Drumpf Kim Nuclear Summit

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Undone Via Pun: Materials for a Constrained Nonsense Alphabet

For future Hommages A Gorey's Gashlycrumb Tinies

A is for Alfie, topped taking a salfie

A’s Aloysius, who sleeps with the fusius.
B is for Boris: he fell off his horis.
B is for Bob: he ate toxic kohlrobhe.
B is for Bridget: her body’s gone fridget.
B is for Bruce, who wears concrete shuce. 
C is for Caesar, who suffered a saesure.
C is for Carla, dispatched in the parla.
C is for Clyde, a pact suicyde.
C is for Cora: bumped off! (Oh, the hora!) 
C is for Cornell. He's dead as a dornell.
D is for Doris, who rides the pale horis. 
D is for David: he couldn't be savid.
D is for Dale, who's gone well b'yond the vale. 
E is for Earl. he's not long for this wearl. 
E is for Evelyn, pierced by a jevelyn.
E’s Eloise: fin’lly resting in pise.
F is for Faust: yes, he “gave up the gaust.”
F is for Frank: heard the Fat Lady sank.
G is for George, who ate poisonous porrge.
G is for Gordon, who crossed over Jordon. 
G is for Gary, whose corpse we should bary.
H is for Henry: he perished from pen'ry.
I’s for Ignatius, whose cyst proved sebatius.
J is for Jim: surgeons sawed off his lim.
J is for Judas, who’d tried to eludas.
K is for Keith, who grew wa-a-a-ay too obeith.
L is for Leif: he was shot by his weif. 
L is for Lynn: the chauffeur did him ynn. 
L is for Lance, masticated by ance.
L is for Linda, who burned to a cinda.
L is for Lum. His hour has cum. 
M is for Mickey. His end? A bit stickey. 
M is for Modred, who asked, “Is this lodred?”
M is for Mies, who's been sent to Belies. 
M is for Morris: the levees proved porris.
N is for Nash. Went the way of all flash. 
N is for Nash: is that dust? Or his ashis?
N is for Ned: no one knows if he’s ded.
N is for Nate, now referred to as "late..." 
O is for Oliver: shot (a revoliver).
P is for Pete: his exec lhit "delete." 
P's for Prunella, walled up in the cella.
Q is for Quinn: too much tonic-free ginn.
R is for Rose, who's turned up her tose. 
R is for Ray. He's dead (K. I. Ay).
R is for Ron, who was quartered and dron.
R is for Randolph: a sword took his handolph. 
S is for Shemp, who's now at room temp. 
S? For Samantha: thought pills were the antha.
S is for Susan. She died with her busan.
T is for Tom. Took a gun; bought the fom.
T is for Ted: someone chopped off his hed. 
T is for Tess. Her spirit's at ress. 
T is for Ty. Kissed his rear end goodby. 
U is for Uther: en fin, a born luther.
V is for Vivian: no longer Livian.
W’s Wayne, who’s been savagely slayne.
W? Wilt: we're quite sure he's been kilt.
W's Wade, who's, undoubtedly, dade. 
W's Ward. He's been put to the sord.
X is for Xeno, who binged on cheap veno.
Y is for Yul, who was gored by a bul.
Z is for Zeke: died while taking a leke.

Monday's Thoughts: A Constrained Nonsense Rhyme

Philanthropists to promisees:
"Money doesn't grow on trees."
The scientist re mind agrees:
"Honey doesn't know from bees."
The lit crit to her auditees:
"Donne: he's one who's prone to fleas."
The sports reporter who's Chinese:
"Jeez: Sun Wen's cousin's so-o-o-o obese."

(More to come: a work in progress)

I'm Quick to Quote an Anecdote: A Constrained Alphabet in Rhyme

I'm quick to quote an anecdote. 

With bromides, bro, I'm facile.

Fresh coining is my metier. 

A dictum? Hey! No hassle!

I've ghosted loads of episodes. 

I'm fecund with a fable.

At home with ev'ry gnome,

to hatch a hapax I'm quite able.

My latest insight's out today. 

I live to tell a joke.

And, if it please, my koans tease. 

For legends, I'm yer bloke.

I make up mottos, mold new myths. 

My narratives are peerless.

My omens are...well: ominous. 

With proverbs I am fearless. 

The quip's my game, my claim to fame. 

Romance? My stock in trade.

Which tongue’s my saga? Onondaga! 

Tales? A fusillade! 

I ain't no dunce with utterance.

With verbiage I'm rife. 

Most nits insist my witticisms

prick 'em like a knife.

My axioms? X-rated though they be,

yield "puro d'or." 

The yarns I field yield zingers: 

each one leaves 'em wanting more.

I've epithets and commonplaces,

sayings, apercus.  

I've apophthegms and adages.

(Some aphorisms, too.)  

I'm thick with theses. Mad for maxims.

Saws? Two pecks a day.

