetizers and such--sometimes enough to make a meal or near-meal--and you'll be able to mix with an artsy-fart crowd.

Including hot little artsy-fart chicks.

Which brings me back to the "in a relationship" curse...



I know a chick by name of Allison

so innocent...no thoughts of malice--none!

Feel guilt o'er thoughts--'mong

them usage her tongue

for placing my raging hard phallus on!



So, Mariah Carey got her new husband's name tattooed on her lower back.

Isn't this precisely the type of thing that temporary tattoos were invented for?...



It's Mothers Day so, at the least,

let all kid-mom tensions just cease

and treat Mom today!

Or mark it my way--

find hot MILF and tear off a piece!



Don't have more of a Mother's Day "hunk" than today's Limerick.

Then again, is Daily Limerick really the best place to turn for touching Mother's Day fare?...

We will give you a neo-touching, slice-of-the-season vignette:

Chief Limericist checking in, here.

Last night, I made a fire in my fireplace.

The weather's been in and out, but I think it was, at last, the final fire of the season--until fall.

Now, tonight is expected to be even chillier, but I have plans outside the house. And yesterday night was borderline, in that I've told myself I'll make a fire only if the low is expected to be 40 degrees or lower, and the forecast said low-to-mid 40s... (While a bit sentimental about burning fires, as I grew-up with fireplaces, I'm careful not to be pathetic about the changing of the season--for fireplace season gives way to barbecue season, and vice versa, making it just a change in the face of the kick-ass.)

Yippee to barbecue season! But at the same time... (Sigh.)

And I got to thinkin': This is like our ancestors. Anticipating the last fire of the season, necessary for warmth, and waxing a bit sappy. And I don't have a gas fireplace or any of that modern claptrap. So, like my ancestors, I build the fire with logs atop half-burnt shards, left over from the last fire, atop light cardboard from a Hungry Man meatloaf dinner atop balled-up newspaper... Well, perhaps the experience differs slightly from that of my ancestors.

Of course, they used leaves instead of newspaper. And the Hungry Man frozen dinners?... Well, they only came in stuff like "Possum and Foraged Berries" back then...




(Touching in some manner, anyway)

TODAY'S EDITION: Pinata Memories

I took five years of Spanish, from junior high into high school. Until I was ultimately booted from Honors Spanish as a junior... Which I won't go into now.

Okay, okay, it's a short, unexciting story. I was selling flowers for student council, as I was class vice president... My. Everywhere I turn I'm running into "another stories"... Anyway, I supposedly didn't clear the flower sales with the Spanish teacher, as my slot fell during her class, although I seem to recall doing so... Anyway, I got the boot. Over THAT. So much for the rewards of school spirit.

High school Spanish class being what it is, one day, in order to experience Latino culture, the teacher had us beat a pinata.

It was on-again, off-again friend Tom's turn to have a whack at the thing. He was blindfolded, spun around to dizzy him up...and just as he appeared to be ready to swing, in the wrong direction actually... He quickly turned 180 degrees, swung the pole through the air with a "whoosh" and... Things went black.

See, Tom whacked me in the head with the pinata stick, or whatever the hell you call it. One of the few times in life I actually lost consciousness, if only for a moment.

The evil Spanish teacher, naturally, freaked the hell out. "Are you all right?!?"

I was all right. But I should've pretended otherwise for a bit.

The circle of onlookers was backed further away from the pinata and more care was taken, but eventually somebody broke the pinata and we all scooped up candy and cheap-ass toys.

I had my suspicions about Tom. It was a decent blindfold and all, and it appeared to be tied properly onto his head but... Otherwise, it sure looked like the bastard aimed for me.

Certainly made my enemies in that Goddamned Spanish Honors class...







TODAY'S POEM: Swim or be sunk


Seawater seawater seawater shark!

Or is that just a rock? It's further out

than my vision can reach. It doesn't

seem to be getting closer, but the way

it stays in place in agonizing.


