Daily Limerick
May contain immature content; if you're a minor, go away!
(c)1999-2014 John "Sloop" Biederman
E-mail us here--
Archives: February 2014
There once was a fellow named Shag
whose birthday turned-out... Well, a drag.
On his birthday trek
he had lots of sex--
but all of the action was stag!


Merry Extra Cheezy Groundhog Eve!...


For years, chis'lin' my faith away...
Now...Super Bowl they're gonna play?
Attacks my traditions!
It's like they're on mission...
Pop culture's War on...Groundhog Day!


From all of us, to all of you, a very Merry (and Extra Cheezy) Groundhog Day!...

(It seems there's hubbub over some other event today, too, but... Whatever)...


(Touching in some manner, anyway)

TODAY'S EDITION: My Worst. Date. Ever.
It seemed appropriate to focus on tales of love, romance and sex for some of this month's SSTs, this being St. Valentine's month and all.

Since DL itself is, of course, dedicated to Truth and Reality, blah blah yadda yadda, this means... Well, you're probably going to find tales of woe this month, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers, considering my overall romantic history.

I can't guarantee that. I've been thinking on possible topics for a while now, so I may come up with something touchy-feely yet--and Fate could indeed have a surprise in the near future but... We certainly have woe for today's edition.

Now, I've had some awful dates. Add awful "dates" to the equation, as it's sometimes hard to tell these things and... It's really, really saying something if I dub one my Worst. But this one has indubitably seized the title.

When I was mounting a dinner theater play--a project consuming two years of my life and some sanity points, written about more than once in this space--I was mounting nothing else. That is, no one else. One of those lovin' dry spells, matching dry spells in most every area of my life, it being the alleged "tail end" of the Great Recession.

The Recession was allegedly over at this point--late 2012, my involvement in the venture kicking in 2011--but, as with most people, I'd never have known without being told by the financial "experts." On top of all this, I was amid a Personal Hell Spell, what with an uncle dying in the fall, both parents in a car accident soon after and, at this point, November, my mother in the hospital after a heart attack, any recovery uncertain. (Mom passed Dec. 1.)

I was...we'll say "involved" with this actress from the troupe. One of those involvements where I basically made an ass of myself. Very little happened romantically between us. She was in a long-term relationship with the non-husband father of her child, but wanted out, or at least that's what she said. Then backtracked on. Then re-said... One of THOSE deals.

As a shy guy, and one who strives to be all sensitive and, well, non-asshole... Yeah. I have a history of difficulties with that balance--confident/aggressive yet modernly non-asshole. So I've wasted a whole lot of time and energy on these ambiguous boyfrienders. I'm sure I could've played my cards more efficiently and landed some of these types and, in other cases, just gotten away from the fruitless fandango ealy on but... There ya' have it. Guilty.

I don't understand women's reasons for indulging these situations with me--and much of the problem is my trying to figure out why, when why doesn't matter, necessarily. Are they really interested in me, so I should perhaps be bolder? Are they seeking attention? Bored? Why am I so often the target of these schemes?... Well, I guess that last one's important, but... Back to our story.

Guess I should name this dame... We'll say Merriwhack. An in-joke nickname we used for her, a close friend and I. Merriwhack was the first actress I auditioned for the play's reboot. See, first a bozo producer/director team wasted a year of our time for a few shows before throwing in the towel, then a few of us actors decided to take over and make our time/effort pay off... I headed-up the remount. A few stuck around after the first fiasco, so we auditioned the rest.

Our audition process generally entailed the involvement of myself and other co-producers in our initial venue/rehearsal space. But before we were 100 percent confirmed to use said space, I started the process, so just asked Merriwhack to show at my condo. Knowing the nature of Craig's List, I explained that she was more than welcome to bring another along, since a home audition was a bit non-traditional. Thus, Merriwhack brought along her...mother.

I hired her soon after that. As rehearsals began, she seemed to be a bit flirty toward me--which of course can mean a variety of things, especially considering that actresses all want to curry favor with their directors/producers. And since she was markedly attractive, in our general correspondence about the play I gave her my 'Ol E-Mail Test.

That is, threw some stuff out there that was flirty enough to possibly be hitting, yet innocent enough to claim, "I was just innocently flirting" if the need arose.

She took the bait. E-mails got flirty and dirty. I learned that her boyfriend was "holding her back," controlling, that'd she'd gotten knocked-up young/accidental and was trapped into the whole thing... That familiar deal.

I also learned about her complicated overall situation. Her family was poor, her boyfriend, and only her boyfriend worked, yet somehow her mom rented a house while caring for her disabled sister... It was evidently a very small house, with everybody knowing everybody else's business, making it near-impossible for her to talk on the phone with me... She could only text, and I hadn't yet a cell phone for such (another Sunday Story Time--see the Archives), or e-mail and so.. E-mail we did.

Now, I wasn't sure what to make of this "no phone call" stuff. Given all the circumstances, it COULD be true, much of the time, but I suspected bamboozlement on some level. Hell, all along I suspected a general pattern of bamboozlement, but... Things were tough on every level. I had nothing else going on romantically... So I indulged all of this.

