"Allied 'A's address Titian's..." Dopple Dreaming or Twigments of My Imagination: A Constrained Dualphabet

     Renaissance art notable dreams of working in the altogether.

Allied 'A's address Titian's 
absurd apparitions:

“Tish” dreams/wishes/seems 
to wave all inhibitions.

     Baseball's Berra dreams of visiting the Old Country. But whose? 

Both 'B's be 'bout Yogi's 
bewilderin' bogies:

this game Hall-of-Famer's 
abstainin' from hoagies. 
Indeed, Yogi's feed rests on 
plated pierogies!

     Angel (retired, Charley-type) dreams of failing to nix a gambling jinx.

Coupled 'C's conjure Farrah's 
cock'mamie chimeras:

Ms. Fawcett, her jaw set, 
hurls snake eyes at Harrah's. 

     Powerful dream persuades Al Capp hottie she's still a hooker looker. 

Duple 'D's display Moonbeam's 
delusional daydreams:

"Still fine," mulls McSwine. 
"Mine ain't needin' no face creams."

     Poor Bo, dreaming of future unemployment, envisions only umbrage.

Echoed 'E's earmark Derek's 
eccentric etherics: 

both show broad-boob'd Bo 
givin' vent to hysterics.

     Infamous foreign agent Hari dreams of heading south of the border.

Fellow 'F's finger Mata's 
full-farcical fatas,

wherein (note her grin!) 
wry spies pummel piñatas.

     Uncle in grisly "Addams Family" sit-com* dreams of hitting the confessional. 

            
     * Not to be confused with John (or James or William) 
"Grizzly" Adams (1812-1860), who also spawned a TV series.

Gem'ni'd 'G's? Glyphs for Fester – he's 
gross with grotesqueries:

all will appall. (He'll 
confess just the less scaries.)

     Motown cager Prince dreams of teaching Geneology at a Detroit high school.

Half (four!) 'H's hold Tayshaun's 
hairbrain'd “h'llucinashauns”:

this Piston's insistin,' 
"My sibs? All ‘Alsashauns’!"

     Idiot Veep dreams of continuing to suck eggs, goose-type.

Idem: 'I's index thick Dick's 
inane "eedee fix" (sic). 

Agreed: when VP'd, 
Cheney zero'd for six. (Sick!)

     Calendar (Jalali-type) maven dreams his poetry's roundly pooh-pooh'd.

Join'd 'J's? Just O. Khayyam's 
joint jabberwock'd jimjams.

This Persian's "verse-'xcursions"? 
Per'verse-'ical flim-flams!

     Creator of Khingachgook (sic) dreams of failing to employ spell check.

Kin'd 'K's kindle Cooper's 
kookesque kama rupas:

Jim's Pathfinder spellbinders? 
Brimful o' bloopers!

     Lahore sage dreams of delaying enlightenment until tomorrow morning.

Let 'L's limn Le Buddha's 
lightheaded laputas:

nirvana's anon. Right now? 
Lime-Jello shootahs!

     Married man Massachusetts man dreams of scoring some illicit sex.

Matchin' 'M's max'mize Lodge's 
mind's muddl'd mirages:

Hank Cabot's a Babbett 
ISO "massages."

     Former network TV doc dreams of chugging rubbing alcohol.

Neighb'rin' 'N's notate Kildare's 
nonsensical nightmares:

Ye Doctor be crocked, sir, 
thus subject to bugbears.

     Okuda creature dreams of his own Trek series in reruns...forever.

One two 'O's? Only Bakula's 
outré oraculas,

airin' Scott's darin' 
re: space-time spectacula's.

     Political cartoonist dreams of getting his best ideas while dreaming.

Pairs o' 'P's portrays T. Nast's 
preposterous phantasts:

they'll fashion his passionate 
Tammany sarcasts.

     155-mph quick-service ace Andy dreams of illegal drug use.

Queu'd up 'Q's cue A. Roddick's 
"quite qwazy" quixotics:

So fast we're aghast. 
(Is Rod usin' narcotics?)

     Toys 'R' Us icon dreams of putting 'base' back in 'customer base.'

Rhymin' 'R's relate Geoffrey's 
rude, radical rev'ries:

this mascot shows tots lots 
of noir sides mom ne'er sees!

     Cannibal's sado-dream exposes his criminality as largely genetic.

