A Tribute the Ted Kennedy

... to the tune of "Wild Thing":

Kermit the Wild Thing from sutebeo on Vimeo.

Worm food ...
You've made room temp'ture, dude.
You're now some real crude ... Teddy,
Worm food!
Worm food, with dirt above you,
We wanna know for sure
Mary Jo can now accuse you:
"You killed me."

Worm food ...
You've made room temp'ture, dude.
You're now some real crude ... Teddy,
Worm food!
{Keyboard Interlude}
Worm food, by heaven above me,
I wanna know for sure.
Unborn babes breathlessly say:
"You killed me."

Worm food ...
You've made room temp'ture, dude.
You're now some real crude ... Teddy,
Worm food!
Worm food,
C'mon, c'mon, worm food
Hyannisport worm food ...

Warning Label

I went for a physical yesterday and got my blood-pressure-medication prescription renewed. Of course, my sweet wife Joyce is concerned about my health, so I wasn't overly surprised when I opened my email today and found a note from her advising me of all the terrifying side effects associated with the use of Diovan:
abdominal pain, allergic reactions, back pain, blurred vision, cough, diarrhea, dizziness, fainting, fatigue, headache, joint pain, low blood pressure, nausea, rash, runny nose, sinus inflammation, sore throat, swelling, swollen mouth and throat, upper respiratory infections, vertigo, viral infections.

As much as I appreciate Joyce's concern for me, I was a bit puzzled about what good this information is. Then it occurred to me that the warning label can be put to excellent use. It makes a pretty nifty little song (to be sung to the tune "The Rose", made famous by Bette Midler)

Diovan ... can cause reactions,
can put you fast asleep,
swell your mouth, cause infections
and coughing way down deep,
headaches like a skull incision,
and cause your nose to seep.
Diovan ... can blur your vision --
and Lord, it sure ain't cheap.

It's the cough with diarrhea
that makes you fill your pants.
And infections resp'ratory,
your romance don't enhance.
It's the throat all sore and swollen
that cannot seem to spit.
Only urge to purge your colon
will make you give a shit.

Then there's sinus inflammation,
rash, fatigue and aching back,
fainting spells, chronic joint pain,
dizziness and dental plaque.
But that pill, when I swallow,
when I gulp and down she goes,
keeps my blood pressure normal
and then ... so I blow my nose.

Downtown

I used to work in Fort Worth, but a couple of years ago the company decided our department needed to operate out of downtown Dallas. The manager over our group held a slogan contest, and (in an effort to put a positive spin on this move) we were each asked to submit a pithy epithet. I think the winning entry was something like: "Moving Up". I was, of course, disappointed that my entry didn't win the bobblehead doll, but I have to acknowledge it was a bit long.

{Sung to the tune of Petula Clark's hit: "Downtown"

When you're a clone
Your cube is making you lonely,
There's a brand new low ... downtown.
In those environs,
All the noise of the sirens
Seem to stop ... you know ... downtown.

Just listen to the cursing of the streetfolk in the city,
Feces on the sidewalk where a bum just begged for pity ...
Barfing his booze.

Your odds are much slighter there
You can hear the bums mumble, hear 'em all swear and blow ...
Downtown, life is a waste while you're ...
Downtown, bums in your face for sure ...
Downtown, everything's waiting for you.
(Downtown)

Don't hang around
And let the darkness surround you
There are crackhead hos ... downtown.
Maybe you've seen
That little guy in a trenchcoat
Likes to show his hose ... downtown.

And there's someone who looks a lot like Anna Kournikova,
And she'll be dancing on the bar before the night is over ...
She is a guy.

Her cheeks are much tighter there
You then'll see her beard stubble, see her pit hair and blow ...
Downtown, life is a waste while you're ...
Downtown, queers in your face for sure ...
Downtown, everything's waiting for you.
(Downtown ... downtown)

Downtown
(Downtown)

And you may find that you don't mind the stench that overwhelms you,
Dodging poo is okay too, but draw the line at those who ...
Preach on the train.

At end of day leave it there.
You can forget all your troubles, forget all your cares and blow ...
Downtown, life is a waste while you're ...
Downtown, scum in your face for sure ...
Downtown, everything's fading from view.

Downtown (downtown) downtown (downtown)
Downtown (downtown) downtown (downtown)
(repeat and fade out)

Blog-iversary

Two years ago today I posted my very first words on this blog - not really intending to have anyone read them. I just figured a blog would be a good place to dump those few thoughts that leak out of my head. Because I'd never really planned to take up blogging and I was still half intending to drop it, I hadn't mentioned my blog to Joyce when she sent me an email with a link to her very first post. Of course, I replied with a link to mine. So ever since we've been a blogging couple.

