The Facebook foodies’ challenge list
Has left me ruing all I’ve missed!
Oh sure, I’ve tasted caviar,
Lox and bagels, steak tartare,
Haggis, fugu, sukiyaki,
Prickly pear, gazpacho, Pocky,
Drippings from a chocolate fountain,
Oysters (plain and Rocky Mountain),
Churros, burros, oxtail soup,
And coffee gleaned from civet poop!
I’ve even dared to eat a peach!
And yet I’ve never tasted leech.
I’ve yet to try filet of mink
(It tastes like chicken, I should think),
Fetal duckling, moose’s nose,
Frozen bats from Trader Joe’s,
Ostrich nuggets, kangaroo,
Spicy alligator stew,
Roasted beetles, toasted bees,
Venezuelan beaver cheese,
Braised Komodo dragon meat,
Yak’s intestines, wombat’s feet,
Bamboo worms or sheep’s head pie.
So little time, so much to try!
There are those who walk on burning coals
To get their fix of thrills,
While others jump from speeding planes
(Which all too often kills).
But I’ve got something more extreme
To give my life its zing.
I simply have my residence
In Kansas in the spring!
It’s a perilous activity,
As risky as it gets.
Will the twisters wipe us out today?
Step up and place your bets!
It’s a rush of pure adrenaline
That doesn’t cost a thing,
The adventure sport that’s known as life
In Kansas in the spring!
So keep your skis and bungee cords.
They’re sissified and lame!
You think you’ve danced with danger?
It’s my freakin’ middle name!
You’ll shun the wimpy wingsuits
And the tepid thrills they bring
When you’ve got the massive balls to live
In Kansas in the spring!
Liquid weeder,
Fescue feeder,
Ortho for a healthy lawn!
Sod and filler,
Crabgrass killer,
Turf enhancer,
Grub-B-Gon!
Whacker, blower,
Mulching mower,
EZ-Seed for instant grass.
Deep aeration,
Soil hydration.
Yard in April:
Pain in ass!
“Dark Shadows” was a gothic soap
That baby boomers dared to hope
Would one day reach the movie screens
With grander, more horrific scenes.
Then skies would brood and ghosts would fly,
Enhanced by modern CGI.
We’d gasp, we’d tremble, some would shriek.
We’d FEEL the wrath of Angelique!
And so it seemed a welcome step
When Burton teamed with Johnny Depp,
Whose Barnabas would chill our spines.
(And unlike Frid, he’d know his lines!)
But once the trailer was released,
A cry rose up from west to east
Of cheated fans exclaiming, “Shit!
They’ve remade ‘Dead and Loving It!’”
They went for laughs with cheesy camp.
A disco ball? A lava lamp???
In short, they’ve killed a childhood fave.
Dan Curtis spins within his grave.
My favorite soda’s lemon-lime.
My favorite chips are corn, I think.
But as for dietary slime,
I’ll always take the kind that’s pink!
Its subtle flavor’s quite complex,
A gourmet treat that’s fine and rare,
A blend of gristle, skin and necks
With just a hint of derriere.
It isn’t, as the critics say,
A breeding ground for foul disease.
It’s treated with ammonia spray,
Which ought to put our minds at ease.
So keep your tough organic meats.
I like the kind you almost drink.
For when it comes to wholesome eats,
My motto’s simple: Make mine pink!
I’m not a big celebrity
Or star of stage and screen.
You’ll never see my causes hyped
In “People” magazine.
I’ve got no flair for drama
And I like myself that way,
But I still can’t help but wonder
What it’s like to be Takei!
I’d be charming, I’d be witty,
Never nasty, crass or crude.
I guess I’d still be married,
Though my spouse would be a dude.
On Hulu I’d be Sulu
And I’d trek the Milky Way.
I’d often do my happy dance
To think I was Takei!
I’d post amusing photos
In a steady-flowing stream.
With fifty million Facebook fans,
I’d be a human meme!
I’d set my sights on Broadway
With “Allegiance” as my play,
And I’d shout for all the world to hear,
“It’s good to be Takei!”
Mr. Limbaugh, I apologize.
I humbly take it back.
I sincerely never meant it
As a personal attack.
Perhaps it was an impudent
And thoughtless thing to say,
But I meant “disgusting pinworm”
In the very nicest way!
I regret that I described you
As an ape without the class,
That I said you were a pimple
On the anus of an ass.
When I called you scummy maggot’s puke,
Who knew you’d hold a grudge?
And likewise when I said your brain
Was Port-a-Potty sludge!
Wanker, douchebag, asshole, putz,
Tweeker skunked on meth,
Dickless wonder, tub o’ lard,
And dingleberry breath,
Pig-molester, toe jam licker,
Skid mark, jackoff, tool…
For all those things I’ve said and more,
I’m sorry. So we’re cool?
Sunday, February 26, 2012
I’ve never donned khakis to fight for Iraqis,
I’ve never done State work next door in Iran.
On Shiite and Sunni my knowledge is puny,
But this much I know: you don’t burn the Koran!
You’d be grossly in error to think I’m pro-terror.
I hated Saddam; I’m no Taliban fan.
But the true underpinning of hearts-and-minds-winning
Is one simple guideline: Don’t burn the Koran!
So if you’re in Algeria, Yemen or Syria,
Libya, Egypt or Anything-stan,
For the sake of the nation and self-preservation,
Take heed of this warning: Don’t burn the Koran!
Mr. Sendak, Mr. Sendak,
You’re indeed a breed apart,
A cantankerous curmudgeon
Since you let your rumpus start!
You’re a man of depth and vision,
Though a few have thought it wrong
That you penned the tale of Mickey
And portrayed him with a dong!
In fifty years of wondrous works,
You’ve never shied away
From angst and sadness, fear and woe.
(And you yourself so gay!)
You’ve silenced carping critics
And you even dissed Colbert!
As modern children’s authors go,
You’re Ouside Over There!