I can just imagine a fish connected to it,

thinking, measuring the frequencies

of swim or be sunk. Swim or be sunk.

The salt and the sun are heaving at me,

and it's too much to take so soon


after cracking up on the rocks.

The captain said he knew where we were

and where we were heading, but no,

he didn't. The whole stupid sailboat vibrated

when it caught, scraped up against the sea's roof,


tilting tilting tilting ever closer to the water

until we couldn't avoid the sweeping surface

and slid down into it. Our supplies going

plunk plunk plunk and us right behind.

There was nothing to do but laugh


and bitch out the captain, a way to misplace

our worry for a moment, but the worry was

right on top, and it didn't take much

to feel it kneading in. At least we're wearing

life jackets. But that rock out there. Is it a rock?


I look at the captain and the other members

of the crew, mostly his friends, kicking my feet

as I try to grip the smooth white underside

of the capsized craft. The sail is all torn up,

churning against the cracked and caught mast.


The captain's vainly looking for his cooler.

It should have floated up, he keeps saying.

It should have floated up. His friends laugh.

Trying not to notice the distant rock, I shout

Hey, if you find any beer, I call dibs.


[If you'd like to praise or berate the poet, e-mail him at mpchmielecki@gmail.com. He won't bite--although he may chew a bit.]



When Hillary loses campaign

deep down, she'll root full for McCain.

Won't mind Dems' interest;

four more years of mess--

no incumbent Dem? Run again!



A letter written to another publication, which happens to be USA Weekend, which... Aw, the whole thing speaks for itself and applies to a slew of inaptly titled "reality" shows:

"Have any of the winners of Tyra Banks' 'America's Next Top Model' made it big? I never see them"...

So, for yesterday's edition--Chief Limericist checking in, here--I waxed all sappy of making the last fire in the fireplace of the season Saturday night.

Yesterday morning, I looked at the Chicago forecast for the week and... Hmmm.

Life has a way of curbin' the sap, sometimes...



Mariah, by marriage elated,

found her optimism inflated--

tattooed hubbie's name

though, marriage + fame's

why temp'ry tattoos were created!



A columnist's temporary standing headline for recent Hillary Clinton campaign coverage reads:

"Choice is Hers"


Seems like the voters have ALREADY made their choice--but we guess it's Hil's choice whether or not to remain in denial about it...

A new airline, Virgin America, is offering seat-to-seat text messaging as an incentive to customers.

Exactly what we need. It's not the expense, the long lines, the shoe-removal/body cavity searching of old ladies and the hours-long strandings on the runways that are driving Americans away from airplane trips in droves--we've all along craved being able to type out a message to a fellow traveler rather than freakin' opening our mouths and talking to them...



U.S. role as Puritan Nexis

stokes rampant misuse of word "sexist."

The whole male sex drive

with P.C. don't jive--

"fem'nists" thus team with back-woods Texas!



This is a local, Chicago story--but it's pertinent to Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers everywhere because it might set a precedent. Regardless of where you call home, you should take action RIGHT AWAY (see below). So, minimize the porn windows and get to e-mailin' and/or callin'

The City of Chicago's aldermen, specifically Gene Schulter (47th Ward), Fuhrer of the Licensing Committee, are enacting new requirements for loosely defined "events promoters" which will more or less stifle independent music, theater, etc. shows in the city.

The excuse for their Stalinist First Amendment grab was a nightclub tragedy of years back--which, oddly enough, could have been prevented if the city's nepotist masses has been doing their job and following regulations already on the books.

There are better venues than this for the details--search local music writer Jim DeRogatis' blog--but suffice it to say that it would require ridiculous insurance coverage demands and FINGERPRINTING (I kid you not) of promoters... It also blatantly targets smaller venues.

Now, Schulter's office, likely getting somethin' under the table from the likes of Clear Channel or whatever, has it's own line as to why this is necessary. But there are better venues than this to read the horseshit in the name of "objectivity"--fascists have to be subtle in a "free" society.