Sim'lar 'S's show Lector's 
sick, stark-ravin' spectres

as Hannibal's Nana scrawls: 
"I ♥ dissectors!"

     Tour cyclist dreams of enjoying scenic French views.

Two twin'd 'T's trace Sir Lance's 
(tsk tsk!) tomfool trances:

Our star's worst bete noir’s 
when his next Tour de France is.

     Overstuffed and underfoot Pillsbury mascot fails to curb his appetite.

Un'form 'U's unveil Doughboy 
in unhinged Utopoi:

his dream? Clotted cream...
atop tow'rin' gâteau, boy! 

     Hollywood (and Vine) icon Walter weighs politics of a career-long type casting.

Vis-a-'V's? Views o' Pidgeon's 
vertiginous visions. 

Each movie's to prove he 
won't play Dionysians.

     Rudyard's white-man's-burden creation dreams of a primate chorale.

Wedded 'W's* wield Kim's 
wild- (-'n'-woolly) -eyed whims

showin' Jungle Guy humm'd to by 
chimps chantin' hymns.

     * Since just prior to the turn of the last century, 
'W' has been pronounced 'dubya' -- i.e., in two syllables -- 
and is so pronounced here. How fast we forget.

     One Caesar, in X-rated dream, dons colorful and pricey designer underwear.

EXtra 'X's [x]* Galba's 
xiphoidal xibalbas:

in trances Galb' dances 
in dark Marc Chagall bras!

     * Pronounced 'ex,' as is said when one’s ticking a box.

     Charlemagne's youngish mistress dreams of being sweet-talked...
yet again!

Yok'd 'Y's yield up Himiltrude's 
yammerin' yakshatudes,

phantoms where Chas hums 
flat medieval platitudes.

     Ms. Pitts dreams of Oscar's Ernest's true mother's dream of...
(are you getting all this?)

Zwei 'Z's? Zut...don't miss 'em! 
Z-z-zaSu's "zombnamb'lism" 

nails Wilde's prim Miss Prism 
in wild Freudi'nism!

"99 Jews air their views..." Half a Hundred Hebrews Haunt the Al-Buraq Wall But None Sneezes At It -- For It's Nothing to Sneeze At: A Constrained Abecedarial Drinking Song

99 Jews air their views at the Wall.
99 Jews airing views.
If one with El Youssef gets into a brawl,
there'll be 98 Jews airing views at the Wall.

98 Hebrews a-schmooze at the Wall.
98 Jews dishing schmooze.
If one Jew's unable to borrow a shawl, 
there'll be 90 plus 7 a-schmooze at the Wall.

90-plus-7 Jews choosing the Wall. 
90-plus-7 Jews choose.
If one Jew stops praying ("This kippah's too small")
there'll be 96 Jews left to choose at the Wall. 

96 Jews chugging booze at the Wall.
96 Jews chugging booze.
If one belts "Baruch!" in a West-Texas drawl,
there'll be 95 Jews chugging booze at the wall.

95 Jews queue in twos at the Wall.
95 Jews queue in twos.
If one Jew does stunts with a medicine ball,
there’ll be 94 queueing in twos at the Wall.

94 Jews sing the blues at the Wall.
94 Jews singing blues.
If one departs early for nosh at the mall,
there’ll be 93 Jews singing blues at the Wall.

93 Jews pay their dues at the Wall.
93 Jews paying dues.
If one supports “Two-State” – (“‘twere three parts in Gaul…”)
there’ll be 92 Jews paying dues at the Wall.

92 Jews light a fuse at the Wall.
92 Jews light a fuse.
If one sets his bomb off, thus giving his all,
there’ll be 91 Jews with a fuse at the Wall.

91 Jews doff their shoes at the Wall.
91 Jews doffing shoes.
If one, thinking twice, keeps his on after all,
there’ll be 90-some Jews doffing shoes at the Wall.

90-some Jews look for loos near the Wall.
90-some Jews look for loos.
If one leaves the quarter to “answer the call,”
there’ll be 89 Jews without loos at the Wall.

89 Jews search for clues at the Wall.
89 Jews search for clues.
If one finds a shekel, one minted by Saul,
there’ll be 88 Jews with no clues at the Wall.

88 Jews take their cues at the Wall.
88 Jews taking cues.
If one cries, “I am big: the pictures grew small,”
there’ll be 7 plus 80 old Jews at the Wall.