A general pattern began. She HAD to dump her boyfriend...it was best to stay with her boyfriend. We'd have couples arguments and break-ups and make-ups...all through e-mail. At one point, early on, she decided that we were officially "on"--and I'd shortly be receiving the Rules.


I permitted myself to become somewhat excited about things being "on"--only somewhat, proving I had evolved within these boondoggles, since I realized it, although I tucked it way into the back of my consciousness, that this was... Well, likely another boondoggle.

And I wasn't going to accept these Rules.

So I told Merriwhack that these Rules... I mean, we hadn't even been on an actual date. I imagined that these Rules had to do with integrating to her complicated living arrangement, and sorta understood the reasoning within her screwy head but... Well, I pulled back on the reins.

Merriwhack was also pushing for me to get a car. Which hasn't been part of my overall plan, especially living in my Chicago neighborhood... Hey, I'm a starving artist type. And really wouldn't even use a car much, except... Well, to see Merriwhack, I guess. I did mention that I might look into those car co-op deals popular with urbanites, but I mostly tried to talk her out of the car craze, thinking maybe she didn't realize that Chicago, like New York, is more than negotiable without wheels, since she semi-recently moved here from Philadelphia... Perhaps having a baby sealed the need for her man to have a car?

She was situated in a nearby suburb, and looking into the public trans route... Let's just say it wasn't pretty. Especially since the inevitable sneaking around could cancel any get-together plans (someone coming home unexpectedly, etc.) while I was en route.

None of this was encouraging, but another boondoggle pattern was at work. Things would seem utterly hopeless...then something encouraging would happen. Some long-lost uncle happened into her life, he was going to help out the family and they would be moving into the city... Never happened. Although, of course, it took a couple of months to reach that conclusion on my end.

Ah, there was no shortage of complications! While I certainly fell victim to the guy cliche in thinking I somehow knocked her head-over-heels, she was beyond boy crazy. Young lady (early 20s), knocked-up before she sowed the proverbial wild oats, tight family upbringing, not even a college stint... Add that to the list of things I should've seen a mile away.

After one of our rehearsals, the venue proprietor offered some wine to the bunch, of which Merriwhack partook. I noticed her hovering close to another actor and... That lead to one of our arguments. "If you're so worried about keeping US a secret, how could you openly flirt with HIM?" Her alibi? Booze.

Merriwhack had a very low alcohol tolerance. And she didn't appear to have a grip on her own booze limitations because... Well, of course she had no partying experience, what with her sheltered life and all. But she loved this wine stuff, now that she dipped her toe in the water, so as she dabbled in the wild oats she'd missed out on, attending parties or going out with troupers after shows or rehearsals... Another pattern. The flirty fests occurred with other actors, culminating in her being trapped at a party, way past her family-obligated hours, with more than one guy trying to take advantage of her state, one of them being her ride home and... Ugh.

I can be such an idiot.

We made out once. Arranged for her to be dropped at rehearsal early--her controlling uncle/boyfriend posse usually transported her, at least until she lined-up rides via other actors--and we took a little walk, kissed for a while in an alley... Ridiculous, perhaps. But it was one of those Life pick-me-ups sorely needed at the time. I was probably being used--but I used back. A little, anyway.

In my defense, I mostly threw-in the towel on this boondoggle after the Party Incident. Once the play hit its dying throes, the towel was fully tossed. Oh, I occasionally still hear from her, and I almost enlisted her to work in a newer project, so we met again, she said she "couldn't believe I still didn't have a car" and... Hey, I was just curious on that level.

So regarding that Date... Ahem.

My mother's hospitalization had me half-living in my city condo and half-living by my dad in the country/suburbs. Which was a pain in the ass, with cats, no roommate/renter at the time, the nature of my work/gig schedule (take what comes in, often last-minute)... Yet this meant I had access to my dad's car.

So I arranged a dinner date with Merriwhack around a rehearsal. I'd thus be able to stay out by family, duck into town for a date then rehearsal, and head back to the parents' afterward.


I parked around the corner from her residence, called her on the cell I borrowed from pop as well--pathetic enough for you--she snuck out and into the car and we were off on our date.

I'm not entirely sure why I set-up this date. Obviously, there was little hope of action in this arrangement--and from a guy point of view, that'd be the only reason to even bother with her at this stage. The hope of some one-off tail for my trouble. At best, two-off tail. Okay, hopeless optimism might mull three-off tail but... There was a new facet to the whole boondoggle.

My mother was still alive, but it was looking like she'd need a lot of help when/if she'd come home, at this point. I was facing up to the possibility that she might indeed pass away. My dad himself seemed borderline in need of caregiving; a military cousin knew a lot about veterans' benefits and that my dad could easily line-up money to pay someone (me!) for even part-time caregiving and... I was open to a total Life Change. There was hope for the play, but grooming it to a significant source of income was a way's off, if at all, and I had nothing whatsoever job-wise going, with virtually no prospects.

