If I could trade spots with my medieval dad,
We'd both of us end up by going quite mad.
Should we meet with the other one down in the lane,
We'd both think the other completely insane.
"That's all she wrote," says he,
As the final bell rings.
"What she!" says she.
"Nothing is done till the fat lady sings."
As the ant knows his colony
And the bee knows her hive
So I know the grocery
Peanut butter: aisle five
As the ant knows his colony
And the bee knows her hive
So I know the grocery
Peanut butter: aisle five
These doddering wrecks in the old folks home,
Once objects of love and subjects of poems.
A depressing lesson of foreign language study:
You learn you don't even speak the English so good.
Driving 'round home, I'm like, "Clear the Way!"
Away, I spawn road rage, each place and all day.
@jmcdonnell123
He who laughs last has not yet heard the bad news.
ReplyDeleteBertolt Brecht
WannaskaWriter has a photograph featured on today's Wiktel home page: https://wiktel.com/
Aye, I've long thought that our search for our ancestors is a double-edged sword, so to speak laddie. We lay claim to them in earnest, obsessing their grand adventurous exploits upon the seas or swelling with pride about their infamous participation in revolution, but lack the foresight to ponder what they'd think of 'future' us.
ReplyDelete"By God's bones, Rogerus Prikeproud, look see here! We are doomed by the year 2019, if we all look like that arse 'Joe McDonnell'. Woe is us! A thousand plagues upon our dwellings! Let us sign a suicide pact!" Or words to that effect.
See also: Great gnashing of teeth. Public floggings.
A man of the people! BTW, you speaks da' English predy dern okay. Keep 'em coming.
ReplyDeleteJP Savage