If Schulter and his City Council SS allies truly have good motives here, you might want to ask them why they're ram-rodding this through. Introduced May 9 and they're seeking to pass it TODAY, with no input from the public.

You can search around and find online petitions and the like. Again, this isn't the venue. Of course, Schulter doesn't give a crap about Chicago or what anybody thinks, but we're hoping that public uproar tables this Nazi-ass crap.

What we're asking you to do is to DELUGE Schulter. Perhaps that teensy-weensy part of him that is actually human will feel bad enough to jump off a high ledge at City Hall--the only way he can possibly offer a real civil service:

ward47@cityofchicago.org, 773-348-8400

Oh, and since Schulter doesn't give a crap, let the mayor know how you feel, too. You can be civil to him and his peeps, though:

mayor@cityofchicago.org, 312-744-3300...



TODAY'S EDITION: Wisconsin Cheeze

For years now, California has been trying to one-up Wisconsin as the nation's Dairy State.

Call me a Midwestern team player, if you will, or perhaps just possessing a bizarre sense of humor, but I've been rootin' for Wisconsin all along. Growing up in extreme north Chicagoland, 15 minutes from the Wisconsin border--which, by the way, is constructed entirely of cheeze... Well, I've spent more than my fair share of time in the Dairy State.

I've had my fair share of both state's cheezes. But Wisconsin's tastes the most delightful on the lips and on the loins.

Long story.

And it IS The Dairy State. Just this week, statistics confirmed that while the California Granola Bowl (chock full of fruits, nuts and flakes) was gaining for a long time, even threatening to overcome for a while, California's cheeze industry is now flagging while Wisconsin's is surging.

I'm not latching onto the argument: What else does Wisconsin HAVE? Yeah, yeah, yeah--a lot of fat women and very little to do outside Milwaukee and Madison... But I'll have you know that I've had some kick-ass times in the Dairy State and have tangled with some smokin' hot, Wisconsin native dames.

And Cali? Pffft. While it might not be of the dairy variety, Southern California is in no danger of losing the title of largest cheeze purveyor in the entire freakin' world, thanks to a place called Hollywood...



So Cali was trying to breeze

past Wisconsin as the bee's knees

of dairy but failed--

though state's unassailed

as king of entertainment cheeze!



That "Kill Independent Live Music" ordinance Chicago tried to sneak through yesterday? (Well, they gave it a different name...but let's be honest here.)

It was tabled...for now.

So continue contacting Fuhrer Schulter.

But it got us to thinking... The City's major goal lately, amid the Third World public transit and poverty and crap-ass school systems, is landing the freakin' Olympics.

China was successful. So maybe the aldermen were thinking, "How can we be more like China?"...

I'm sittin' in a coffeehouse writing this...Chief Limericist checked-in, here...and Feist comes over the speakers.

You know. Her "One, two, three four" tune was featured in the iPod commercial, ensuring nobody on earth ever, ever needs to hear it again.

Now, I firmly believe that only opportunist whackjobs blame music for the commission of crimes.

Nonetheless, I suddenly feel the urge to strangle Feist and brain a midget with an iron skillet...

Curse you, hipster Steve Jobs!...



"Evolving"? Pathetic--they try.

They're "Blogging on 'Idol'" and... (Sigh.)

Old dogs try new tricks

while licking wrong dicks...

Bring "New" on--Old Media, die!



Everybody's shocked that the price of gas keeps going up, up, up. (She-doobie.)

A finite substance we've been burning as if there's no tomorrow for a century? In a world with a rapidly expanding and industrializing population? Amazing that basic supply and demand would send costs skyrocketing!

It's hip these days to blame the oil companies for "price gouging." And we don't doubt that Big Oil is a bunch of slimy rat bastards, nor would we put it past 'em.

But how about blaming, oh... ME AND YOU? Well, maybe not me and you specifically. Sure, we had decade of must-have-SUV jagoffs who didn't help matters. But it started long before that.

