Constrained Celebrities

  
[AZ: Absolute Zero, Alexis Zorba]

     "Absolute Zero's one

get-go,* albeit a

bleak..."  

              specs A-

lexis, who's married, with  

children, and swears, "Hey! I'm  

Greek.   

     * I.e., a get-go not unlike the Great Get-Go,

not to be confused with the Big Bang.



[BY: Be Yourself, Boris Yeltsin]

     "Be Your-

self! (HO* whom else would you

be?" asks (rhetoric'lly)  

Boris...  

            "To be

somebody else might cause

Mother** some serious   

tsoris."

     * Russian Cyrillics for 'but' and pronounced

(roughly) 'noh.'  ** I.e., Mother Russia, of course.



[CX: Contemn Xenophobes, Cugat, Xavier]

     "Con-

temn Xenophobes! Contemn..."

Rhumba King Cugat re-

peats...  

            (Just as  

he would be treated, each  

stranger this vir bonus*

treats.)  

     * What the good man does is always right –

or so somewhere suggest the Brothers Grimm.



[DW: Do Without, Dionne Warwick]

     "Do With-

out! Pledge thy pounds to the  

poor," warbles Dionne (the  

song bird)...  

                    though it's 

Bacharach (Burt) who'll at 

last teach her right word from

wrong word.  



[EV: Every Valley, Edward Villella]

     "’Every 

valley exhaulted shall  

be; every rough place made  

plain...’:   

             I shall  

dance thee that text," Edward  

vows, "in a Balanchine  

vein."  



[FU: Fed Up, Felix Unger]

     "Fed

Up! UFOs, UR-

Ls, UXBs..." fumes our

Felix...

           "In the

end, all they yield is some

abecedarial 

helix." 



[GT: Gin (&) Tonic, Gene Tunney/Tierney]

     "Gin and

Tonic and juice of one 

lime: pour the lot over 

ice..." 

     prescribes   

Gene.* "Good advice," echoes

Gene.** "An innocuous

vice!" 

     * Actress Tierney  ** Pugilist Tunney



[HS: He (vs) She, Holly Sweet]

     "He v.

She? The distinction's am-

biguous," challenges

Holly... 

            "So he's

Shlomo. But what's in a  

name? 'So long, Sol; hello, 

Dolly.'" 



[IR: I, Robot, Irene Ryan]

     "I, 

Robot, rest my

case," in tones Rum-

polean...

              roars I-

rene. "I'd rap it,

were I Rock 'n'   

Rollean." 



[JQ: John Quincey, Jose Quintero]

     "John

Quincey ain't the 

seventh Chief 

Exec," corrects Jo-

se...

     "He's number 

six, post James Mon-

roe...but what the

heck! (More: what the

hey!!) 



[KP: Key Personnel, Kendrick Perkins]

     "Key Personnel? Kevin?

Paul? Rajon? Ray?" Kendrick

Wonders.*

                 Then Perk's

traded, which trade shall yet

prove one of Boston's big 

blunders. 

     * Garnett, Pierce, Rondo, Allen:
all former Celtics



 [LO: Leigh/Olivier, Laugh Out (Loud) 

      Leigh/O-

livier, Lunt/Fontaine.

Which duo's dropped from the

list... 

        of great 

thespian pairs? Jolie/ 

Pitt? LOL! They’d be 

missed? 



[MN: Machiavellian? Not, Mike Nichols]

     "Mach'a-

vellian, not to say

cynical: 'twas just her 

way..." 

           muses

Mike, as he pegs one-time

partner, the late Elaine 

May. 



[NM: Not Much, Norman Mailer]

     "Not

much!" mutters Norman, when

asked if he liked married 

life. 

        "Good when

naked, but less good when 

dead: much depends on the

wife." 



[OL: Ozymandias: Look, Orlando Lasso]

   Ozy-

mandias: "Look on my

burg, Mr. Big, and des-

pair!"

             (Or Or-

lando: "Give ear to my

music...or not -- I don't

care.") 



[PK: P. Kilbride]


[QJ: Q. Jones]


[RI: R. Ingersoll]


[SH: S. Houston]


[TG: T. Geisel]


[UF:   ]  


[VE: V. Emmanuel]


[WP: W. Demarest]


[XC: Xavier Cugat (again)]


[YB:   ]


[ZA:   ]

_____-lee, -li, -ly (A Nonsense ABC)

No Alvins named Ailey or Babas named Ali
were collared at "Occupy Gasoline Alley."
     No -kissangel, Bally-, no Rumpole de Bailey,
no  :: .. : . :.: ... :: . . : . . :: : : :.: . --  (too Brailley).
     No "Serpent! From hence shalt thou crawl on thy belly..."
No sesame bialy, no Sam's "Wooly Bully."
     No Elliot, Billy, no brews news "-corn, Barley-." 
(Attorney Mel Belli’s okay -- tho' just barely).
      No Brahmins from Bollywood bruising Brad's brolly 
while filming him brawling in ballrooms on Bali.
     Caught: Lassie, a Collie, cavorting in ceilidh 
while wildcatting coke for a cartel call'd Cali.
Deploy'd at Da's Deli, in drag: "Hello, Dolly,"
one debuting daughters of Salvador Dali.

