Repost: Incomplete Abecedarial Paean to Plaid (A Through L)

All ador'd my angora, 

nor'd none dare ignora a 

chemise made of Aertex I had.
Then I glimps'd Alan Ladd
on my iPad: Egad!
Was the shirt Al was girt with a plaid...?

Burlap broadcloth's unique,
and who'd not love batik,
nor'd a Battenberg lace be too bad.
But along bounded Brad:
weren't those jodhpurs he had...?
And those braces and belts...? All were plaid!

Cashmere, camel's hair, chintz,
cloth of gold (if mere hints):
cloth which starts with C...? Chiliads! Scads!
Note: the PM of Chad 
(K. P. Deubet's the lad)
rules in compets and boubous -- all plaids!

Damask, double-knits, duck,
with some denim (what luck!)
thusly dress'd, I'd resemble De Sade.
Then I thought of me Dad,
deadbeat dryad gone mad.
(Dad died dancing in dirndls of plaid.)

Each electronic textile,
in plain-, stripe- or check-style,
which to moi ensemble I'd add
called for stringent proscription
of cotton (Egyptian).
Egad! No more plaid...? 'Tis too sad.

For sale: five five-Farad
capacitors. Where had
I found them to wear...? In an ad.
Who'd foment such a fad...?
Flavor Flav, who's a cad...?
Nope! That fellow, by far, prefers plaid.

Give me gingham, then Gore-Tex.
A gauze pinafore nex'.
Then gabardine gowns of your dad's.
He'd the gonads to don 'em --
with quatrefoils on 'em.
Still, I'd be most glad to get plaids. 

Hand me hair shirts in herringbone,
hopsacks (to which I'm prone).
Harris Tweed widow's weeds...? Rad!
(Did I spy, on your helipad,
once ev'ry hebdomad,
CONELRAD op'rants in plaid...?)

I've loved fine Irish linen
and cotton that's Indi'n.
My feelings for these...? Ironclad!
Till a book -- 'twas an Iliad
bought in Islamabad --
introduced Islamic plaid.

Jeremiads (my own)
flow in triads: I moan,
"Jerseys, jutes, Jacquard suits...? Those I've had."
Now jihadists enlist
in Jamdani. I'm pissed:
they join up, jup'd 'n' jodhpur'd, in plaid.

Kanye's kid brother styled --
to look kooky and wild --
all my kaftans 'n' kurtas. Good lad!
But, like most city slickers,
he bypass'd my knickers,
my kilts and my kicks. None are plaid!

Linsey-woolsey...? A trace.
Leather briefs I embrace.
I've more linens than Vlad Lenin had,
who, in lush lingerie
done in lambs-wool lame,
long held sway. (Why's his loincloth not plaid...?)