Big, gas-guzzling cars have been the rage for most of automotive history. U.S. politicians effectively subsidized gas pricing, too, hooking us on cars and driving. (And we voted for 'em.) Big Auto lobbied the shit out of Detroit to prevent the city from installing decent public transportation; Los Angeles ripped up the local train tracks it had way back when.

And We the Sheep...er, We the People, sat back and watched it all happen. Even applauded it.

It was never a big secret that oil is finite, nor that the world population was growing exponentially and rapidly industrializing. But, as in so many areas, from environment to social security, we preferred not to think too much about the future. Let generations to come handle it.

So, sure, Big Oil sucks ass and it probably deserves some of your ire. But if you REALLY want to get back at the bastards responsible?

Go punch mom, dad, grandma or grandma right, square in the chops...



TODAY'S EDITION: Start Your Own Show

This may be a rash step to take in the name of entertainment, I know. Nonetheless, it IS a great way to "entertain yourself," and I occasionally have a rough time filling this space on a weekly basis... So:

I've hosted live shows of all stripes over the years--poetry, comedy, music, one-shot, weekly, monthly, open mic, showcase... And anything like this attracts interesting characters and events, to be sure. But starting your OWN really gets the...er, "unique" foils rolling into your life.

Oh, I could write a book about 'em. The first open mic I hosted attracted the likes of... "The Hunter"--that's what he went by--and he'd hold up a National Geographic magazine and comment on the pictures for five minutes, or however long we'd let him drone on for. Our best educated guess figured The Hunter was homeless, although we'd seen him making a wimpy buck window washing around town. He tipped me once, which was bizarre. Handful of change. A buck somethin'.

Then there was Crazy Louie. (We added the "Crazy" to his name--which he, of course, didn't know about.) He showed up a couple of times, deficient in his medication taking, and mumbled to himself, loudly and frighteningly, on various topics, especially about how "none of the chicks in this place like me." Although the owner of the coffeehouse in question was a "tough guy," of sorts, he was afraid to kick Crazy Louie out, as Crazy Louie was buffer than all hell.

A real treat for me was the show at which I'd decided to read a poem entitled "Nutcakes." Crazy Louie was sitting at a table right up next to the stage--by himself, of course, but not letting that get in the way of his desire for good "conversation." In the name of Art, I read "Nutcakes" and watched my back for the rest of the evening, hearing Crazy Louie mumbling about "I wonder if I'm a 'nutcake'?"

In any event, here I am, starting my own regular show again, in Chicago, for June ("Sloop Biederman's Mess"--see the Sloop Central section of the site for more info), and I've put out some Craig's List ads for acts and such and... Well, I've already heard from some..."unique" individuals, including a guy who wants to do a "trick with a sock."

If I'm ever murdered, there will be no shortage of suspects...



I met a girl, name of Corrina.

On her shoulder, I'd like to lean-a.

But I cannot lie--

most thoughts hit her thighs

and how, them, I might get between-a.




"McCain Sees Troops out of Iraq by 2013"

Geez, John. No need to rush things, really. A fun little war with the mere cost in, what, millions per minute? And, sure, there's that minor quibble about the senseless deaths and all...



McCain says he'll leave Iraq scene

as quickly as...2013?

For why should we rush

from The Quagmire's slush

as if lives/cash spent's grown obscene?



Saw perhaps one of the most sickening sights in the history of sickening sights Friday:

A couple sitting next to each other on Chicago elevated subway, sharing an iPod--each with one bud in an ear.

So... We'd comment more but again feel we have to retch...

This just in:

MySpace discriminates against old people by not allowing you to enter your age as anything more than 100 years old.

Don't ask how we know this...




(Touching in some manner, anyway)

TODAY'S EDITION: When I Was Vice President

I was vice president of my junior and senior classes in high school.

Most who know me wouldn't peg me as the type. And they're right. I ran for office as a goof.

