Whose Words Are These? (Nonsense Robert Frost)

Frost writes from a snowy stand of trees in New Hampshire:
"Whose woods these are I think I know..."

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

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

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

Fauxrost writes from Pulaski, Tennessee (home of the early KKK):
''Whose hoods these are I think guys know."

Fauxrost writes from Pooh Corner at the Disney Store:
"Roo's moods bee-zarre my shrink I'd show."

Fauxrost writes from Dunsinane near the Great Birnim Wood:
"Whose 'woodsies' are a-writhing now?"

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

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

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

Fauxrost writes from the Freud Clinic in Vienna, Austria:
"Whose moods, these? Arch 'n' kinky, no?" 

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

Frauxost writes from Golgotha ouside Jerusalem:
"Whose roods are these? They're zinc, yet glow..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fauxrost writes from Sarge's basement studio in Silver Spring, MD:
"Whose words are these? They stink, ya know?" 

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

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

"If and only if I've channeled Milt Caniff..." Iff: Nonsense Verse Elaborates Biconditional Connectives

If and only if
I've channel'd Milt Caniff
might my cartoons make any diff' --
though if and only if.
And if and only if
Miff's gif's* prove plu-prolif'
might trombone Joneses get a lif' --
though if and only if. 
     * Miff Mole was one of the greatest 
jazz trombonists ever.

If and only if
some gonif cops his riff
might John Coltrane* indulge in tiff --
though if and only if.
And if and only if
you'd scribble 'hippogriffe'
you'll surely need a brand-new glyph --
though if and only if.
     *John Coltrane was one of the greatest 
tenor sax players ever.

If and only if
I hang with Jimmy Cliff*
I'm loath to take a single whiff --
though if and only if.
And if and only if
your skiff sinks, cast adrif,'
I'll pray your painful passing's swif,' --
though if and only if.
      * Jimmy Cliff was one of the greatest 
Jamaican reggae musicians ever.

If and only if
they ask, "Who here's called 'Biff'...?"
I'll promptly pout and plead the fif,' --
though if and only if.
And if and only if
'toon Tintin* gels with Jif
will said reporter's quiff grow stiff --
though if and only if.
     * Herge's Tintin, officially a reporter, 
was one of the greatest sleuths ever.