The Great Recession really, I mean really, hit me hard. The chosen profession I'd fought to make a career, print journalism, was virtually useless. Employers, of course, could pick and choose among the zillions of applicants, making it tough to strike in a direction where I had no experience... In any event, I'd be spending far more time out by the family, with increased car usage, perhaps even moving in out that way, so maybe somehow this made things different with Merriwhack?

I cringe at the lunacy of this reasoning now. Hell, I cringed then--and I'm holding off on some details of just how screwball these imaginged possibilities were. But a simple date, even a date that was destined to be ridiculous--I knew deep-down I was in all probability boarding the Disaster Express--would bring light amid this deep, dark tunnel.

So I left the specific restaurant a surprise after quizzing Merriwhack on her preference, which was Italian. We had a nice meal, with appetizers, drinks and all. She was of course buzzing, and knowing her tricky tolerance, I feared she may have crossed a boozin' border but... In general, the meal was wonderful. Just what I wanted from the experience, which wasn't much. Female romantic attention, coquettish eye contact, natural conversation. She tried drink and food, like mussels, her restricted life hadn't allowed her to previously, and I'd driven her and paid the bill... So on that level, I felt like a traditional male--another simple yet powerful pick-me-up.

From there we went to rehearsal, and as rehearsal unwound, so did the feel-good. I knew, given the nature of this...thing that we wouldn't be holding hands or anything, and I'm far from a controlling, jealous, "I'm the guy you came with damnit!" sort but... Well I expected her to at least NOT flirt with other guys and such on our Date Night. The plan was to go out for drinks after rehearsal, but I should've just rode the still-warming feel of the restaurant on home, dropped her off right afterward, preserved it at that... It's not that hindsight is 20/20. Her increasing booziness--many troupers by then had been mixing rehearsal business and pleasure--and, really, the whole damn scenario sounded a warning then and there.

But maybe there was some chance for a little kissing or more date-like warmth or...something.

Post-rehearsal partying plans were bandied about. I managed to steer Merriwhack toward a setting with just me and my one long-term friend among the troupe, however. We found a small, out-of-the way bar, settled into a quiet booth in the corner. I held her hand, nestled close, spoke softly in here ear and... She began flirting with my friend.

This wasn't new, her flirting with my long-time friend in the troupe. And, of course, all flirting isn't serious. But she really piled it on. Footsy beneath the table as, again, I was holding her damn hand. Far, far more attention paid to him, the one who DIDN'T drive her to and from rehearsal, the one who DIDN'T take her to dinner, the one who... Oh, the humanity!

Yes, I was made a complete and utter Melvin. But in my defense, I was shocked. Almost in denial that someone could justify that behavior, drunk or not.

Merriwhack needed help walking to the car from there. We were far passed comical tolerance mismanagement. We dropped off my friend and headed to her 'burb, with my hopes for more warm-and-fuzzy somehow still intact. I figured maybe she'd sober up a bit, maybe we'd have more pleasant talk, maybe I'd get a hug and peck on the cheek... We were almost to her home when she asked me to pull over.

I suppose it makes perfect sense that not only did she puke, but she wasn't able to aim it all out the door.

My first reaction was to help her walk to her door, maybe clean her up a bit but... "You'd better just go... Nobody can see you... Don't worry, I'll make it... JUST GO!"

All the bullshit of a back-door affair with none of the perks.

So driving home with all of the previous feel-good now counteracted, in fact wallowing in more of a "feel-bad," I had to stop at a gas station and clean puke out of my dad's car.

En route to this date, I stopped by my bank, a branch within a grocery store, and picked-up some flowers for my date.

"Thanks...but you know I can't take those home."

Thus a memento of the evening remains, as I pen this, in the closet of my bedroom in my childhood home.

I harbor no illusions whatsoever anymore of anything happening between Merriwhack and I.

And I'm very much "over" the evening. As they say, I can laugh about it now, and do, heartily.

I've visited home and dad many times since. It's been more than a year.

But it's not that I can't bring myself to throw the flowers away.

For some reason, I just leave them there...


Boy had urge to kill self at school,
but...broke new, hep, shoot-'em-up rule?
He set--just himself--ablaze!
I say, kid's earned high praise--
let's pray this 'comes the New Cool!


What the world...needs now...is... Caffeinated grape soda.

Seriously, folks. How can it be so difficult?

Let's get on this, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers...


At shaving, not best--oft leave gash!
Not clean, patchy--fair skin gets rash!
Beard spots 'spec'lly hard to nip
include 'bove upper lip...
Like Fate wants me to grow 'stash?


This time around, we couldn't help but notice that more people are seemingly watching the Super Bowls, and all the related festivities, while claiming that they, "don't care about the game".... Well, than people who DO care about the game itself.

Meaning... Watching the Super Bowl as a football fan is now rebellious?...


"Fresh"? That's big shill now--how we're fed the bull?
Subway, grocers... Need "fresh" be said? THAT's pull?
If NOT "fresh," you'd be shut down!
Why not, then, you ad clowns,
something like, "Subway... It's Edible"?


I used to think it impossible to use too much parmesan cheeze in, say, pasta.

But I managed to break the Parm Barrier last week.

Yes, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers, it is indeed possible.