See, for my freshman and sophomore years, Tony...let's just call him Tony the Chucklehead... Well, he was v.p. And he was... Well, a chucklehead. You couldn't quite dub him "popular," but he was a noted brain.

Nonetheless, as testament to his rampant chuckleheadism, he was always trying to be funny...unsuccessfully. For example, one day in Spanish class, somebody asked, "Could you pass me the scissors?" and Tony shot back, "Why? Do you wanna cut yourself?"

Try the veal, indeed.

Tony was elected to successive terms because nobody ran against him. So I figured, "This looks like a job for Sloop-erman!" And I ran.

For these types of things, candidates generally give speeches under the assumption that the office actually DOES something. "I pledge to bring more of a student voice to the way our school is run" and that kinda claptrap. So I did a "routine," of sorts, explaining that a little green man urged me to run and such.

Now, student council election speeches come with an easy crowd, sure. Desperate for anything that's not...well, student council election speeches. But I've gotta say that I killed. And won.

Now, the president and secretary of our class were all stinky serious about the whole thing, so my administration didn't accomplish much of anything. I finagled Brian the treasurer halfway to my side some of the time, but my platform was toothless.

But, oh, the dreams I had! For instance... Well, it was our job to pick the theme song for our prom. We ended up stuck with "We've Got Tonight," I believe, a Godawful Kenny Rogers-and-some-chick, '80s duet. (It being the '80s and all.) Brian and I had pushed for a humorous, divorce-themed country tune at the time, "She Got the Goldmine (and I Got the Shaft)" (by Jerry Reed, I think).

With more dirt in my past than a farmer, I'll never be elected to a higher office than junior/senior year of high school vice president.

But I must say that my approval ratings beat the shit out of any president I've lived under...







TODAY'S POEM: Small wound universal


That song aches. It bleeds planets,

growing breaking notes riding on

these planets' seas, crashing on the shore;

and flowers, a cloud of them falling

from the trees, trees that were bumped against

when lovers paused under them; and it rushes

and surges with the sound of forlorn confusion,

and better things: togetherness, warmth -- a spot

under that tree perhaps, on one of those planets,

by the sea. Yes. Somewhere in the spinning void

something different -- and better -- is sustained.


[If you'd like to praise or berate the poet, e-mail him at mpchmielecki@gmail.com. He won't bite--although he may chew a bit.]



My birthday--I wished I'd be mobbed

by hot chicks with presents in gobs!

But reality:

Be more than happy

with Hot Pocket and a handjob!



It's my birthday--Chief Limericist checking in, here--so I shouldn't have to write a damn thing for this edition but... A beggar dude told me, as I passed him, that I looked "sharp" this past weekend.

In fact, he made double-damn sure I heard him--he kept yelling, "Hey--I SAID you look sharp!" as I passed him, so I eventually acknowledged his comment with a tip of the hat and finger point or whatever.

So... I've got a "thing workin'" with the homeless/beggar/(unfortunately) guy set, if nothing else.

The best compliment from the whole encounter? He didn't even ask me for change...



> Hiya Sloop!


> I just love your story telling. Maybe you should read,

> if you haven't already, a few of Augusten Burroughs books.

> And then think about the book that you can write, which I

> am sure has been in your mind, if not in some sort of

> pieces of manuscript form, for quite a while. You can also

> read some of David Sedaris's stuff too, which you may

> already have on your shelf. You see I am trying to push

> you into writing a book because I want to write one. I

> also would like to reads yours. Fast Eddy


> PS Maybe a column in a local newspaper or magazine. What

> about a local public access cable TV show?


To this joker, and other Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers of similar opinions... Suffice it to say that I, Chief Limericist (checked-in, here), have been working on these endeavors.

The encouragement is, of course, very nice and all. But the best way you can help is to become a top literary agent and newspaper magnate...



So Canada sponsors musicians;

arch liberals envy that mission.

If your eyes can't see

the conflict that be...

Bend over, lube--wait for a dishin'...



Was my birthday yesterday. (Chief Limericist checking in, here.) And, as you should know, this means that TODAY'S edition was put together on said birthday.