But if this gent stays President,

I won't know what to say.

Hommage a Gorey: A Constrained Video

Tautogrammaticalphabet: A Constrained ABC

Images of these 26 letters appear at the top of the blog.

A allows, as afterthought, an Appaloosan acrobat. B's brief's but brief: be babysitting’s baddest bowler'd bureaucrat.

C's crisp coatings (candidly) choke chocolate-cover'd crocodiles. D distinguishes duets: Duke's dapper dancing discophiles.

E's exciting! Ev'ry elf exhibits elasticities. F finds fisher folk foreseeing feeding-frenzy fantasies.

G's gay gallivanters grabbing gravity's ginormous Gs. H has Huns, hands held high, holl'ring, “Hitler! Heil! How's Herr's headcheese...?"

I...? It's in, if it imports illuminated isobars. J's just Jalen, jostling jowl-jamm'd jack-o’-lanterned jaguars.

K's kind kindergart'ners keeping keening kosher katydids. L...? Look! Lawyer Laughing Lincoln’s left lifts lofty lilac lids!

M...? Mere mugging, mostly, miming mad, malicious malcontents. N's new neighbors. (Nobody notes neighborly non-residents.) 

O's one -- only one! -- one-octave oil-soak'd orange ocarina. P's plu-poorly pleated pants. Pins, please, patrician Palestrina!

Q's Q...? "Quare quereris, quinduplicated quadrupeds...?" R...? R's rarer, really: raging, ruffled, rude Rhode (Island...?) Reds.

S shows, simply, Swirlin’ Swami’s somewhat silly silken sash. Ten to three, T's tireless Ted the Toiler, trucking ten-ton trash.

U...? U's undress'd Uncle Uly’s (ugh!) unsightly underpants. V’s -- vay! --very vicious voles (de)vouring vocal Vivian Vance.

W's watching white-wigg’d warlocks wave one's worthless warrantee. X...? X...'xactly! “Ximply xwarming” xanthic xylocopidae.

Y...? Y's "you-know-what": Yevgeny's yashmac'd youngster's yearling yak. Z: Zorillas...? Zorses...? Zorkos...? Zorros...? Zut! Z's Zoltan's Zack!

If It's Not Four Whatevers, Whatever IS It For? An Unanswered Question

A is not four alligator clips. B is not four bien cuit bacon strips.
C is not four cornucopias. D is not four dumb things Donald does.
E is not four Easter Islanders. F is not four fun faux-foxtail furs.
G is not four gaudy garden gnomes. H is not four hardhats halved by Holmes.
I is not four Irish Idahoes. J is not four Js by Jalen Rose.
K is not four kudus killed by Rhodes. L is not four Listzian Liebestods.
M is nor four macaroni shapes. N is not four Needham's near escapes.
O is not four overlapping otters. P is not four pharaoh's piebald daughters.
Q is not four Wanis al-Qaddafis. R is not four rubb'ry ropes of taffies.
S is not four shocking pink serapes. T is not four twaddle-tainted nappies.
U is not four unwed Ursulines. V is not four velvet Valentines.
W's not four waving Warholites. X is not four Xeroxed xerophytes.
Y is not four yoghurt-yellow yaks. Z is not four "zouped-up" Zodiacs.

"Moe"tet: A Constrained Motet

Curly Joe loves, Shemp loves, Moe loves: Ámat, ámas, ámoe!
Moetets are moenophonic in Stooge Abbey, north of Meaux. 
"Praise the Lord," a pious Larry moeans, "and pass the ammoe!"
"But remember," mouths an altruistic Shemp, "the Alamoe!"

Donizetti and Rastelli: Both hail from Bergamoe.

Charles Atlas apes Moe's Beatle mop. Voila: Joe Bonomoe!
Mix Curly Joe a sodium bicarbonate...a bromoe.
"No mo'e burlesque," vows Moe, as Shemp and Larry trade bòn móets.

Mario Cuomoe, Perry Comoe, Kramer (Cosmoe)

hear medieval flaunter Larry chaunt a gigue on chalumeau.
Save a hundredth of a colon (mispronounced by Shemp "cen-tí-moe")
as the Cult'ral Revolution gets a boo(s)t from Chairman M'oe.  

Fine delivers Pisa, "fixes" tow'r beside the Duomoe.

Curly's di'ry's in octavo. Moe's? In duodec'moe).
Six mo’ scenes require deletion from the Stooges' latest demoe
wherein Shemp discovers fire and Moe invents the dynamoe.

See IshMoël meet Moeby Dick. (The fire Moe terms "St. Elmoe.")

"Pick me, Shemp, a weiner! Eenie, meenie, mynie, moe!" 
Watch Moe harpooning whales: "...eleven, ten mo'e, nine mo'e, eight mo'e...!"  
Curly Joe steers nor' by east, encount'ring Quinn (an Eskimoe).

