park'd between row X and 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.
Your 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 crossed 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 catered 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,
My 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 fifty 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
garcons. She shouts, "What's mine be your'n!"
Next stop is Californ.'
"V'ro-o-o-o-oom" goes my velocipede.
That's why my 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 isoinitialed 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 you 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 and roux'd spumoni
served by Mitchells (Chad and Joni).
Last stop: Isle of Coney!
Attention, please! Passengers must exeunt.
Every last vehicle is now out of service.
No comments:
Post a Comment