Repost: Fast Friends Foresee Ferocious Feeding-Frenzy Fantasies

 

Repost: The Aals In Al's Salsa: A Nonsense

A's for 

all of the aals 

Al allows in Al's Salsa.

B's for bountiful bowels 

(burp!) betray'd by the aals 

Al allows in Al's Salsa.

C's for charming Czech chars 

cleaning crappers in bars 

badly foul'd by brown’d bowels 

("Bounty Towel'd...? Bloody aals!) 

Al allows in Al’s Salsa.

D's for drei dozen dowels 

used deploying dry towels, 

towels consumed by Czech charwomen 

chary of bowels, 

bowels betray'd by the aals 

("...BHA'd by the aals...?") 

Al allows in Al's Salsa.

E's for erudite e-mails 

each evening mail'd females 

detain'd dragging dowels, 

drilling cores, dress'd in cowls, 

all consumed by chic charwomen 

cautious 'round bowels,
bowels betray'd by the aals 

("...ballonet'd by the aals...?") 

Al allows in Al’s Salsa.

F's for flat files 

flaunting feminine wiles 

mail'd (in error!) in e-mails 

to educate females 

who drill down through dowels, 

dandy cores for crimp'd t*w*ls 

(spelt employing orthography 

using no vowels), 

towels consumed by Czech chars 

cleaning bathrooms in bars -- 

biker bars (bars dubb'd "Bubba's" 

or "Jolly Jack Tar's") 

whose bartenders 'n' bouncers...? 

Best kept behind bars --

big bars badger'd 'n' bother'd 

'n' browbeat by bowels, 

bowels betray'd by the aals 

("...Beaujolais'd by the aals...?) 

Al allows in Al's Salsa.

G's, by golly, by gosh, 

for gum gnarl'd 'n' gnosh'd 

by twin dumb femme fatalettes 

whose wiles fill porn files 

mail'd in error by e-mail, 

enjoining each female, 

"Keep drilling those dowels, 

darn ya’ll!" -- [Deftly drill'd dowels 

provide cores for the towels, 

and the ladies who drill, 

christen'd "Whores de la Towels," 

Al calls "borers of dowels"] -- 

mostly dowels for the towels, 

cloths consumed by chic chars 

(who arrive in fine cars) 

chary -- very! -- of bowels, 

bowels betray'd by the aals 

("...buerre manie'd by the aals...?") 

Al allows in Al's Salsa.

H...? For haberdash'd hats 

hiding hundreds of cats 

whose guts ghouls grind for gum 

gaily gnosh'd by some dumb 

femme fatalettes whose wiles 

found (unfilter'd!) in files 

mail'd in error in e-mails 

to estrogen’d females 

who drill all those dowels -- 

done as cores for the towels, 

cloths consumed by chain'd chars 

forced to check any bowels 

badly trod on by aals 

("...blah-blah-blah'd by the aals...?") 

Al allows in Al's Salsa.

I's for indigo isles -- 

drain'd by Indigo Niles 

running through 'em like aisles --

I've inhabited, miles 

from the hundreds of hats 

hiding hundreds more cats 

from whose guts gals get gum 

gnosh'd...again, clumsy dumb 

femme fatalettes whose wiles 

are finess'd in fat files 

mail'd in error in e-mails

to employees – females! – 

who drill all those dowels 

(disregard, please, their scowls) 

dowels consumed by chic chars, 

cool as cuc- ( * * * 

* * * * * ) bowels 

be'n' betray'd by the aals 

("...Beau Marche'd by those aals...?") 

Al allows in Al's Salsa.

   
    * Syllables indicated by asterisks represent 

a lacuna of eight beats occurring in the original.

J's just the jails 

justly jamm'd by the males 

now indicted for stealing

(plea's in; they're appealing) 

those hoards of fedoras 

'neath which hide Angoras 

grim goons change to gum...