Elle's Christmas equale, penned especiale,
in Ely was panned as "a tad Emmental-y."

Fat, fatuous Frawley erected a folly
wherein he philander'd (we feel) fairly freely --
until he f**k'd Fifi, one fleet femme fatale.

"Game goalie -- no ghoul, he -- vaults, gaily, a gully..."
or so reads this galley proof. (It’s a spoof...? Golly!)

His comet, called Halley, flies frequent as hail; he*
just trolls his noëls haling IVs and Holly. 
     * Sgt. Jim N. Smithe-Magee (the N stands 
for 'Natale')

Her Berryness (Hallé) our Holy of Holies
defiled on her Harley. (Heard howl'd: "-leuia! Halle-")

Allama Iqbal: he ingests his ice lolly
then misinflects 'Italy' (terms it 'I-tal-y').

Joined: Fisher (Joely) with wa-a-a-ay too much jelly.
She (formerly scrawny) grows brawny, though jolly.

Kiss one: □ goddess Kali; □ Kristyna Kashvili;
□ the Senate's "-son, Hutchi-" aka Kay Bailey.

La Langtry's a Lily and Eli's a Lily
and Allen and Tomlin -- each lovely, both Lilys.

But Lorelei Lee, though not lowly, 'sno Lily,
and buds just won't bud for Jean-Baptiste de Lully.

Mrs. Bloom's christen'd Molly, Ms. Meg's a Mulally,
whilst Earhart's called 'Meeley' or 'Millie' (or 'Mellie'). 

Bly is dress'd Nattily, as is Naphtali.
Undressed: Censorinus (de die Natali).*
     * Infamous, of course, for composing in his 
'birthday suit.' 

One dragon called Ollie, one Taitz known as Orly:
once tether'd together, one true 'two and only.'

Pass the pralines to Pauly! Punt pretzels to Pele!
But, soft! Here's a U-turn: some cracker wants Polly!

Quick! What sort (qualis, quali) be Great-uncle Quigley
to level at Neville his poisonous quill, eh...?

"Retreat...? Never! Rally!" rants Wall Street cop Raleigh.
"Those kids were unruly!" (Still, leper spray, really...?)

See Sally. Run, Sally! Run, silly Svengali!
(They once jogg'd with others, but now they sprint soli.)

This thirteenth timbale near trebles our tally.
Let's meet in St. Louis (clang-clang goes its trolley).

Ulysses (called Uly) blows hot ukulele.
His riffs and routines are esteemed -- not unduly.

Vern heard cross the valley a thunderous volley:
applause from Volturno but boos from Vercelli.

Where's Wonka-ther-Willy...? Where's Monte-ther-Woolley...?
Where's Cleaver-ther-Wally...? Died -- doin'-the'r-Wheelie.* 
     * A quartet of hommages a Edward Bear aka
Winnie-ther-Pooh.

X fields 'Xiphoidally; Y yields '"Yardboid"ally.'*
Z...? 'Tis for 'Zigmund' (though not Zigmundfreudally).
     * In the manner (and with the accent...?) of Charlie Parker 

Adrian's Arsenal (A Nonsense Rhyme)

  

Zany stick 

figyurs (sic) 

sketched by Zane.

You but scroll 

to butt whole 

worlds of pain.

Chum: beware 

l’homme de guerre 

avec sword!

His next move 

may well prove 

untoward.

Let’s assume 

gents with boom-

erangs might…

take their best 

shots from nests 

out of sight.

Even kings 

heaving sling-

shotted stone…

may assail. 

(David’s tale 

is well known.)

Do avoid 

you the ‘droid 

with the wand!

Run! Go now! 

(None know how 

to respond.)

Note twin schmos 

totin’ bows. 

(Where’s his br’er?)

Skip their bar-

rows: tipped ar-

rows. Take care!

Fear this guy: 

near his thigh 

rests a knife.

Who’s not bet-

tin’ he’ll threat-

en your life?

Ought the per-

son caught cur-

sin’ wield axes?

Not at all! 

Swat that gall 

‘fore it waxes.

Queerest luck: 

here’s a schmuck 

with a crossbow.