Jews – 87! -- wipe ooze from the Wall.
Jews – 87! -- wipe ooze.
If one eschews soap, using grain alcohol,
there’ll be 86 Jews wiping ooze from the Wall.

86 Jews fasten screws to the Wall.
86 Jews fasten screws.
If one, name of Ringo, hangs portraits of Paul,
there’ll be 85 Jews setting screws in the Wall.

85 Jews slaughter gnus at the Wall.
85 Jews slaughter gnus.
Of one, to keep kosher, must shutter his stall,
there’ll be 84 Jews killing gnus at the Wall.

84 Jews bare tattoos at the Wall.
84 Jews bare tattoos.
If one wears “For Mom” in a heart – and that’s all,
there’ll be 83 stark-naked Jews at the Wall.

83 Jews shear their ewes at the Wall.
83 Jews shear their ewes.
If one shaves his sheep a bit close (hear 'em bawl?),
there’ll be 82 Jews shearing ewes at the Wall.

82 Jews hop their brews at the Wall.
82 Jews hopping brews.
If one brews a Ghorka, as brewed in Nepal,
there’ll be 81 Jews hopping brews at the Wall.

81 Jews plot their coups at the Wall.
81 Jews plotting coups.
If one says to Yasser, “You’re takin’ the fall,”
there’ll be 80-some Jews plotting coups at the Wall.

80-some Jews recruit crews at the Wall.
80-some Jews recruit crews.
If one cries, “I’m hiring no blokes from Bhopal,”
there’ll be 79 Jewish scouts at the Wall.

79 Hebrews cruising the Wall.
79 Hebrews cruise.
If one, though named Abd, finds a date after all,
there’ll be 78 Hebrews cruising the Wall.

78 Jews down Dews at the Wall.
78 downing Dews.
If one to club soda’s seen being in thrall,
there’ll be 77 Dew’d Jews at the Wall.

77 Jews lose at the Wall.
77 Jews lose.
If on Jew, against all odds, wins after all,
there’ll be 76 Jews who lose at the Wall.

76 Jews plant yews at the Wall.
76 Jews plant yews.
If one Jew plants pin oaks instead – all too tall --
there’ll be 75 sapling yews at the Wall.

75 Jews bring Siouxs to the Wall.
75 Jews bring Siouxs.
If one chants, “Chief Smoke won’t, though maybe his squaw’ll,”
there’ll be 74 Jews with Siouxs at the Wall.

74 Jews tame shrews at the Wall.
74 Jews tame shrews.
If Shakespeare’s King John one would then overhaul,
there’ll be 73 Jew-tamed shrews at the Wall.

73 Hebrews snooze at the Wall.
73 Hebrews snooze.
If one, wakened rudely, commences to bawl,
there’ll be 72 Jews a-snooze at the Wall.

72 Jews cook stews at the Wall.
72 Jews cook stews.
If one adds not Riesling but grain alcohol,
there’ll be 71 stewed Jews strewn ‘round the Wall.

71 Jews hear “Nu?”s at the Wall.
71 Jews hear “Nu?”s
If one suspects Yiddish expressions appall,
there’ll be 70 Jews hearing “Nu?”s at the Wall.

70 Jews defame Druze at the Wall.
70 Jews defame Druze.
If one Jew acknowledges, “That’s a foul ball,”
there’ll be 69 Jews dissing Druze at the Wall.

69 Jews spit their chews on the Wall.
69 Jews spitting chews.
If one says, “My Beechnut to spew I refuse,”
there’ll be 68 Jews spewing chews at the Wall.

68 Jews faking news at the Wall
68 Jews faking news.
If one of them says, “You can’t fight city hall,”
67 fake news Jews there’ll be at the Wall.

60-pus-7 Jews sue near the Wall.
60-plus-7 Jews sue.
If one Jew then settles (“I hate the long haul”),
there’ll be 66 Jews with disputes near the Wall.

66 Jews treading sloughs near the Wall.
66 Jews treading sloughs.
If one Jew goes down but continues to crawl,
there’ll be 65 Jews treading sloughs near the Wall.

65 Jews comb their dos at the Wall.
65 Jews comb their dos.
If one of them opts for a synthetic fall,
there’ll be 64 Jews combing dos at the Wall.

64 Jews catch bird flus at the Wall.
64 Jews catching flus.
If one tries a vaccine with corn ethanol,
there’ll be 63 Jews still with flus at the Wall.

