EVIL GLENN POETRY ROUND-UP

The Ode to Glenn Reynolds poetry round-up has some of the best writing I've ever seen. I'm offering some tiny samplings of my particular favorites, but I strongly urge you to check the whole collection in addition to reading the full version of these:

Susie:

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'Tis seldom that mere mortal man,
enrobed in blurple ermine
does drink as often as he can
a cup of blended vermin.

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Heather:

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If only I
could summon nimble
words to pluck away thyne pups
before you siphon vitals from their wares.

A listless sigh escapes its
sound. It queries not a dogged
paw - a fading yelp.

Clouded sky erupts!
A lightning bolt askew
might frighten off a gnu
and separate your pup from you
(and leave you shaking sad and blue)
So true. So...true.

Still now. The blender whirs its final sound.
A rapture grasp'd in canine breath.
Escapes his sure intended death.
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Physics Geek

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I left you more at the links. Be sure to check it out.

HARV: BAD ASS ROCKER

So Joey, of Single White Male, has a new question up. Apparently he was entirely unamused by my pathetic offering to his last contest. Undaunted, I shall try again.

This week's question is (Nov 3, CTRL+F "strangelove"):

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You're at a local garage sale when you pick up a six-string guitar. You've never played before, but you bust out and you are amazing. You immediatley gather some kids from the community college to be a back-up band for you. What's your band called? What kind of music do you play? And, finally, what's your big hit?

Sunday, midnight AZ time. Best answer gets a dollar.

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My band is called Filthy Lucre, and I'm letting Joey be front man at the mike, because chicks dig long-haired dudes with bad shaves more than graying father-figures with conservative hair-cuts. We do mostly 80's hair-band sounding stuff, somewhere between Cinderella & Motley Crue, soundwise. Oddly enough our big hit, "Socialism Sucks" (Nov 4, CTRL+F "explicit") which is based on a true story from Joey's school days, is a blatant rip-off of the rhythm & melody from the Beastie Boys' song "Fight for Your Right to Party", but we changed the lyrics enough to keep from getting sued:

SOCIALISM SUCKS!

I love my school, I really, really do
I get an education and a little pussy, too
But then I went down to get myself a pop
The health Nazis said, "Joey, you gotta stop!"

"Carbonated beverages ain't the way to go"
"They're not good for you, so we say NO!"
I looked them in the eyes and I said "You're full of shit!"
"I need some caffeine, and I ain't gonna quit!"

(Chorus) YOU GOTTA FIGHT... FOR YOUR RIGHT... TO SO-DA!

The government thinks they can tell me what to do
But I'm the Single White Male, so I tell 'em "Screw you!"
No socialist bastards are gonna run my life
So I kicked 'em in the crotches and I cut 'em with my knife.

(Repeat Chorus)

I'm not a violent person, but I'll tell you this
I'm a real straight shooter and I never, ever miss
You can take my Mountain Dew if you think you're a man
Only if you pry it from my cold, dead hand.

(Repeat Chorus twice)

We'll be at the Cricket Pavilion in Phoenix on December 6th. See ya there!

WHY DON'T WE GET DRUNK AND TOAST?

Granted, I'm no longer the charming, inebriated sailor I used to be, but I still enjoy a good drinking game now and then. Via COTV #59, I found out Red Ted Keeps A Diary that the tradition of making toasts used to be a sort of drinking game:

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Basically, toasting involves going around the table, having each person propose a toast, and everyone drinking agreement to the sentiment. You fill the glasses. The first person proclaims a toast: "The Union, may it ever be preserved!" All drink. The glasses are refilled. The second person proclaims a toast: "The ladies, may they ever be beautiful!" All drink. The glasses are refilled. And so it goes, around the table or around the room. That first example is a Jackson quote, the second is something you might hear in a tavern.

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I found this both enlightening and intriguing. I may try this out with the Corner of the Bar Gang. I think I owe Matty O'Blackfive a good drunkfest to make up for that O'Doul's prank, anyway. If I don't do something soon, he'll probably sustain another head injury from beating his skull against the wall, trying to rid himself of that horrid taste.

First, though, a question for the Bartender:

Why the hell didn't I learn about this from YOU, Mr. "Beer Fart"?

Ah, screw it. Here's my toast.

"To the Corner of the Bar Babes: May they stay forever young, beautiful, and stacked like a Las Vegas poker deck!"

Drink up gents! Matty, I believe the next one is yours...

CARNIVAL OF THE VANITIES #59...

... is up at Kevin's place. My favorite would be Dogs and Global Warming at Useful Fools. It's a short, 30-second read, which makes a single point and makes it very well. Excerpting it is pointless, because the enjoyment lies in reading it in its entirety.

So enjoy.

NEW BLOG SHOWCASE VOTE

Gotta be "No Offense" from Semi-Intelligent Thoughts. A cogent & lucid analysis of what political correctness means in practice. The money quote:

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Political correctness is supposed to keep people from being offended, but what if this offends people? Why is nobody complaining that the students in this article may feel alienated because they can't express their beliefs? They're being stigmatized, which is supposedly wrong. The only way to keep people from being offended is to outlaw all expression of opinion.

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PC in a nutshell: "All beliefs may be questioned except the belief that all beliefs may be questioned."

HUNTING OF THE SNARK #12...

...is up at Misguided Minioness Venomous Kate's place, and it's just full of nasty, nattering goodness (or badness, as the case may be). My pick o' the litter is this drink-alerted precious nugget from Newmanisms. Here's a sample:

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But alas, I almost want CBS to run the [lying bio of Ronald Reagan] "drama" so the GOP can sponsor a "drama" about Streisand. I have it all planned out:

Streisand will be played by this person and Streisand's nose will be played by Michael Moore. Streisand's husband, James Brolin, will be played by a retarded monkey.

I have part of the script right here:

Barbara Streisand: Hey, look at me. I'm important because people think I sing good and my nose has the girth of small solar system.

Barbara's Nose: Hey! Woman! I am not fat! I am slightly rotund.

Barbara: No, that was not my nose talking. That was simply...swamp gas.

Nose: I'll show you some gas...

Barbara: I shall now sing good.

Nose: God help us all. My flatulence has better tone quality.

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Go read the rest, but for the love of God, swallow first.

TODAY'S LOVE NOTE

(Introduction)

I only wish to be the fountain of love from which you drink, every drop promising eternal passion.

TODAY’S GRAFFITI CURRENCY



The graffiti currency equivalent of blogger link-whoring.