I also used to think it impossible to use too much garlic.

But... Let's just say it was quite a meal...


St. Valentine's Day!... Seem disarming
it's full moon? Well, guys lovin'-farming,
if they play their cards right,
may find, Valentine's Night,
they tranform to wolf from Prince Charming!


From the same e-mail news update, from the partisanly progressive www.truthout.org, we read of--

"Farm Bill Promotes Hemp as Legal Crop"

Which the entity in question applauds and then--

"CVS Shows that Big Government is Working"

Also applauded, relating CVS' decision to...stop selling tobacco products as of Oct. 1 of this year?

The real difference in drug policy between "conservative" and "liberal," see, is that one side wants to continue a disatrously failed drug prohibition while the other wants to start a brand new, sure to disasterously fail prohibition...


Pardon cliche, but human bein's,
"Put man on moon"--enter Space Scene!--
but somehow neglect to chase
inventions Ma Earth-based...
Grape soda that has caffeine!


Now, it goes without saying...


A man hung like horse, name of Hoover,
on date, made his "get oral" move! Her
defenses were down;
tried going to town...
but soon needed Heimlich Maneuver!


So, our cable TV music channels, here in the, um, offices at the Daily Limerick Towers, offer not only "Classical Masterpieces" but... "Light Classical"?



LIGHT Classical?

What, exclusively for those recovering from nervous breakdowns?...

Happy Extra Cheezy Saturday!...


Note, 'round Super Bowl, chicks and fellas,
don't care 'bout game, but watch--they tell us...
So those dudes and dames
who do care 'bout game
most mainstream are...somehow rebellious?


Our Chief Limericist is flattered and all, but we're rather curious about this Olympic phenomenon we hear of called, "Sloopstyle"...


(Touching in some manner, anyway)

TODAY'S EDITION: The Dangers of Protected Sex
Condoms--the Modern Age Sacred Cow.

So, of course, I'm about to go a'bludgeonin'.

But first, this may or may not be the St. Valentine's Day edition. This is the last Sunday before V.D., but the following Sunday is arguably amid V.D. Weekend, raising the question of whether the Big Day's falling on a Friday jiggers the designation... That is, if V.D. fell on a Tuesday, would the preceding weekend by The Weekend? What about Wednesday? Where's the cut-off?

Regardless, we're shooting for romance-related editions for all of St. Valentine's Month, but it is a valid question. And, as Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers have come too expect, no Sunday Story Time is complete without digression.

There is an actual story here.

Condoms do deserve Sacred Cow status. At least as much as anything deserves Sacred Cow status. Sexually transmitted diseases are serious business--not just HIV--as is unwanted pregnancy. But there's an inherent problem with Sacred Cow status of any sort.

Let's look at illegal drugs for an example. While things are changing on the social front, the War on Drugs and "Just Say 'No'" still rule overall policy. The inherent problem comes when, say, a teenager is mulling his natural inclinations to rebel and experiment. Let's imagine he does a little research into the matter and asks questions, "So marijuana, while dangerous just like alcohol, is not quite on the level of hard stuff like heroin?" or "Aren't some people able to do cocaine without becoming actually addicted?"

The answer to both from the establishment? "Just Say 'No'!" or perhaps, "But it's a gateway drug!"

There are good intentions in the prevailing philosophy. But the problem with making it into dogma arises when... Well, say our imaginary teenager, no idiot, extrapolates, "Well, they obviously misrepresent the nature of marijuana, so they're probably exaggerating with heroin, too...so why not try some this weekend at Johnny's party?"

There is dogma surrounding the Protected Sex movement, too--but unlike the War on Drugs version, it's liberal dogma, which is on the increase, societally, overall.

The fact is that condoms... Well, condoms suck. One's reaction to them differs depending on individual sensitivities and such--some are actually allergic--but, in my experience... Let's just say they mess things up, on a personal level. Kill sensitivity. Even function as an anti-Viagra, on many occasions.

Does this mean I refuse to use them? Hell no! I value my very life and, again, realize the importance of the Protected Sex movement. So I've used them and will use them again. But I do seek out long-term relationships, as a rule, and part of the reason is to work my way into a non-condom birth control routine.

I'm a starving artist type, which can interfere with "typical" relationships. And in many ways I'm very much an introverted, shy, writerly stereotype. Thus, even being more of a relationship type, it might've done wonders for my male morale to have snagged more occasional one-offs, or casual relationships, to weather the dry spells.

But in all honesty, part of what's kept me away from those are damn condoms. Not that I can name an actual incident where a willing babe was turned away because I thought, "Ehhh... Then I'll have to use a condom, so no thanks." I can't stress enough--you never know if a future M'Lady could be reading--that I DO use condoms and WILL use condoms, but... My distaste for them plays a role in my overall dating philosophy and condoms have influenced my avoidance of a swinging lifestyle. Even a swinging dabble.

I've read sex advice columns and learned that my condom dislike is not rare. But columnist replies to condom dislikers inevitably goes something like, "Boo-hoo; would you rather be dead?; Just Say 'No' to unprotected sex!"