Curiously, it's a slow news day here at DL/S&Y...



Now, I don't mean to be a dud;

kill romantic mood with a thud.

Display was most sick'ning

felt jadedness thick'ning--

a couple sharing iPod buds!




"Obama's Warning to the GOP: Leave My Wife Out of This"


This simply must have something to do with all of the candidates hitting a shameful, all-time low by appearing on a broadcast of pro "wrestling."

Let's just break out the capes and retarded plotlines and send presidential elections where they're obviously heading anyway. Half the stories and "fights" (debates) are already fake...

Commentary section headline:

"Reading List on Being a Man Lacks Woman's Touch"


But... Well... You see... Aw, really. We don't know where to begin with this one...




Asian restaurants and coffeehouses have been trumpeting their offering "Bubble Tea" for... What? A few years now?

So, bein' the hipster that I am, I finally tried it.

First question that comes to mind is... Bubble? How the hell do you call chunks of gummy/fruit-roll-up-y stuff "bubbles"? That's what's in the tea. Oh, you have a choice. Mango, raspberry, what-have-you. But it's still a choice of...chunks of shit. In your beverage!

Okay, okay. I'll be fair. You MIGHT like bubble tea, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers. If you crave that backwash consistency in your tea...



Regarding my (Chief Limericist checked-in, here) birthday Monday...

> I'm about to use the dread words "Happy belated."

> Happy belated! I hope you had fun.


> Mike

Thanks for jumping on the "Happy Birthday" bandwagon, Mike, along with...er, there was you and... Ahem.

Well, I received greetings and more outside of Daily Limerick and you pathetic Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers.

Fun? Sure. You know what they say about birthdays... Right?

Suppose they say a LOT of things about birthdays.

Well, then, they all apply...



So pres. candidates have appeared

on pro "wrestling," bringing me drear...

Hey, just throw on capes;

like "wrestling," it's fake--

debates, promises mere veneer.



One of the beautiful things about public transportation is that if you feel like having a conversation, but you have nobody to talk with...apparently, you can just go right on ahead...

Perhaps we should start a charity to put fake blue tooth earpiece thingies on people who talk to themselves?...

Then again, that might be kinda cruel. Those poor people talking to themselves are off in the head. The kinds of people who blather away in public on cell phone earpieces, however...



On public trans., across the nation,

if you're in mood for conversation

with no pal to cop ta'--

hey, don't let that stop ya'--

talking to self's new, hip sensation!



Funny how so many people complain that Hillary's having a harder time with this election because she's a woman.

Now, Hil's policies and all aren't much more exciting or less focus-groupy than, say, John Edwards' or John Kerry's... In reality, she OWES her popularity to the fact that she's a woman--and the idea of the first, viable female presidential candidate!...

And, yes, you can also say that much of "our boy" Obama's popularity can be attributed to the same thing...well, not the "woman thing" but...you can figure it out...

How come The Media has no problem calling elections after, like, three or four votes are cast...but they're shying away from declaring Obama the Dem candidate?...





Kyla Ebbert.


Where were we?... Oh, yeah. She's the chick who was kicked-off of a Southwest Airlines flight for dressing too skimpy, back in the fall...and who was then apologized to, which spurred a "miniskirt sale" for the airline...which in turn led to her posing for Playboy.

I haven't seen her Playboy spread. Not sure why... In any event, this is one of those important political causes that DL/S&Y wholeheartedly supports: The right of hot chicks to walk around half-naked anywhere and everywhere! (We TRY to be objective, but sometimes, for humanity's sake, we have to take a...er, firm stand.)

So... What's this got to do with "Entertaining Yourself"? Well, I clipped a photo of Ms. Ebbert sporting her infamous attire from a newspaper--and I've been using it as a bookmark.

And also as a means to occasionally "Entertain Myself."

I mean... You know. To admire now and then. Become inspired... Well, hey, I never said that bein' a guy was always pretty...