Anyway, my first post was this poem (based on one of those viral email stories that makes the rounds). I was rather pleased with how well that story fit my meter and rhyme. So without further ado, here it is.

Free Lunch

Smackin dust from hat'n boots
just 'nside the cafe door,
I stomps to th'counter with m'dime,
coffee wages 'n nothin more.
Sits m'self at the sleeve o' a Meskin -
a poco boracho so he seems.
Waitress brings m'cup - still there
he sits, astarin at his beans.

A day ago I filled m'gut,
'n that were just some jerky chili.
While I eyes that heapin bowl,
in my mind'er thoughts: "Danged silly,
"Silly!" them thoughts protest, "a drunken
Meskin awasting food galore."
So speaks them thoughts, and says to him,
"Might I finish that, Seenyor?"

Without even alookin up,
he shakes his head and says to me,
"Help jorself," and slides the grub -
so now I has a meal fer free.
As beans is filling up m'carcass,
pure sweetness's fillin up my heart,
"Them Spics ain't all so bad!" I thinks
(that 'n, "Pintas makes me fart").

Then I spies the mouse's head,
eyein' me atop m'spoon.
'N sudden comes the backerds flow,
awhence to bowl it left so soon.
Leanin close, my compadre speaks
some words well worthy of a chew:
"How'ju like jor lunch por libre?
'S'bout as far as I got, too."

Proposed Tribute to OU

I hear that Piper and Bou have a little wager in the works. Because Bou will be way too busy with her marathon to prepare a decent "Ode to OU", I offer (as a courtesy to her) the following (with my apologies to Lord Tennyson):

The Charge of the Florida Gators

Half a yard, half a yard,
Half a yard and punt,
All at the bowl of Death
Fell the SEC Wonders.
Back to the Everglade!
Charge for the bus - dismayed:
Back from the bowl of Death
Come the SEC Wonders.

"Back to the Everglade!"
Was e'er a game so misplayed?
Not tho' the players knew
BCS blundered:
Gators not to make reply,
Gators not to reason why,
Gators but to do and die:
Into the bowl of Death
Fell the SEC Wonders.

Sooners to right of them,
Sooners to left of them,
Sooners in front of them
BCS blundered;
Sooners rang the dinner bell,
Gators they just tripped and fell,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Fell the SEC Wonders.

Flushing more than Bou could bear,
Flushing as she cursed the air,
Skewering all her hopes and prayers,
Charming the Sooner fans
BCS blundered:
Plunging in, the Gators croaked
Right thro' the Sooners broke;
Passin' and Rushin'
Ball fumbled, what a joke --
Sacked and plundered.
Then they rode home, but not
Not the SEC Wonders.

Sooners to right of them,
Sooners to left of them,
Sooners behind them
BCS blundered:
Sooners rang the dinner bell,
Gators they just tripped and fell,
They had left such a smell
Came thro' the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of the SEC Wonders.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All those SEC Wonders.
Back to the Everglade!
Charged for the bus - dismayed:
So the BCS blunders.

Sly Before Christmas

'Tis the night before Christmas and up at the table,
Little Ben is a-scribbling as best as he's able,
The kids at the school have been dissin' the man,
So Ben's little mind is devising a plan.

Ben should be nestled all snug in his bed,
But questions of truthfulness buzz in his head;
He scrawls on his card stock; I bring the ink pad.
He's cleverly testing if he has been had.

The milk and the cookies have always been downed,
But now he needs proof a little more sound.
His marker, it moves with a flair and a flash,
"Lev your tum print Santa---" he ends with a dash.

Our little wise guy, so cunning so slick,
Has baited his trap for alleged Saint Nick.
Then carefully sets out the ink pad and note,
So Santa will use it (like Iraqi's all vote).

"Ben's dashing, now dancing, now prancing, and fixin'
to check if old Santa rides a sleigh that he sits in!
I say, "To bed with ya now!" [down the end of the hall]
"Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
So Ben mounts to the bunk, his bed way up high.
Then Mom and I wait for the whispers to quiet,
We've got us a ploy, but not sure if he'll buy it.

Next morning Ben's thrilled by the handsome ink blot,
But checks out each hand, looking for spots.
With nary a stain on the parenting mitts,
He exultantly cries, "There is a Saint Nick!"

Mom and I stifle our dance in the zone,
(lest high-fives now possibly make our sin known:
With a wink of my eye and a nod of her head,
Without overt lying, we've once more misled).

A year then has past and (kids getting pubescent)
I figure it's high time that I get confessant.
I lay out the truth as plain as you come,
Answers Ben back: "How 'bout the print of the thumb?"

"Didn't check my toes, didja?" I humbly admit.
Ben looks at me hard, then utters, "Aw ... shux!"
But he heard me exclaim, ere he walked out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to y'all, and to y'all a good-night."