‘Nuf’s enuf! 

None need suf-

fer such loss. Go!

Shit! This staff 

splits the chaff 

from the wheat.

Clue the gent: 

“You! Git bent!” 

[Hit ‘Delete’!]

When a bloke’s 

yen’s to poke 

with his spear

your left side, 

what’s left? Hide! 

Disappear!

Chimes next cad, 

“I’m Rex Badd! 

Fear my pata!”

Joke’s on him: 

folks him limn 

“vir non grata.”

Ought the lad 

thought “not bad” 

with his whips…

get to snag 

a lit fag 

‘tween your lips?

Men may writhe 

when with scythe 

you attack ‘em.

Moral’s clear: 

more foil fear 

when they pack ‘em.

E-e-e-eek! A bomb,” 

squeaks the Mom 

of this fellow.

(“Show no fear!”’s 

what the dear 

gal should bellow.)

Ev’ry boychik 

who toyes (sic) 

with hammer…

must be tarred. 

(Trust you’ll pard-

on my grammar.)

Might who wields 

light new shields 

run some risk…

of a scrap 

with a chap 

with a disc?

Sound th’alarm! 

Bounder’s armed 

with a stick.

Answer? Charm: 

lance his kar-

ma with schtick.

Tykes with nothin’ – 

like Goths in 

old Edda --…

combat blind – 

though that kind 

should know betta.

“One's soul’s dead,” 

one droll said, 

“empty-handed.

Sans one’s gun, 

man’s undone: 

‘no-man’s land’ed!”

Aaaaargh to Zut! (A Nonsense ABC)

Whoever, when vex'd, cries, “Alack ‘n’ alas!”
now’s found out. The bloke’s nowt but a silly old ass.
Whoever’s reposte to his host be a “Blimey!”
was born 'n' bred Brit. Take a look: he’s a Limey.
Whose lips, if rubb'd shoulders with, flip you a “Crap!”
must be firmly persuaded to zipper his yap.
Whose routine rejoinder’s a snappy “Dagnabbit!”’s
a cad. (The poor lad must be cured of this habit.)
Whose sole observation, when stump'd, is “Egad!”
shall be mark'd with a fatwa. He’s earn'd our jihad.   
Who, topping your zinger, “Fie! Fiddlesticks!” cries
must be blackball'd. (He’s never been one of the guys.)
Whose tat for your tit is “Good Golly, Miss Molly!”
rates pokes in the eyes. Any less were sheer folly.
Who, swallowing goldfish, declares “Hoochie-mamma!”
must forfeit his dinner – with minimal drama.
From among whom soil'd nappies elicit an “Ick!”
novice nannies-elect we’re reluctant to pick.
Who, emptying slops, bleats a brash “Jordeloo!”
warrants quick castigation. (I would. So must you.)
Would that “Kusipää!”s (they’re Helsink’ese for ‘stinkers’)
should stick in their craws! (Aren't we all wishful thinkers?...)
Who -- prim Pollyannas -- purr “Lord love a duck!”
should be stifled – before the poor schmucks run amok.
Who delivers his “Merde!”s as rhetorical questions
should hush – unless you have far better suggestions...?
Who caps each exchange with a curt “Nenorocit!”*
needs choking – nor am I embarrass'd to broach it.

     * Pronounced ‘ne no RO tjit’
Who opts for, too often, the “Odsbod’kins!” curse
should, instead, utter “Drat!” (Jeez! We’ve all heard much worse.)
Who will not put a sock in his “Poppycock!” talk
won’t be scrutinized walking the circumspect walk.
Who showboats his quiet, though quaint, “Quotha!” quip
has to cease and desist...and (Good Lord!) get a grip.
Who turns a blind eye – with a wry “Ruat caelum!” –
from immigrants’ plights cedes his rights of asylum.
Who stutters, with spittle, his twee little “Strewth!”
should be caned ‘cross the thigh – as was I in my youth.
Who mimics the pool boys with taunts of “Tu madre!”
must spend his off hours with a whole ‘nother cadre.
Who to not “Unberufen!” but “Up yours!” gives voice
shall be ask'd to recant. Give that boy Hobson’s choice.
Who comes out with a “Voertsak!” (he might be a Boer)
must admit that he’s now cross'd the line. This means war!
Whose word when he’s wrung out’s a wan “Wellaway!”
should just go – though he may be encouraged to stay.
Whose “xpletives,” although deleted, are foul
will continue to make us well-spoken folks howl.
Those blokes -- there are sev’ral – who sum up with “Yoiks!”
are – please let me be clear -- just a couple of joiks.
And lastly, who sounds his alarm with a “Zounds!”
makes his blasphemy barefaced. Foul language abounds!