Which puts those like me in a position similar to our fictional, teenage, wannabe drug experimenter. Makes us likely to doubt the dogma. While it may scare some into the desired reaction, dogma is never a great, comprehensive tool. And I won't even digress further to mull the whole Forbidden Fruit byproduct.

Gettin' busy with an ex-M'Lady we'll call "L" one evening (I told you there was an actual story here), I discovered that The Condom... Well, went missing.

It was a normal condom. Wasn't past its expiration date or anything. Hadn't attained a ragged status from, say, carrying in a wallet or anything. Was donned properly and carefully, blah blah yadda yadda.

I recall thinking, during The Act, "Wow, this feels really, really good all of a sudden," looked down, noticed it missing, stopped--yes, as a male during sex; told you I'm a Safe Sex guy--and said, "Wait a second, L, the condom somehow fell off."

The Act came to a halt. I looked first, of course, around her nether regions. Then on the nearby bedding, floor beneath the bed, etc... Couldn't find it.

Hope of a quick fix and rekindling of The Act then vanished. We combed the immediate area, even getting on our kness to inspect the carpet. We slowly came to the realization that it was probably...in her.

L did some self-searching, I played amateur gynecologist but... We couldn't find the damn thing. A little more combing, a little more gynecologist... Nope.

So it was off to the emergency room.

We learned that the Disappearing Condom Trick was actually fairly common, although that didn't quell L's embarrassment. Oh, and the condom was retrieved there--it did, indeed, disappear within her.

The incident put a damper on L's sex drive, short-term. Which does seem reasonable. But our relationship would only run short-term from there, anyway. For the typical mix of reasons, foremost being a lack of sexual compatability.

By "sexual compatability," I mean the fact that L wasn't much into sex. Now, before you go scoldy on me, I'm not talking about the normal man/woman disparity in desired frequency. I'll also point out that, in the end, SHE broke up with ME.

L had been sexually assaulted in the past, as is all too frequent among women. She'd worked through those issues enough to have sex, obviously, but she looked at it more as a chore necessary to maintain a relationship with a man. I tried to be understanding. I tried to gently nudge her toward little things to expand her sexual repertoire, even mentioning, at one point, that it'd seem her abusers would "win," were she to let this destroy her sex life.

It was a difficult balance to attempt--remaining sympathetic and cautious while having male needs, really human needs, and also legitimately trying to help her fully heal for her own good.

But... Hey, at one point she'd even asked me if I'd be opposed to a relationship with the understanding that I'd get the sex part elsewhere. (I wasn't up for that arrangement.)

My dumb-ass, overly honest self admitted to L, quite a bit later, that the Condom Incident's amateur gynecology session, and watching her search herself, turned me on.

I didn't WANT it to turn me on. I really, really didn't want it to turn me on, for a few reasons. But one can't help such things.

So Happy St. Valentine's Day!... But beware the dangers of... Okay, the dangers of sex in any form...


Old overused phrase, for long greying's,
today's cliche toy, with which playing!
Not only old hat,
but can leave at that,
and so--"Now, It goes without saying..."


Okay, we think we've all kicked this cold going aroung the, um, Daily Limerick Towers, but can never remember that saying... "Feed a fever and..." No... "Feed a cold, starve an artist"?...


Turn classical music on--class instilled
in day's routine! Timeless art--masterful!
Relaxing! Tune channel check,
cable... What nervous wreck
actu'lly tunes in..."LIGHT Classical"?


We should probably chime in on the Olympics, what with all the world coming together for them and talking about them; the ancient tradition and... But first--

We'd like a dose of what's obviously most important to the storied Olympic Games.

So before we join the chorus, bring us some corporate sponsorship!...


Fresh garlic in fridge; powdered, hutch!
I always have it--brings "zing!" touch!
I eat, and add more and more;
whole life, no ceiling/floor...
'til... FINALLY ate too much!


Since this is St. Valentine's Week, our Wednesday "Food" content should focus on something romantic, no?

So. Steak-umms.


See, I enjoy some greasy, Steak-umms sandwiches now and again Okay, when they're seriously on sale, as the normal price doesn't fit the perpetually starving artist budget.

You simply have to obtain some nice, freshly baked rolls for Steak-umms. Not too thick, as the proper meat-bread ratio need be minded. Some will pile on onions, green peppers and/or mushrooms... Personally, I think the veggies disturb the Ratio, but whatever tingles your bingle.

I make sure and spoon a bit of the excess grease onto the sandwiches, myself.

Anyway, once a roommate/renter/friend of mine scolded me for cooking Steak-umms for the then-M'Lady.

"You don't make Steak-Umms for a lady!"

I begged to disagree.

M'Lady agreed...but being a bit of a Tom Boy type, I don't believe it was an etiquette issue for her. I think she simply didn't like the Steak-umms.

Hence, she's now an ex-M'Lady.

Okay, the Steak-umms question had nothing to do with the future break-up.

But to each his/her own. You get down and sensual with strawberries and whipped cream, I'll brandish some sexy Steak-umms...


CVS roped--Big Mother's mission!
Soon won't sell smokes, news just was dishin'!
Diff., "lib'ral," "conservative"?
Wasted time/cash they give--
to which hopeless prohibition!


