In honor of World Poetry Day, March 21

Roses are red
Burritos are yummy
If you voted for Trump
Then you’re just a big dummy

Roses are red
Like burgundy wine
He may be YOUR President
But he sure isn’t MINE

Roses are red
So is Superman’s cape
I wonder how long
Till we see the pee tape?

Roses are red
Like a red rubber ball
And Mexico says
They won’t pay for the wall

Roses are red
Like fast sporty cars
I can’t wait to see
His ass behind bars

Roses are red
So they’re easy to find
He can’t keep his lips
Off of Putin’s behind

Roses are red
Like a nasty infection
Now Stormy has photos
Of his tiny erection

Roses are red
Puppies are cute
He paid off a hooker
And Christians are mute

Roses are red
Tambourines jingle
And his trophy wife
Wishes she was still single

Roses are red
Like Putin, his crony
And that whole election
Was phony baloney

Roses are red
Like a big fire truck
And all of his followers
Are scary AF

Roses are red
They require lots of water
It’s creepy as hell
That he’s hot for his daughter

Roses are red
Like cherries with pits
We can’t see his taxes
But we’ve seen his wife’s tits

Roses are red
Like a circus balloon
I hope Robert Mueller
Can wrap this up soon

Roses are red
Like the stuff in our veins
I really do miss
A President with brains

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Lo! Another blog entry!

Lolo (interjection \ˈlō\): used to call attention to something, or to show wonder or surprise

I think I should start using the word “lo!” more often, in the sense of “look! see!”

“Lo! The letter carrier has arrived!”

“Lo! The copier is jammed again!”

“Lo! We’re out of milk!”


Everyday stereotypes, part one.

IMG_20140819_204208_061

Photo by me

A local publisher (not the one I work for) distributes an “advertiser” style paper here in east central Minnesota. The name of the paper is “The Scotsman.”

Now, I understand where they think they’re going with that. Right or wrong, fairly or unfairly, Scots people have a reputation for frugality. Although, living as I do in a primarily Scandinavian community, let me tell you that the Scots have nothing on the Swedes. As a Swedish co-worker used to say: his people throw nickels around like they’re manhole covers.

So I get where they’re coming from, and I should be flattered I suppose. It’s not the Washington Redskins, after all. But I do wonder: what other nationality’s stereotype would get boldly featured in the masthead of a newspaper? What other culture or heritage would put up with such a thing?

Away an’ bile yer haid, ye wee scunner.

 

 


My adorable great-niece Abby just came up with my new favorite phrase.

Image from wallmonkeys.com

Abby’s mama: Your Daddy’s a rockstar!
Abby: He’s a whole bag of rockstars!

That kid is brilliant.

 


Mixed metaphors.

Image from shippinglabels.com

I love mixed metaphors. They’re as much fun as shooting fish in a barrel of monkeys. But I’m no Monday morning shortstop. I’m not green behind the ears. This isn’t rocket surgery, after all; it’s as easy as falling off a piece of cake.

Lately I’ve been burning the midnight oil at both ends. I’m not the sharpest marble in the drawer. I’m one brick short of the whole nine yards. Sometimes I feel like I’m swimming uphill against the grain. But I can see the light at the end of the rainbow, and I came out of it smelling like a bandit. At least a broken squirrel finds a nut twice a day.

You can lead a gift horse to water, but you can’t look him in the mouth. Sometimes you have to bite the hand that you’re dealt. When life throws you curve balls, make lemonade. You can dish it out, but you can’t take it with you. If the shoe fits, walk a mile in it. You can take that to the bank and smoke it!

Can you read the handwriting in the wind? We’ve barely scratched the tip of the iceberg! No use beating it over the head with a dead horse. It’s time to grab the bull by the tail and look him in the eye. Get the show on the road while the deer is in the headlights. Cook up a storm on the back burner. Ninety-nine times out of ten, that’s what you’ll get.

We could stand here and talk until the cows turn blue. But we have to get all our ducks on the same page, or the fan is gonna hit the roof. There’s no use crying over fish in the sea. A glass half full is better than no loaf at all. All bark and no bite makes Jack a dull boy. Why pay the piper when you can have the milk for free?

So here’s the whole kettle of fish in a nutshell: Wake up and smell the music. Don’t cry over spilt water under the bridge. Put your best foot forward and put a sock on it. Take the road less paved with good intentions. Don’t count your chickens without breaking a few eggs. If they tell you to jump off a bridge, you say “how high?”

Have we beaten this with a dead stick? Well, don’t let the horse you rode in on hit you on the way out.

(I gleaned a great many of these from two awesome blogs: Jim Carlton and The Russler. My appreciation, gents.)


Today’s word: Zugzwang.

Image from theotherthomasotter.wordpress.com

(A brilliant poster named bemildred put this up on Democratic Underground this morning. The words are his: I just tweaked them a bit for context.)

In chess if you have no good options and still must move, it’s called Zugzwang.

And it means you lose. And losing always looks “weak.”

Sometimes doing nothing is the best thing you can do. It’s like waiting a bit. In my experience, in fact, most of the time it’s not time yet; there are no useful things you can do yet. So you wait.

Not everything can be fixed. And of those things which can be fixed, often it’s still the case that you can’t fix them.

A person who tries to threaten you or anger you or disgust you to get you to do something when you don’t want to is a salesman, a merchant. He is not your friend. The very fact that this person who does not know you from Adam is so vehement to get you to do something, and is willing to jerk your chain emotionally to get at you, tells you to ignore what he says. He has an agenda, and it’s not your well-being and autonomy.


Eddie Izzard on the naming of Engelbert Humperdinck

Image from last.fm

His name changed from Gerry Dorsey to Engelbert Humperdinck. I mean, I just wanted to be in the room when they were working that one through:

“Zingelbert Bembledack! Yingybert Dambleban! Zangelbert Bingledack! Wingelbert Humptyback! Slut Bunwalla!”

“What?!”

“All right, Kringelbert Fishtybuns! Steviebuns Bottrittrundle –”

“No, Gerry Dorsey! I like Gerry Dorsey!”

“No, we can’t, who we got? Zingelbert Bembledack, Tringelbert Wangledack, Slut Bunwalla, Klingybun Fistelvase, Dindlebert Zindledack, Gerry Dorsey, Engelbert Humptyback, Zengelbert Bingledack, Engelbert Humperdinck, Vingelbert Wingledanck –”

Image from Wikipedia

“No, no, go back one!”

“Engelbert Humperdinck?!”

“That’s it!”