His…? Bacon and eggs.
The tortured’s plea: “Just let me die.”
He’s achin’… and begs.
Moral:
For me…? Decaf -- but just a half.
Poet Poe pens nonsense verse. "...plus phun," puns Uly, "I disburse." Its gamut runs from spam to worse. The matter posted...? Poe's diverse -- most, postcards from his universe, replies to grudges he must nurse. My summary...? Let me be terse: a mitzva, mostly. (Not a curse.)
Sunday, March 8, 2020
Spoon for the Holidays
Magi in
threes…?
“I Saw Three
Ships.”
You, George,
view bees;
I, Shaw, see
thrips.
Moral:
GBS (more
or less)
Spoomelier
My favorite red...?
A Cote du Rhone.
"Dear Roy,
Drop dead!"
I wrote to Cohn.
Moral:
Re wine: where's mine...?
A Cote du Rhone.
"Dear Roy,
Drop dead!"
I wrote to Cohn.
Moral:
Re wine: where's mine...?
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Rev'd Spooner Meets Rev'd Carroll
He sought to thaw each thought he saw flee, frozen, from his mind. He peer'd again, then gear'd his pen, supposin' he'd...
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PWWL is pleased to acknowledge the participation of friend-of-blog JD in creating this item. Collaboration in name, collaboration in pro...