We'd just love to see a primetime commercial around now that DOESN'T make Olympians out like war heroes and DOESN'T make the (usually slimy) corporation in question out to be essential hero-helpers...


Valentine's Day--mem'ries that last occur!
Eighty-five years marking that Massacre!
If lucky to have sweatheart,
some advice I impart--
make it St. Valentine's Ass-acre!


Happy Extra Cheezy 85th Anniversary of the St. Valentine's Day Massacre!...

Oh, alright And Happy Extra Cheezy St. Valentine's Day, too...


Nursing Valentine's Night hangover?
Post sex tryst you raved and sang over?
You're feeling the pain
in not just your brain--
can barely walk from the "bang-over"!


Watching some Olympic skiing events, we noted semi-finals leading up to... "super-finals."


"Finals" works just fine. THE Finals, as opposed to qualifier-dependent "semi-finals" or, say, "quarter-finals."

Oh, why do we bother?

Don't mind us. Guess somebody's gotta bear the nostalgic, quaint torch from some other era--in this case the Torch of Grammar, extinct in the Social Media Age...


Olympic hype give you a drooped smile
Here's delightful news--just in, scoop filed!
Games will get more classy--
and more than bit sassy--
o'erheard of events now dubbed..."Sloop-style"!


Chief Limericist checking in, here.

Had a few tour guide gigs cancelled this weekend. So I got a good, stiff St. Valentine's screwing, after all...


(Touching in some manner, anyway)

Many moons ago, I was privvy to a conversation between a friend and his ex-girlfriend-turned-lesbian in which the woman's anecdote touched upon the concept of "bad sex."

Welcome to the Sunday Story Time especially for St. Valentine's Weekend, Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers! What can I say? Times are tough.

I recall few details of the discussion, other than that the woman in question refered to bad sex as a regular fact of life among heterosexual women, prompting my friend to ask, "What about when MEN experience bad sex?"

"A man CAN'T have bad sex," she smugly replied.

The chick was undoubtedly referencing the chasm between male and female orgasm, so my friend let it drop, feeling successfully "zing"-ed.

But I beg to differ. Now, anyway. I didn't at the time in question.

I most certainly have had bad sex. And on more than one occasion.

I don't know how much I can speak for other guys on the topic. Firstly, having an orgasm doesn't make it "good sex." Sure, it's generally better to get one's rocks off than to NOT get one's rocks off, thus an orgasm is arguably a good thing but... Consider--

During that ugly phase of a relationship where things aren't going well--it's actually headed to its end, which in a way you know, but in another way you aren't facing up to. She's actually giving it a final chance, in her head, keeping her eyes and ears extra open, making sure ending is what she wants to do...that kinda thing. Your birthday rolls around, out of obligation she performs a sex act...but her heart's not in it. Her performance of said act is lax, it takes longer than usual... You get off, being a guy and all, but... Yeah.

I suppose that damn chick had a point in that... Sure. It's like having a lukewarm burger on the go, in a rush--still better than no burger. But it does spotlight the fact that all sex is not equal, even if you're a guy.

I'll bypass the bane of male performance problems for our purposes. Oh, that's certainly "bad sex"--and, to any ladies unknowing, that problem is near-universal at some point for men, regardless of age or health. This issue creeps away from that damn chick's long-ago thesis.

I have had sex where, during the act, I started to think... Well, along the lines of the adage, "If you want something done right, you've gotta do it yourself." And--twice--I actually DID wait until after the act was over to, er, take matters into my own hands. Well, hand.

And, yes, with the aid of a condom, even faked orgasm. Take that, ladies!

For one instance, I was having trouble moving past a failed relationship, a friend in a coffeehouse egged me toward a lady who was "checking me out," I asked her out, we went on a date, to a movie, things proceeding horribly, I figured I'd just walk her home and forget the whole thing and... SHE ASKED ME TO COME UP?

I'm a guy. I did consider turning down her offer, but... I'm a guy.

My best guess is that this dame ended a relationship after a guy cheated on her, she wasn't over it yet but wanted to be, so decided to sleep with me as a way of saying/showing, "See? I'm over you and I can sleep with others, too"... But it didn't work very well for her.

She went through the motions, obviously wasn't into it... I'm not sure whether the sex even gave me a shot of manliness or not. On one hand, I could say I got laid. On the other, having sex with a woman when it doesn't appear to satisfy her at all... Well, that's a hit to one's manliness.

These things get complex.

Regarding the other unquestionable incident of bad sex... This was back when I was drinking problematically. I'd reached a point in the boozing where, after a job loss and DUI, I KNEW I had to quit...in the long-term. But I was still dabbling back and forth. As is normal in such cases.

I was amid a brief stint working at a cell phone and pager store. We'd reguarly call various reps to set-up phone numbers and air time or whatever, a flirty work relationship emerged between one of these reps and I, we decided we should meet sometime for lunch and... Oops.

I knew it was best to schedule a lunch for such a thing. If... Well, let's be honest, if she were a dog, or annoying or whatever, a lunch date has a built-in "out." She finagled that arrangement into a party she was having and... Yeah, I was stupid.