63 Jews sniffing glues at the Wall.
63 Jews sniffing glues.
If one combines Elmer’s with parasite gall,
there’ll be 62 Jews sniffing glues at the Wall.

62 Jews spray paint hues on the Wall.
62 Jews spray paint hues.
If one covers all with a Gainsboro pall,
there’ll be 61 Jews spraying hues on the Wall.

61 Jews hail their muse at the Wall.
61 Jews hail their muse.
If one of those muses refuses the call,
there’ll be 60-some muses of Jews at the Wall.

60-some Jews construct pews at the Wall
60-some Jews construct pews.
If one of those Jews hollers, “Prie-dieux for all!”
there’ll be 59 Jews building pews at the Wall.

59 Juif cordon-bleus at the Wall.
59 Juif cordon-bleus.
If one introduces cuisine from Nepal,
there’ll be 58 Juif cordon-bleus at the Wall.

58 Jews mouthing ‘mu’s at the Wall.
58 Jews mouthing ‘mu’s.
If one mouths a ‘nu’ instead (what a miscall!),
there’ll be 50 plus 7 mouth'd ‘mu’s at the Wall.

50-plus-7 Jews coo towards the Wall.
50-pus-7 Jews coo.
If one of those Jews grabs a last curtain-call,
there’ll be 56 Jews cooing “ooh!”s at the Wall.

56 Jews courting Sues at the Wall.
56 Jews courting Sues.
If one of those Jews cries, “Suzanne: you’re too small!”
there’ll be 55 Jews courting Sues at the Wall.

55 Jews speaking Wu at the Wall.
55 Jews speaking Wu.
If one of them says, “This is not Montreal!”
there’ll be 54 Jews speaking Wu at the Wall.

54 Hebrews called Saul scale the Wall.
54 Hebrews called Saul.
If one of ‘em changes his name to RuPaul,
there’ll be 53 Hebrews called Saul on the Wall.

53 Jews roses strew near the Wall.
53 Jews roses strew.
If one of those Jews decides daisies enthrall,
there’ll be 52 Jews left to strew near the Wall.

52 Jews cry, “J’accuse!” at the Wall.
52 Jews cry, “J’accuse!”
If one gets the picture: “We're not in Bhopal,”
there’ll be 51 cries of “J’accuse!” at the Wall.

51 Jews sweeping flues near the Wall.
51 Jews sweeping flues.
If one plans a new Franklin stove to install,
there’ll be 50 sweeps – Jews -- cleaning flues near the Wall.

50 Jews sneezing "A-choo!"s at the Wall.
50 Jews sneezing "A-choo!"s.
If each of the 50 takes Nytol withal,
there'll be no Jews to sneeze at the Al-Buraq Wall. 

Breaking Weather News: Derecho Developing in Great Plains

D is for Derechos,

squalls whose palls give sheiks the shakes.
Like trains – huge trains, not HOs – 
they schlepp windshears in their wakes.
To flee, as Holden* chose, 
wind-wary folk do all it takes:
they pull up stakes, 
release their brakes,
then run like hell, for heaven's sakes!
     * Salinger's Holden Caulfield

"Some days my minde plays tricks on me..." Vu and Other Dejas: A Constrained Alphabet

Some days my mind plays tricks on me.

Such stuff seems nothing new.
Your mind plays tricks on you as well.
It's labeled déjà vu.

Like when 'twould seem, as in a dream,
I’ve bid “Bis bald!” to you
not once or twice but thrice times thrice:
I’m having dej’ adieu.

Or, as when craving late-night nosh –
Dovedale at ten till two -- 
I chew, encore, that goo once more:
I’m having deja bleu.

Whence ousts of Oman’s oligarchs,
pols' purges in Peru?
Occurred these turdes de force before?
Hooray for deja coup.

I reckon second song lines 
from a second kangaroo
should sound…well. sound. They’re, I’ll be bound,
my deja didg’ridoo. 

One rhyme sings, “Mary had a lamb.”
One claims she’s had a few.
That rhymer must imagine Mary's
having deja ewe. 

My forehead’s hot. The runs have got
me running to the loo.
I retch. And then I retch again.
I’m having deja flu. 

More wildebeests? (Oh, well: at least
it’s not more caribou.)
Their name is Boer. They’re back once more:
I’m having deja gnu.

