❤NIGHT PARTNER’S❤
Gurgle! Gurgle! Sputter! and Pop!
Those strange night noises
that just won’t stop.
Bad dreams of dragons and
monsters continue,
What I really need now is a
cork to put in you.
😫😫😫
One of these days when we
both least expect it,
a terrible thing will occur.
Instead of gurgle, sputter and
pop, you’ll be gone, nothing left,
but a large brown wet spot.
For many years after moving to New England, I spent a great deal of time in dozens of local cemeteries in southern Maine, checking out epithets, and anything else interesting that I could find. There was a time when I would stretch T-shirts over old tombstones and do rubbings of family names and places which I then sold in a local gift shop. Business became so brisk I was able to take requests from certain families to memorialize their long dead relatives. It was a little weird at times but very interesting. I also got to meet a few of the local law enforcement officers who repeatedly stopped to check me out. The epithets were remarkable since most of the early deaths were colonists from England, the home of the limerick. What follows are not the ones I discovered back then but discoveries made by other morbid folks who were also fascinated by them. Here are a few priceless ones I think you might enjoy.
Sacred to the memory of Anthony Drake,
Who died for peace and quietness’ sake.
His wife was constantly scolding and scoffin’,
So, he sought for repose in a twelve-dollar coffin.
Burlington Massachusetts
🎇🎇🎇
Here lies Ann Mann;
She lived an old maid and
She died an old Mann.
Bath Abbey, England
🎇🎇🎇
Sacred to the memory of
Elisha Philbrook and his wife Sarah
Beneath these stones do lie,
Back-to-back, my wife and I!
When the last trumpet the air shall fill,
If she gets up, I’ll just lie still.
Sargentville, Maine
🎇🎇🎇
Sacred to the memory of
Jared Bates
who died August 6, 1800.
His widow, age 24, lives at 7 Elm
Street, has every qualification for a
good wife and yearns to be comforted.
Lincoln, Maine
🎇🎇🎇
THINK UP A GOOD ONE FOR YOURSELF
AND LEAVE IT WITH A FRIEND
As I stated on so many occasions, I am a rabid science-fiction fan. I’ve been reading science fiction material since I was a kid when I found a copy of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea in a box of trash near a neighbor’s home. While admittedly there’s a lot of crap out there calling itself science-fiction, the classics remain the classics. Two days ago, I started reading the Foundation Series by Isaac Asimov again. As a young man I read it the first time but to understand it at that age was difficult. I’ve read the entire series three times since and every time I find more things I missed. As I began to read it again my thoughts came back to Isaac Asimov himself and the fact that he was not only an incredible writer but also wrote many outrageous and bawdy limericks. I thought I pass a few of those along to you today because he really knew how to craft limericks. Here are a few . . .
A gourmet’s delight is Priscilla
For her breath’s a distinct sarsaparilla.
One breast tastes of thyme
The other of lime
And her vaginal flavor’s vanilla.
💥💥💥
There was a young lady named Lynne
Who said,” I’m prepared to begin
Any sort of activity
That suits my proclivity
Provided it counts as a sin.”
💥💥💥
As a poet, a young man named Buck
Was utterly lacking in luck.
He tried limericks (lecherous)
But found rhyming quite treacherous
And to rhyme “Buck” and “Luck” left him stuck.
💥💥💥
To her lover said pretty young Julie,
“I don’t want to alarm you unduly.
I don’t intend blame
And yet, all the same,
You’ve produced a small pregnancy, Truly!”
I ABSOLUTELY LOVE AZIMOV
Here’s a well-known fact, I’m not a poet. I know a few people who have that skill and like it or not it is a rarity. I’ve tried over the years to read almost all of the more famous of the poets from this country and it leaves me uninterested and unmoved. I write a lot but when it comes to poetry my mind slides right into confusion. All of my poems (and there are a few) tend to be rude, abrasive, and at times erotic and funny. I’ve never been able to wrap my head around serious poetry because I just don’t have it in me. That being said, today I’ll offer up a sample of poetry and you can judge for yourself just how good it is. Let’s get started . . .
“Let me ask you one question,
Is your money that good?
Will it buy you forgiveness?
Do you think that it could?
I think you will find,
When your death takes its toll,
All the money you made
will never buy back your soul.”
That little bit of poetry was written by an often-criticized poet, Bob Dylan, in 1963, from his song, Masters of War. As with most of his musical lyrics, they’re still as good today as they were then. I’ll pass on one more small piece of wisdom with one of his quotes, ” Money doesn’t talk, it swears.”
LOVED THE SUBTERRANEAN HOMESICK BLUES
Robert Lee Frost (March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963) was an American poet. His work was initially published in England before it was published in the United States. He was well known for his realistic depictions of rural life in New England. He was honored frequently during his lifetime and is the only poet to receive four Pulitzer Prizes for Poetry.
(Sarcasm On)
I’m sitting here in my man-cave reading a novel that is quite romantic. I’m not a usual reader of romance novels but there’s a reason I’m reading this one. For the last nine days in a row my better-half has requested my presence to watch Rom-Coms after dinner. I have to admit that I enjoy some of them but the great majority are kind of trashy and stupid. She insists that these movies are the epitome of romance, I couldn’t disagree more. Over the years I’ve been called many things, some good and some not so good by a variety of ladies. I can honestly say I have never been called romantic and again I disagree with them as well. In my opinion women should not be the final word on whether a man is romantic or not. On one or two occasions I’ve actually had women call me out in front of others for being unromantic, and for the last time I again absolutely disagree.