I, carless, was driven by her out to her place in a nearby suburb--trapped. Her "party" was a "just the apartment party" to begin with, and her roommate and roommate's boyfriend cut out early... So it was me and the Monster. And a lot of booze.

I feel obligated to defend myself here against certain "male superficiality" charges. I did not find her physically attractive and, sorry, but Mother Nature makes it hard for us guys to get around that. Now, we seemed to have things in common, and she seemed witty and smart from our phone dealings and such, so I like to think that she could've been "borderline"--that personality could make or break the deal if extreme in one direction or the other... In any event, her extreme went toward annoying, so perhaps I'll never know. So I'm sticking with that. In any event, I wanted nothing to do with this chick.

All things considered, I thought the easiest way to handle all of this was to just... Well, have sex with her, craft some excuse to leave early-ish after a seemingly appropriate amount of hang-out time and work on nipping the relationship in the bud later.

Call me slimy. Okay, I will--I was indeed slimy. But it worked. Eventually. Details unnecessary.

I felt completely awful about this incident, for... Well, no shortage of reasons. But at the risk of countering my objection to Ms. Many Moons Ago's assertion, the incident was perhaps "good sex," in one way, anyhow.

Drinking was a major cause of screwing up an initial stint at college, ending a job, squandering my would-be savings, numerous automobile mishaps, etc., etc... But I continued to indulge.

And it's hard to assign any one misadventure as the confirmed "straw breaking the camel's back," when addiction recovery's all about the preponderance of fuck-ups, but it's no coincidence that I finally embarked upon long-term sobriety just after that tryst.

If that doesn't qualify as a guy having "bad sex," I don't know what could...


Olympics!... Just say, could be fonder.
But feel should give two cents, 'cross pond, here!
But 'fore effort/time,
on hubbub, in chime...
Like all else, I'll need corp'rate sponsor!


Hope you're all enjoying day off from work/school/etc. today.

That is, if you're a government worker or a grade schooler. Or...what the hell, a Daily Limerick, um, employee...

Happy Extra Cheezy Presidents' Day!...


There's saying for when sickness mars bliss;
cold, fever tip's opposite--thar's twist!
I'm often confused
'bout 'xact wording used...
Perhaps, "Feed a cold, starve...an artist"?


I have a confession.

Chief Limericist checking in, here.

Now, I've been known publicly as a burlesque enthusiast, even a promoter (working with such dancers in various shows I've emceed/produced/etc.), for some time but.... Okay, maybe it's a backlash thing, since the art's so damn popular these days, but... Ahem.

Okay, it's the fatties. There. I said it. Just being honest. Now, some men favor such builds, and burlesque generates a huge female fan base--it's all about "empowerment" and "being comfortable with your body" much of the time these days.

That's all fine and good but... Well, all this, er, BBW empowerment stuff seems to have taken over the art. Eclipsing the traditional hotties.

So... Yeah. There. I said it...


If, Valentine's Month, need a break from
the normal romantic meal? Take some
advice from Smoove Sloop--
ignore mainstream poop
and, guys, treast your Lady to...Steak-umms!


Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers should know--no, had BETTER know--that we devote our Wednesday entries to "Food"-related content, as a sorta parody of traditional newspapers.

So today, to mix things up, we thought we'd offer, as the old saying goes, "Food...for thought."

But... Well, having a bit of a creative block, so you're gonna have to starve today...


Olympic ads scream, all too clear, "Yo!
We fully support the team!" Cheers flow!
But it's beyond too much!
They make out Games as such
like jocks--and shills--are damn war heroes!


Happy Extra Cheezy... One Month 'Til the Official Start of Spring Day (as of 11:57 a.m. CST)!...


Weekend, Valentine's?... Not much doing.
Paid gig cancelled, though--wallet ruin!
So guess I must say,
though lonely, Big Day--
I still got a Valentine's Screwin'!


If you've ever rode a local train, you've heard those announcements, ala, "We are being delayed," followed by some explanation, ala, "...awaiting signals ahead," or, "...due to inclement weather," etc., etc.

This is especially annoying with city-to-suburb lines, which have departure/arrival timetables.

Well, city trains HAVE such timetables--hilariously, even for buses--but... (Excuse us while we recover from uncontrollable laughter.)

Of course, most of these are recorded messages these days, which screams, "Our problems are ridiculously frequent," but probably assuages the consternation of the Moron Majority.

The only announcements that would make any sense to us would be a simple, "Sorry that we're running late." Just the apology. Because these excuses aren't valid.

You knuckleheads are in the Transportation Business. You're supposed to anticipate summer and winter weather, organize the "signals" to keep to your timetables, etc.

Ahem. We generally try to end our nuggets with some form of witty capper, but we're at a loss.

Seriously, though, think about those "bus timetables" and we end with a laugh after all...


Doctress was hot--said, "What's up, Doc?"
She--"I'm working! So, 'what's up's'--clock!"
The mission was then
to feed dirty yen--
get Doctress to say, "What's up...cock"!