Here’s Hef. There’s Laurie.
Not to worry: Masekela, too,
twice viewed with Grant. Twin sightings can’t 
be less than deja Hugh. 

I’ve never lent ye. Borrowed? Plenty. 
One loan’s wa-a-a-ay past due.
I own I’ve owed an ample load.
It’s deja I.O.U. 

These games I’ve played before: today’d
be not my grande debut.
I’ve jumped. I’ve soared. I’ve shot. I’ve scored.
I’m having deja jeux.

This scene repeats: I’ve seen these sheets,
these kindled crosses, too.
Supremacy? Hyperbole:
I’m having deja Ku.

Again: green stalls. Graffiti’d walls.
Green urinals. Green poo.
Familiar Gents, with sim’lar scents.
I’m having deja loo.

Like Burgess, G., I fail to see 
plum cows. (My bovines? Blue.)
But, were I to, I’d croon, “So, nu?
What’s this? More deja moo?” 

I’m kibitzing. I’m chalisching.
And, although not a Jew,
I’ve felt like “thisht” before: farmisht.
Oy vay! ‘Tis deja! Nu?

I’ve mourned in morning rooms before,
each gilt – bronzed through and through.
Like Paris ebenistes, I’m having
deja ormolu.

They – Eeyore, Piglet, Rabbit, Owl –
with me and Baby Roo,
stroll Hundred Aker Wood once more.
I’m having deja Pooh.

I’ve lined up. But…in line for what?
Cheap tickets for The Who?
Why can’t I, then, ken where or when?
Do I have deja queue?

I stand before my stove once more --
su chef, Le Cordon Bleu, 
don toque (my hat), whisk flour in fat.
I’m having deja roux.

Again I pull a Sitting Bull.
Why so? I’ve got no clue.
Still, I’ll not gripe, “With you’s the pipe”
when having deja Sioux.

Revisiting the jet set, as
from time to time I do, 
I roast great hosts of global ghosts.
Do I have deja Tru?

I live a lie. Then, by and by,
reliving it anew,
I start to see. What’s dawned on me?
That I have dej’ untrue.

As if on hajj, I roam the Raj,
like Fogg and Passepartout.
That tang? Again? I’m having, then,
more deja vindaloo.

Once more, these scents. Such redolence:
is something on my shoe?
They come, these smells, from fragrance hells.
I’m having deja “whew!” 

I’ve chanced upon these domes of Khan
more times than Earhart flew. 
They never cloy. I so-o-o-o enjoy
each deja Xanadu.

As encore, I’ll quick march a mile
ensconced in your left shoe.
No diff’rence be ‘twixt thee and me:
I’m having deja you.

I can’t ignore what’s seen before –
a ewe, a gnu, a shrew.
Wild things times ten, seen o’er again:
I’m having deja zoo.

And so it goes. As I disclose
to you one final vu
to end one verse, I start rehears-
als. Coming's Deja Two.

"Todaey's the 31st of Maey..." Paean on the Last Daey of Maey

Todaey's the 31st of Maey 
and, just like aeny daey this Maey,
Maey's raeinin' clouds weaer shrouds of claey.

Maey's ocean waeves weaer crowns of spraey
in shaedes of whey, Maey's waey to saey
that Maey remains, clean through todaey, 

a month gone graey -- so very graey
that every single sound of /ay/
Maey's spelt with e-augmented a.

"Curly, Moe, Larry, shemp..." Doin' the Mortal Coil Shuffle: A Constrained Necrologue

Curly, Moe, Larry, Shemp: each devolv'd to room temp.
The cartoonist Thom Nast wound up breathing his last.
Colin’s granddaddy Firth has departed this earth.
When shall you and/or me shuffle off this m. c.?

Codicologist Morse rides – behold! – a pale horse. 

Culture icon Joan Quarm, late last year, bought the farm. 
Mogul Friedrich (“Fritz”) Krupp found his number was up.
When shall you and/or me shuffle off this m. c.?

Mr. John Albert Macy’s now pushing up daisies.
One Solomon Phipps fin’lly cash'd in his chips.
My mate Morrison Waite simply slid off the plate. 
When shall you and/or me shuffle off this m. c.?

All (or most) of the Bysshes now sleep with the fishes. 
St. Christopher Wade? Made to drink the Kool aid.
Herr Hermanus van’t Hoff slowly exited off.
When shall you and/or me shuffle off this m. c.?