Brace for more tails; now it's Curly Joe's turn: "...six mo'e, five mo'e, fo' mo'e..."  

Larry's fine: fast friends in Springfield find him mixing Flaming Moes. 
Watch Shemp in drag. Shemp's frock? Dior. Shemp's kicks? By Ferragamoe.
Moe's Fugue for Horns and Brickbats? Played (how else?) 'fortissimoe!

Mark Marxman redux: Groucho, Harpo, Chico, Zeppo…Gummoe?

"Go West, young Stooge!" (Moe paints his face; Shemp cries, "Geronimoe!")
Bush shock 'n' awe prompt Abu Ghraib. (Moe guts Guantanamoe.)
Fine gets himself promoeted, making Gen'ralissimoe!

Co-captaining a zepp'lin's harsh heil-handed Nazi homoe.

Watch Curly’s “curls”: they’re burning. Curl! Alert your HMOe. 
While smoth'ring Curly's flames, Moe shouts, "Hold on, Bro...half a moe!" 
Mayo’s burn staff hails Moe's h'roics: "Moe’s a human dynamoe!")

"I'll mime Ali," boasts Larry. Shemp adds, “I’ll mime Archie Moo'e," 
Larry's lost: "If this ain't Banff," he blurts, "perhaps it’s Baltimo'e!"
"It ain't gonn' rain no mo'e," sings Shemp. "It ain't gonn' rain? No, Moe?" 
Watch Moe investigate his inner Mary Tyler Moo'e. 

The mau mau (note: not 'moe moe'!) mistreat Moe. ("J'accuse, Jomoe!")

Peps/Stooges: Larry, Curly Joe, Moe, Manny, Jack 'n' Moe. 
Moe's jammies? Iron-on swastikas! Shemp warns him, "You're a Jew, Moe!
You’d best move to Jerusalem...or, better. Joplin, MOe!"

Hi-yo, Stooges: Shemp plays Tonto, Larry's Silver. Kemoe? Moe!  

Credits roll. (You’ll note the title song, "High Moo'n": it's sung by Keb Mo'e.
Women keen as Silver dies -- post several regimens of chemoe. 
Kidneys failing, Moe expires. His Kaddish? Sung in Kokomoe.

The script, by some dead Irish lad, cites Flah'rty, Liam O'e. 

Not bad -- though Liam's yet to learn that, film-wise, less is mo'e... 
e.g., there's Larry's thirteen-minute speech while sitting 'top Moe's limoe...
Lethargic Larry’s lilt's less largo, more lentissimoe.)

Is laryngitis lethal? Moe consults his working moejo.

"It's this L.A. smog," chokes Larry. "Next location shoot's in Malmöe!"
"You're a moemma's boy," taunts Curly Joe. "Try showin' mo'e machismoe!"
“How sweet: a Swedish shoot," mews Shemp. "Miss Curly? Take a memoe...!"

Three Stooges board the Nautilus; none cheer for Captain Nemoe.

In Hollywood, our Moe's "da man": He's nature's own Nostromoe.
"Let's Poe," says Shemp. "I'm Pym. You're Usher." Moe nods: "No problemoe!
Larry's Hop-Frog; I'm the Raven..." (Quoth I, ravin', "Never, Moe!") 

Equivocal Barbs: A Constrained Nonsense Rhyme

'Barbies' be equivocal. E.g., here's three plus three.  
One's Bobbie and the Riders of his (Benson's) B-Bar-B. 
Two's Zanzibar, between the Wami delta and the sea.  
Three's"Butcher" Barbie -- christened Klaus -- who's no one's cup of tea.  
Valeria Lukyanova’s four: human Barbie, she.  
Five's Donald Drumpf, who tweets the barb (he shuns the repartee).  
Six? Mike Pence walks into a bar because he needs to pee.  
Yes! 'Barbie's are equivocal. (Now, let's grab Arby's kea.*)

     * A kea is a species of New Zealand parrot. It appears Arby's
does, indeed, "have the meats" -- even the more exotic cuts.    

More '-yson' on the (Fruit)cake

One -son of Ty- is Neil de Grasse.
In suits by Blass, Neil, spouting sass,
brings artistry to science class.

One -son of Dy- is Michael Eric.

Mike, part prof, part Baptist cleric,
rings exchanges esoteric.

A second -son of Ty-, Mad Mike,

who lost his dad while yet a tyke,
enlists twin fists nigh iron-like.

And what of Freeman, -son of Dy-?

And what of Peabo, -son of Bry-?
My ‘-yson’ well’s run dry. Goodbye.

Hold That Line! A "Diet"ribe

In my spoon I imagine no sugar.
In my mug I imagine no milk.
On my plate I imagine no pasta,
only green leafy veg and its ilk.
Each “…imagine no…” proving successful
leaves me more the giraffe, less the swine.
Grant this wish, Divine Vish: a volition suffish
to maintain my “…imagine no…” line!