I recall an old movie that I thoroughly enjoyed watching starring Steve Martin and Daryl Hannah called Roxanne. It was a mushy silly takeoff on some Shakespearean story and at one point in the story Steve Martin serenaded Daryl Hannah at her bedroom window. If that’s a requirement for being identified as romantic, forget about it. I may be a lot of things but a singer I’m not. If I attempted to serenade a woman two things would immediately occur. First, she would cover her ears and slam the window shut. Secondly, the police would arrest me for “disturbing the peace” and “being a public nuisance”. So scratch serenading off my list of romantic things I could do.
I love reading but reading Shakespeare and stuffy poetry aloud to a woman I’ve just become interested in isn’t going to happen either. I’m more likely to recite some of my own poetry which is usually funny and a little off-color. You know what I mean, “There once was a man from Nantucket . . .”. Strike two for me. Maybe my critics were right after all. Allow me to continue my thought processes before you make your final decision.
I’ve been known to create a CD or two filled with romantic Lionel Richie love songs which I must say works like a charm. I’ve also been known to send flowers on occasion but unfortunately only to my mother on Mother’s Day.
Quite a few times in the past I’ve given IOU’s to various women for foot rubs. I’ve been complimented numerous times about my delicate and sensitive touch but I’ve never fully explained to most of them about my harmless but fun foot fetish. That’s my little secret.
Body massages are always a great approach for intimacy with many wonderful advantages available if done properly. Just so you know, I can massage with the best of them. So give me some points for that.
Taking a woman to dinner can be a pleasurable experience as well. It’s also a pretty good way to guilt them into sex. Spend $20 for the meal and you’ll likely get a long leisurely French kiss at the door. Spend $50 and you get an invitation to come in and play “slap and tickle” on the couch for a while. Spend over $100 for the meal and purchase an expensive bottle of wine and you’ll be swept into the “Promised Land” on the ‘Wings of Angels”. Been there and done that too.
Take them to a movie after that good meal and make sure it’s a tear-jerking “chick flick” and your golden. Dropping a few tears during the love scenes is perfect. Pretend to wipe the tears from your cheek so she can’t see you doing it, but make sure she does. A good meal, a bottle of good wine, a mushy movie, and a tear or two, and she’s yours for the asking. Now, if that’s not romance I don’t know what is.
So what have we learned about me. I like good food and good wine – Check! I like movies – Check! I like to spend time with women – Check! I write off-color and funny poetry – Check! I like massaging the naked bodies and feet of women – Check! I can drop a tear or two if necessary – Check! I like sex – Check! I can sleep over or go home immediately after sex – Your choice!
HOW MUCH MORE ROMANTIC CAN I GET?
(Sarcasm Off)
It’s morning, it’s daylight, it’s cold, and I’m in my toasty bed reading a little Edgar A. Poe. I occasionally fall back to the classics when I’m bored with reading my normal stuff and today is one of those days.
‘He’s got Trump Hair’
I’m not a fanatic about poetry like some, but I will read a little if and when I have time to waste. Most poetry does nothing for me since I’ve self-classified myself as an anti-poetry snob. My idea of good poetry are bawdy limericks and poetry that promotes laughter and good humor.
I have no idea why I started my day today reading some of Poe’s depressing poetic offerings. I did my very best to concentrate on his works, Spirits of the Dead, The Valley of Unrest, and it was a chore. He’s the only poet that can take something beautiful and make it seem tragic and misbegotten. Man that guy had some serious issues.
I finally gave up on Poe when I started feeling depressed and put upon by his words. I moved over to an essay by one of my all time favorites, Mark Twain, or Samuel Clemens if you insist. He was renowned for being a spectacularly glib wise ass which immediately endeared him to me. His thoughts contained in “On the Decay of the Art of Lying” are just plain funny and sarcastic. Here’s a sample:
“The saying is old that truth should not be spoken at all times; and those whom a sick conscience worries into habitual violation of the maxim are imbeciles and nuisances.” It is strong language, but true. None of us could live with an habitual truth-teller; but thank goodness none of us have to. An habitual truth-teller is simply an impossible creature; he does not exist; he never has existed.
Everybody lies – every day; every hour; awake; asleep; if he keeps his tongue still, his hands, his feet, his eyes, his attitude, will convey deception – and purposely. Even in sermons – but that is a platitude.
Anyone who disagrees with those statements is obviously living with their head deeply buried in the sand or deeply shoved up their ass. I’ve always been a fan of lying because lies serve many useful purposes. “Does my ass look big in this dress?”, “Of course not.’’, a beautiful, polite, required, and obvious white lie. We all have a million them and use them frequently.
Do you want me to explain lying to you when it comes to our political system and the liar that has been squatting in the “Peoples House” for the last seven years. That discussion would be totally rhetorical requiring no explanations or further conversations.
I think I could have supported Mark Twain as President only if he had the ability to select Edgar A. Poe as his Vice President. No there’s a pair that could have driven most of Congress right out of their every-lying minds. Throw in Donald Trump as Secretary of State and we’d have a unbeatable trifecta.
Enough of my musings. I’m going to roll over, hug my pillow, and say a prayer that the insanity that has had this country in it’s grip for seven years is slowly fading away. And who’s up next for the Dems but good old Hillary Clinton.
I find myself agreeing with a large block of voters in this country of both parties. We’re sick of hearing the names Bush and Clinton. To both factions, please just go away. You’ve done enough harm already and we don’t need any more.
‘Yikes”
‘OMFG Yikes Again’
everyuselessthing.com 