A Blogging Carol

In this twelfth month I'm telling what readers gave to me:
Twelve jokes worth keeping,
Eleven hits from Lancing,
Ten vipers sniping,
Nine frummer thumbings,
Eight posts worth milking,
Seven cons Nigerian,
Six thoughts I'm weighing,
Five ancient meeemes ...
Four-letter words,
Three mensch friends,
Two viral bugs, and
A great new Scrabble tip free.

The Rose that Does Not Die

Earth's mighty kings (avowed to crush the bloody rose)
but pierced their hand on you, O crown of thorn.
Why do the nations rage? Know not your foolish foes
'twas through Sea of Red that you were born?

The Mewing of the Night

Nighttime harpies, yowlin' at creation,
Darkness stirs and wakes imagination.
Catty little wenches are sitting on the fences.
{{Musical interlude played on cat gut}}

Such a shrill thing, felines on the sill sing.
Sounds they're shrieking, there'll be no more sleeping.
Leave your dreams behind; let the noise pollute your mind,
Hear all feline kind each making such a fright
And listen to the mewing of the night!

Close your eyes, but surrender any chance of dreams;
Purge your thoughts of the sleep you knew before.
Let the lynx nail the minx - just let him scooooooore -
And you'll hear them as you've never heard before.

Worsely, curs'dly, mewing will oppress you
Hear it, feel it, Satanic'ly posses you.
Open up your eyes; let the cats' unending cries
Start to drive you to the darkness of your plight
The darkness of the mewing of the night.

Let your mind start a journey through a strange, new world
Leave all hope of the sleep you knew before.
Let your thoughts wander where it's wrong to be;
Might as well enjoy insanity.

Slicing, dicing, thoughts of taxidermy.
Gut them, stuff them, strap them to the gurney.
Let the dreams begin, let your darker side give in
To the power that the mewing does incite -
The power of the mewing of the night

Cats alone can make my dreams take flight;
There's no end of mewing of the night.

To My Foolish Valentine

In Plainview I proffered, "Please, marry me."
In plain view, all ponder, "What did she see?"
We April fools face a puckered pastor,
azaleas bloom ... and then disaster.

Your face so sweet is sudden fretting.
"The ring!" you breath, but I'm not sweating.
"Hey Roy, ya got the ring?" I share.
(The best man's look is worth the fare.)

On droans the preacher, without a clue
of Roy's attempt to call take two.
Swift moves your dad and pulls a fitting
off his hand - ere Roy's shitting.

We hear, "What givest thou in oath,
to prove these vows you here have quoth?"
The washer there so late procured
is passed in trust -- our troth's secured.

With golden band (fit twice your digits)
I snare my wife -- the pastor fidgets.
We laugh; he frets. We kiss; we're wed.
Now at last! It's off to ...
Fort Stewart.

A Must Read

Any introduction to this seems so inadequate. Just read it.

Prostate Lament

[Sincerest apologies to Enya]

Who can say
when your wee goes
if it free flows?
- Only time.

And who can say
when the flow slows
if it soaks toes?
- Only time.

Who can say
if a good try
is to aim high?
- Only time.

And who can say
there's a first prize
for those good tries?
- Only time.

Who can say
if you force pee
that it could be
you might fart?

And who can say
when your wife sleeps
and the smell seeps
off the chart?

Your love wakes -- with a start.

Who can say
when your wind blows
what your love throws?
- Only time.

And who can say
where your aim goes
when she hits home?
- Only time.

Who knows? - Only time.

Who knows? - Only time.

Free Lunch

Smackin dust from hat'n boots just 'nside the cafe door,

I stomps to th'counter with m'dime, coffee wages 'n nothin more.

Sits m'self at the sleeve o' a Meskin - a poco boracho so he seems.

Waitress brings m'cup - still there he sits, astarin at his beans.

A day ago I filled m'gut, 'n that were just some jerky chili.

While I eyes that heapin bowl, in my mind'er thoughts: "Danged silly,

"Silly!" them thoughts protest, "a drunken Meskin awasting food galore."

So speaks them thoughts, and says to him, "Might I finish that, Seenyor?"

Without even alookin up, he shakes his head and says to me,

"Help jorself," and slides the grub - so now I has a meal fer free.

As beans is filling up m'carcass, pure sweetness's fillin up my heart,

"Them Spics ain't all so bad!" I thinks (that 'n, "Pintas makes me fart").

Then I spies the mouse's head, eyein' me atop m'spoon.

'N sudden comes the backerds flow, awhence to bowl it left so soon.

Leanin close, my compadre speaks some words well worthy of a chew,

"How'ju like jor lunch gratis? 'S'bout as far as I got, too."