Man sought real tall chick with to grapple;

with ease picked one up--like a Snapple!

Got blown, saw no twot;

was not 'til cum shot

in terror, he saw Adam's apple!



Now, wouldn't Bush's "Public Service Announcements" regarding drugs, focusing on marijuana, the mildest of them all, be more properly called... Public Disservice Announcements?...

Or PDAs. Which also stands for... Hmm. It all kinda fits together under "Public Disservice," doesn't it?...



Though spouses campaigning sure pays

Obama says, "Leave Wife from Fray!"

Yo, would-be pres. chumps--

if spouse hits the stump

you can't freakin' have it both ways!



Whoo-hoo! Only seven more months 'til Christmas!





(Touching in some manner, anyway)

TODAY'S EDITION: "Is Trixie There?"

Everybody occasionally gets wrong number calls. And some of theme are recurring--your number is one digit off from a certain stranger's friend or whatever.

Currently, one "Hattie McDaniel," of Mississippi, checks in with me regularly. Her voice is like that giant, obese black woman from the old "Tom & Jerry" cartoons--the one whose face you never see but who's always scolding, "Thomas!"

Somebody bandied about the name "Trixie" recently and my mind went spinning back in time...(doodley, doodley, doodley, doodley)... In the first house I lived in--well, the second house, actually, but I only lived in my first home until I was two and thus don't recall much about it--we were constantly answering the phone to hear, "Is Trixie there?"

This was in an age before cell phones and caller ID, too.

The girl asking for Trixie sounded cute. But I always thought that any "Trixie" would have to be hot.

It had nothing to do with the "Speed Racer" character, either.

I still think a chick named "Trixie" has to be hot. And, luckily, life hasn't yet proved me wrong. So I'm allowed to continue the fantasy.

Same goes for other names--like Fifi, for instance.

Yeah, yeah. I know they're cartoony names and all, but we all have our peccadilloes...







TODAY'S POEM: The old and the bold


So should I accept my lot

with anesthetized grace?

Marveling at every raindrop

and laughing at every bad joke?


Or should I hold my anger

in my palm like a cold flame?

Or should I drown it,

come up with something new?


[If you'd like to praise or berate the poet, e-mail him at mpchmielecki@gmail.com. He won't bite--although he may chew a bit.]



Another Memorial Day--

no end in sight from Iraq fray.

Death Fest from false squak

led by chicken hawks

who, when war drum banged, hid away.



Isn't it nice that big city public transportation systems and commuter train companies decide to enact "holiday schedules" to ensure that, on the days that the greatest numbers of people will utilize their services, service runs at a bare minimum?...

While we're at it...for such entities, "holiday schedules" match "Sunday schedules," leading us to ponder the idea of "Sunday schedules," which follow 19th Century reasoning that everybody will be at home locked-up for the Sabbath and... Oh, why bother?

We've already been de-evolving as a race for some time, what with "Intelligent Design" running rampant and candidates for a secular presidency questioned about their religious rituals--regressive, as few seem to realize that in Abraham Lincoln's time, he was able to gain the presidency with no declared religion and, in fact, as a irreligious individual and... Oh, just burn the medical equipment and bring on the freakin' leeches...



Why's Media have reservations

calling Obama nomination

when with exit polling

'lection calls their dolling

hours after votes start 'cross the nation?



Wasn't Bush's presiding over Memorial Day festivities a bit like having Mahmoud Ahmadinejad preside over a Holocaust Museum's groundbreaking?...



Folks talk to themselves, and I scoff.

Some with bluetooths, on ears, aloft...

'Least those who're just whacked--

unlike earpiece yaks--

have reason more than showing off!



Does it sit funny with anyone else that many women have taken to proudly declaring themselves "bitch"...while complaining that "all men" (read: the only types of guy they're attracted to) are "assholes"?...



TODAY'S EDITION: The Weaver Chicken Rondelette

Does anybody remember the Weaver Chicken Rondelette? For all I know, they may still sell them but... Well, our research interns are still out for the holidays and... Ahem.