...once again, here's those dumb 

femme fatalettes whose wiles 

folks find featured in files 

mail'd (correctly!) by e-mails 

to three males -- all key males -- 

who drill all those dowels, 

at day's end, cores for towels, 

towels consumed by crazed chars...

chars still chary of bowels, 

bowels betray'd by the aals 

("...Ballantrae'd by those aals...?") 

Al allows in Al's Salsa.

K's for…("Hey! Pis aller!")

Repost: Cairo To Coney

All aboard my autogyro,

park'd between row X 'n' Y row.

Pilots...? Guys from Gyra (Spyro).
Join 'em not if you're a tyro.
     Now departing Cairo! 

Boarding now's my bumper car.
It's slow, but ranges wide. And far.
One stewardess, Pat Benatar,
brews coffee, tea and Kristallklar.
     Next stop...? Zanzibar!

Cabs uncopious...? Catch my currach.
Neither's cake, but, nowt to worrach.
Share with me (and Ace Venturach),
s'long as you're in no great hurrach.
     Now departing Thurrock!

"Dammit, Dog, don't drive dat dogsled
down dem dork-deep drifts," Snoop Dog said,
hoisting (how...?) one whole half-hogshead.
"Now dig what you did: dat dog's dead!"
     Let's revisit Brideshead!

Entering my escalator,
guests encounter "SmorgasSeder."
"Matzo first," rants Reb Ralph Nader.
"Have your afikoman later...
  ...once we've cross'd th'equator."

Fairer...? Nothing than my ferry.
Friends float free, but Fie! Don't tarry!
Challah-bearing Halle Berry
serves loaves warm (and "buerre-y"...very!)
     Lunch at Brundonderry!

Guidebooks call guests "gondolees," a-
gondola'd by Gondoleezza
Rice, my gondoliere-cum-visa-
mater here in Greater Pisa.
     Next stop: San Theresa!

Heading hellward...? Hire my handcar;
booking agent's Ralph V. Shandkar.
Best for guests who ramble and car-
een. (In Greenland, it's a bann'd car.)
     We don’t stop at Kand'har!

Board my Mitsubishi "I" Car! 
Dwight D. Eisenhower ("Ike") ar-
ranges for his look-alike car
to be mine when he drives my car."
     Next stop: Isle of "Rikar"!

Join me in my jade jinrickshaw,
though its pilot, Rob ("The Mick") Shaw
(under "M" in Webster's Dicshaw-
nary) often phones in sick. Psh-a-a-aw!
     Skip The Res: too Chick'shaw.

Killer rapids...? Book my kayak.
Back-up fry cook Stephen Fry, back
from Mae West's suggests guests lie back,
chill and try his Brie on Zweibach...
  ...named "Best 'Nosh in Nayak."

Loop-the-looping in my luge...? Herr
Larry Lege,'* illustr'ous luger.
Beggarlike, I hire this Hoosier
'cuz I cannot wax more choosier.
     Next stop: Newport News...hear...?

     * Pronounced 'ledge,' the reference is to Larry Legend
aka Larry Byrd, NBA Hall-of-Famer from the Hoosier State. 

Mot'ring in my Morris Mini,
maitre d'auto Albert Finney
brandishes a mandolin he
made with aid from Laura Linney.
     Next stop: Olde New Guinea!

Now let's "nav" my Nucl'ar sub. Ya'
heard its "nom-de-vro-o-o-oom"* by Dubya
mispronounc'd for years. Oh, Shrub! Ya'
stunk as Pres, yet lunkheads "lub" ya.
     Next stop: Suburbubya!

     * Ala the "nom-de-plume," the so-called
"nom-de-v'ro-o-o-oom" is an alternate name
for a power source. Of course, W was notorious
for, among his many creative uses of the language,
a chronic metathesistic mispronunciation of
'nuclear,' regularly rendering it as 'nucular.'

Outings in my Oldsmobile,
once cater'd by Shaquille O'Neal,
are cater'd now by Howard Keel.
(Imagine how that makes Shaq feel:
  ...like losing at Deauville.)