A new study finds that more than 1 in 4 people report to work despite being sick.


From where we sit, it seems you'd have to be a One Percenter to take of work simply because you can barely walk... Did they survey only upper class members who have yachts and sick days and such?...

Happy Extra Cheezy (sniffle, sniffle) Saturday!...


Mixed feelings 'bout modern burlesque...
Though love seeing ladies undress-que,
empow'rment thang--"love The Plump"?
Onboard, but seems TOO pumped--
threat's that burlesque turns grotesque!


We were reading out this new winter sport, a wannabe Olympic Game, called "ice cross downhill," wherein... Stop this nonsense.

We already have plenty of classic, boring sports in the Olympics. They were fixin' to cut freakin' WRESTLING recently so...Learn one of those, dudes, or figure you own way to land Subway commercials every four years...


(Touching in some manner, anyway)

TODAY'S EDITION: The Day I Outran the Filthy, Dirty Rat Coppers
Once upon a time, when I was a young man, or on the border of official adulthood... I forget the exact details (but am nonetheless stoked I finally began a writing with, "Once upon a time...").

I was a mess. Seriously. Adult? Pfft. Perhaps by the numbers, legally, but... High school, wannabe rock star in a wannabe band, firmly en route to a period of perpetual self-medication some would call "college" and... (Shudder.)

As teenager/young adult troublemaking goes, I could've been a lot worse. I actually maintained good grades in school and, while my antics caused some friction with the parents, we mostly got along. I had a few minor traffic tickets, mostly for speeding, constituting my Rap Sheet. Such tickets were a Big Deal to me, however, since such expenses threatened to bust my fragile, fast food-grunt budget and would complicate driving privileges, and more, with the parents.

One morning, before school, I was driving through town. "Town" being a suburb that was nearby and small, yet larger than the country exburb, or whatever you'd call it, where I lived. "Town" was where we'd cruise The Strip, of sorts, on weekends and such for teenage kicks, with an eye out for hot chicks and/or friends hanging at fast food outlets and such.

It was morning, at a point when regular school was underway, but I don't recall exactly why I was driving through town--only that school was my next destination. I may have had a doctor appointment or something. I normally took the bus to school, so I had the car with parental approval, although I'm pretty sure I was dilly-dallying before heading to class. Perhaps I bought a can of chewing tobacco or other such unapproved errand.

A police siren sounded. I looked and saw the dirty copper in my rearview mirror, a ways behind. I didn't see any other vehicles in the squad car's path, and it wasn't zooming at a pace to indicate he'd blow by me chasing a distant villain so... It seemed probable the cop was after me. Especially since I was, indeed, speeding.

Now, I know my hometown area's streets pretty well. Was aware that I could turn left to find a series of parallel streets with a grid of crossing streets, lined in some instances with relatively tall buildings or small parks with tall trees... In other words, I could make a few quick turns, even going the speed limit, and "accidentally" lose the fuzz. Could likely even swing a plea of, "I was just pulling over on a less-busy street, officer," if caught.

So I did just that.

And I lost the cop. If I was assessing things correctly.

Made a good tale at lunch.

Okay, maybe I exaggerated a bit in the telling of it.

I suppose there are more exciting tales that could've come under today's headline, but this one DOES fit...


Watched 'Lympics, some skiiing--blew mind! Well...
"SUPER-Final"? Folks, in must chime! Hell,
why bother these days?
Lame redundant phrase--
word's fine as-is... For "Final"..."FINAL"!


This just in... Haiku is stupid.


We've been holding that opinion in for some time. Perhaps afraid to appear racist, or anti-cultural, or something but... A poetry form based only on syllables?

Sorry. Poets' cop-out and just plain lame...


This new "sport" called "ice cross downhill"?
Dudes hope it makes Olympic bill!
That strange combo sport-jest thing?
Talk was to cut WRESTLING!
Kaibosh new "sports"--we've our fill!


Without going into personal details... Slapper Yapper Grasshoppers... These are the times that try men's souls.

Since city dwellers do a lot of walking, especially during such times, they're also the times that try men's SOLES...


On Wednesdays, "Food" content niche carved
out--as ol' newspapers find marv!
Creative block, got,
so have food for thought...
But in this case, guess you must starve!


Since our "Food" content comes on Wednesday, this must be our Paczki Day edition.

What the hell? Start your pre-Lent sinnin' early...


Rushed! City bus/train... Complication!
Canned voice, "Frozen switch"! Explanation?
Or blather like, "heated tracks"?
Weather recurs--it's fact!
Don't fly--your biz? Transportation!


Facebook, Twitter, etc., have built-in spell checking. You know, with the red underline and all.

Hee hee, hawww haw!


Of course, it apparently doesn't matter.

Based on what most people are posting, it appears social media could really use SMELL-checking--that is, helping people decide whether their words pass the ol' smell check, but... Hooo hoo... Ha ha haaaa!...


Study--one in four dames and gents're
at work, 'spite bein' sick... Shocked! Must vent, here--
that's it? One in four?
How can't it be more?
"Sick days"? Ha! That's for One Percenters!


We think Old Man Winter's poppin' Viagra...