It was a chicken patty. Frozen chicken patty. Round, hence given the marketing spin "rondelette" (which might be spelled wrong; again, the research interns are out...ahem).

Anyway, I miss it--because, even if it's still around, it's not heavily advertised now--because it was a fun term. Had a friend derogatorily call another a "Weaver Chicken Rondelette" at one point.

In any event, to keep this a "food" section proper...frozen chicken patties are delicious and easy to prepare...



P.C. dogma pundits 'cross nation

claim Hil gets sex discrimination.

But bein' first chick viable's

what makes bid viable--

platform's rote Dem masturbation!



With the state of the economy--and newspapers, TV shows and radio programs are of course trotting out the "people features" about how individuals are coping and such.

Now, things are rough for most everybody, but don't expect any of our sympathy if you've went and spawned a gaggle of kids ala the 18th Century--and then bitch about the cost of living when you're sending them to Catholic School.

Now public schools aren't always the finest, to put it mildly, but Catholic schools are ridiculously pricey. Cheaper to hire a tutor for the extra 3Rs teaching--and a witch doctor for the 16th Century dogma...



As "bitch" many chicks now self-label

while harping how they are unable

to find some guy pole

that's not an "asshole"--

but ban "nice guys" from Dating Stable!



So former Bush shill Scott McClellan is now fessin' that Dubya pulled one over on everyone with the Iraq invasion, yadda yadda yadda, and half-assed Katrina and... Well, first of all, we're surprised that ANYBODY'S surprised over any of this.

Predictably, the Bushies are calling McClellan a traitor and full of it.

But... Well, we can buy ONE, or perhaps TWO former staffers/generals/what-have-yous being written off as disgruntled or whatever but... C'mon. McClellan's just another member of a sizeable club, at this point.

In fact, anybody at this point who DOES believe the Bush line on Iraq and other matters might as well believe that, despite centuries of scientific evidence to the contrary, the world was created in six days a few thousand years ago.

Oh, yeah. That's RIGHT...

Sharon Stone's now yakking that the massive earthquake is punishment for China's treatment of Tibet.

Lest you start thinking that a raging disregard for reality is only a right-wing thing...

Read yet ANOTHER story today about some chowderhead who bought a lottery ticket (in itself a less-than-solid "investment strategy," given a greater likelihood of being hit by lightning than winning and all)...and then FORGOT TO FREAKIN' SCRATCH THE DAMN THING for months!

Turns out, she was a winner. On one count anyway.

Are we ready to acknowledge the De-Evolution of humanity yet?...

So... Can Slapper Yapper Grashoppers discuss their local Major League Soccer teams in-depth and at the drop of a hat, now that David Beckham has had time to make soccer super popular and all?...




That's right--I'm an entertainer, myself (Chief Limericist checked-in, here, as is always the case with these pull-out sections).

So... Yeah. Especially since I've been reaching for this section's features lately, it finally occurred to me to do myself! That is, er...I mean, I end up "doing" myself with painstaking regularity, but you know what I mean... I'm a comedic poet, comedian of sorts, emcee... Newest project is a variety/talk show I've been itchin' to unveil for some time, which goes down with a debut this coming Tuesday, June 3!

If you don't live in or near Chicago, it may be rough. But I'm working on gettin' more of the stuff YouTube'd, or whatever...and, really, if you need an excuse to visit the Windy City...



A girlie with hair to her toes

dropped to knees to give date a blow.

She cried, "Watch the hair!"

But was so much there--

messed whichever way cum shot flows!



This just in:

Cover letters are lame. Get rid of 'em.

Like having to fill out an application IN ADDITION to submitting a resume that has all of the application info on it, it's a waste of time. Extra hoops for those groveling for jobs. Not to mention that people who do the hiring don't read the damn things anyway, or perhaps give a cursory glance.

Cover letters suck total donkey nuts. Stop the madness...


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


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