Plant your pants seat in my punt.
A poling pair, recalcitrant,
provides the paddling. Frank's* up front.
(In back, I've posted Allan Funt...
  ...past-polester from Ft. Hunt.

      * Francis Albert Sinatra

Quiet, kids! Don't quit my quint.
It's old, but in condition mint.
Shout "'hoy" to helpmate Captain Flint,
one water-worthy wunderkind.
     The next stop: New Orli'nt!

Fixates does William Butler Yeats,
who fits guests' feet for roller skates
and elevates the going rates
down at my Rink (A-12's he hates):
     "We fit all fitty states!"

Stop! Occupancy max'mum's three
aboard my solitary ski.
There's (1) you; (2) man Friday Lee
van Cleef; plus one more...hey! It's me-e-e-e!
     Next stop: Menomonee!

Try my tourist-class toboggan! 
Travel blogger Uta Hagen
damns with faint praise on her blog in 
comments like, "This 'bogg' beats joggin'!"
     Next stop: West Sheboggan!

Unrival'd artiste Lena Horne
waits tables on my unicorn,
shares tips with all the foreign-born
garçons. She shouts, "What's mine be your'n!"
     Next stop is Californ.'

"V'ro-o-o-o-oom" goes my velocipede.
That's why its chauffeur, Hari Reede,
warns, cautions, pleads, "Be sure to heed
all traffic signs...plus, ple-e-ease don't speed!"
     Next stop: East Runnymede!

Welcome 'board my welcome wagon.
Welcoming you...? O. J. Dragon.
Sometimes fun; sometimes an agon-
y: Best pack your flask…or flagon!
     Next stop: Bilbo's Bag En'!
   
     * Oliver J., noted Kuklapolitan and good friend – 
but just a friend! -- of Fran Allison, and no relation
to the isoinitial'd scofflaw Simpson. 

Xebeceers who crew my xebec
(one's call'd Beckham; t'other's Glenn Beck)
urge all guests, "Avoid the poop deck!"
And...stop asking, "Are we there yeck...?"
     Third-to-last stop: Tea Neck!

You're invited 'board my yacht. 
Invite a guest; invite one not!
I'm bringing Phnom Penh pal Pol Pot.
As to the fare...? How much ya got...?
     Next stop: Connecticott!

Z-z-z-z-z-z-zs guests grab in my Zamboni
follow snacks of Rice-a-Roni,
b'loney stew 'n' roux'd spumoni
served by Mitchells (Chad 'n' Joni).
     Last stop: Isle of Coney! 

     Attention, please! Passengers must exeunt.
Every vehicle is now out of service.

Repost: Ade's Ken

Ade's ken of economy...? Groundless! Astounding!
Ade sins for a penny. (Ade’s in for a pounding.)

How ever shall "done deals" or faits accomplis grow
if Congress be led by the Knights Who Say "Negro!"...?

Islamicist cinemen, Shi'ite or Sunni,
shall garner no Oscars: they haven't a Clooney.

John's* Trask family dwelt on the outskirts of Eden:
both Trask twins were "-ists": Aron, "pur-"; Caleb, "hedon-"
     * Author Steinbeck 

Ms. Sawyer's* brew notes grew: she waxed iambic
once arid Mary'd had a little lambic.
      * Mary Sawyer, later Mrs. Mary Tyler of "Mary's Lamb" fame.

Romney's Humvee's chauffeur'd by a dormant Sir Dwight Streeme...?
Inquire, when Ike wakes, "What was Mitt's Hummer's Knight's dream...?"

I'd aid your recall of the Legion of Decency
calling "Nude Pledge of Allegiance" indecent. See...!?!

You're unable to pen a penultimate line post
fail'd Alzheimer's tests...? That's one sure Auld Lang Signpost!  

Visit Xiu -- chef at Panda Baroque on Quemoy.
Try his sig dish (yu-u-ummm!): Johann Sebastian Bach Choy.

Repost: Zadie

There's the white call'd alabaster. 

There's the white of bleachéd bones.
There's the white of cuffs and collars 

clothing Calvin Carson-Jones.
There's the white on cliffs at Dover. 

There's the whites of plovers' eggs.
There's the white of coward's feathers 

as that cad forgiveness begs.
There's the predatory great white. 

(Aren't white herons great as well...?)
There are white piano iv'ries. 

Jack White knows no parallel.
Seen on airplane flights...? White knuckles. 

Heard in proxy fights...? White lies.
And on Broadway, cows named Milky White. 

(In Sondheim's play, one dies.*)
I have childhood friends who're non-white. 

Off-off-white's a fashion shade.
Pearl White's both a color and an actress. 

(One was bound to fade.)
There's the White Queen -- friend to Alice. 

White rice...? On the whole, it's white.
Snow White lived with seven dwarves. 

White trash fertilizes blight.
There's the ultrawhite of salesmen's smiles. 

Vanilla white's for cones,
while white wine is not. (How far we've got 

from cliffs and bleachéd bones!)
Cafe singers croon "White Xmas." 

Are not you and I both white...?
Sure, but Zadie Smith, I note forthwith, 

is black -- and outta sight!

     * Into the Woods

Repost: A Poet & His Impersonators

Frost writes of a snowy stand of trees in New Hampshire: 

"Whose woods these are I think I know..."

Fauxrost writes of a brewpub in Belgium:
"Whose worts...? These are, I think, Hainault's."

Fauxrost writes of Jello Corporation's test kitchens:
"Whose pudds, these...? Dare I lick the bowl...?"

Fauxrost writes of a slave market near the Roman Forum:
"Who would Caesar eye...? D'ya think I know...?"

Fauxrost writes of Pulaski, Tennessee (home of the early KKK):
''Whose hoods these are their pink eyes show."

Fauxrost writes of Pooh Corner at the Disney Store:
"Roo's moods bizarre my shrink I'd show."

Fauxrost writes of Dunsinane near the Great Birnam Wood:
"Whose 'woodsies' are a-writhing now...?"

Fauxrost writes of St. Elizabeth's Psychiatric Hospital, Washington, DC:
"This warden! He's let Hinkley go."

Fauxrost writes of a flooded Hefner Center of Wooden Art in Philadelphia:
"Hugh's wood thesauri...? Sinking now..."

Fauxrost writes of a music store in Aleppo, Syria:
"Whose ouds are these...? I'd plink. (You'd blow...?)"

Fauxrost writes of the Freud Clinic in Vienna, Austria:
"Whose moods, these...? Arch und kinky, no...?" 

Fauxrost writes of the Benning Terrace public housing project:
"Whose 'hoods be dese...? Dey stink, mah bro..." 
    
Fauxrost writes from the Winter Palace, comrade Andreiovitch standing guard:
"Who wounds de Tsar...? 'Drei'd blink befo'..."

Fauxrost writes of Golgotha outside Jerusalem:
"Whose roods are these...? They're zinc, yet glow..."

Fauxrost writes of Bergdorf-Goodman's fur locker in New York:
"Whose snoods are these, like mink (but faux)...?"

Fauxrost writes of Wakatipu Apicology Station in New Zealand:
"Who woos our bees...? I'd sink that low."

Fauxrost writes of Longwood Gardens, Pennsylvania:
"Who weeds these. All need drinks of eau."

Fauxrost writes of Filene's Basement:
"Whose goods are these...? The pink must go!"

Fauxrost writes of Mount Vernon, Virginia:
"Whose wooden teeth...? A. Lincoln's...? No!"

Fauxrost writes of the Caucasus in Central Asia:
"Whose woads are these...? Like: (wink) nice glow...!"

Fauxrost writes of Poe's basement studio in Silver Spring, MD:
"Whose words are these...? They stink, ya know!" 

Fauxrost writes of the corporate headquarters of Hyram's Zamboni Service:
"Who would refreeze our ice rink...? Yo!"

Fauxrost (arriving full circle) writes of the pro shop at Augusta National Golf Club:
"Whose woods these are I think I know..."