Rudi (jazz critic) Blesh went the way of all flesh. 
Ms. Elizabeth Baker en fin met her maker.
Li’l Abner’s Al Capp took that final dirt nap.
When shall you and/or me shuffle off this m. c.?

Couple Carl and Blanche Jost, grinning, gave up the ghost.
Poet Julia Ward Howe waved, then took her last bow.
Joseph Smith and his wives? All of them lost their lives.
When shall you and/or me shuffle off this m. c.?

Far-right-winger John Birch leaned, then fell off his perch.
Charles Caldwell McCabe? In the bosom of Abe. 
Both men -- E. and K Wynn (pop and son) -- packed it in.
When shall you and/or me shuffle off this m. c.?

Rufus, Tom and John Choates all donned pine overcoats.
Kicked the bucket did Boggs: J. S. G. popped his clogs.
Even Prosp Merimee, in the end, passed away.
When shall you and/or me shuffle off this m. c.?

"My belief in my Awl..." My Mistrusted Menagerie: A Nonsense in Meters and Dubious Rhymes

Faith in my Awl remains awlfully smawl.
What I know of my Brylle is, essentially, nylle.
Apropos my Clampoo, I possess not a cloo.
R&D on my Droone? Discontinued last Joone.
As concerning my Erd I've heard nary a werd.
Tests performed on my Flopt? Ex officio stopt.
Should I shelter a Glannz? Though I could, I've no plannz.
Once endangered, my Hyst now’s been scratched from that lyst.
My poor Ilk lost its hair. (Truth be known, I don't cair.)
I once pooh-pooh’d my Jeng. Then the Fat Lady seng.
My poor Kloyl died of AIDS: we were playing charaids.
How my Lhugee makes do? It ingests its own po.
Asked to care for a Mhanx, I said, “Thanx but no thanx.”
So: how cool is my Nyuk? One part goose, two parts dyuk.
Some might visit my Ohng, but they don’t tarry lhong.
Time reported my Phryfe lives in fear for its lyfe.
Have you seen my Qabazz? Fret not: nobody hazz.
All those blogs re my Rolld? Evidently on holld.
The whole life of my Schtakt fills just one tiny trakt.
What’s the knack of my Tyghte? Just to hide in plain syghte.
Ugh! The last living Uew died in tuew thousand tuew..
Yes, my Vardavalette's an impossible pette.
All my Wargs went extinct. (To the auk they’ve been linct.)
No, my Xanthano can't catch the Gingerbread Mant.
First, my Yergaroo pair mated. Now they’re not thair.
I know that my Zuzzent would love to…but duzzen’t.

My Fair Mary: A Nonsense Fam'ly Crambo

A fair maid is Mary. Her surname's duBarry. 
Her tipple's dry sherry. Her mood? Quite contrary. 
She’s heedless, is Mary. Of Mary I’m wary.
She’s careless. She’s airy. Of Mary I’m chary.

She's vowed not to marry – a vow I’d not parry. 
Her dad's Captain Larry. He pilots a ferry.
Her mom, nee Glengarry, milks bears in a dairy. 
Her brother's called Terry. Some swear he's a fairy.

Her sister's name's Jeri. Jer’s fair-hair'd -- and hairy. 
Her great-uncle Gary’s the clan’s cash-‘n’-carry
comptroller in Gary. Her aunt shares an aerie –
no hawks, one canary -- with Marion Barry. 

Monotonous? Very! (Rejoice! I’ll not tarry.)

I'm (Like) Ma Vlast: A Constrained Rhyme

My country, right or wrong! 
My brewskis? Lite or strong! 
My Potus? Dwight or Long! * I'm (like) 
my country, right or wrong! 
     * Ike achieved; Huey aspired. 

My skivvies? Tights or thong! 
My show? "Tonight" or "Gong"! 
My game? "Dogfight" or "Pong"! I'm (like) 
my country, right or wrong!

My island? Wight or Long!* 
My meerschaum? White or bong! 
My "ciao"? "'Goodnight" or "S'long"! I'm (like) 
my country, right or wrong!
     * The Isle of Wight or Long Island

My pet? Kite or dugong! 
My hairstyle? Fright or long! 
My Hong? "Trade site"* or Kong! I'm (like) 
my country, right or wrong!
      * 'Hong' is Chinese for foreign 
commercial establishment.    

My bird? In-flight or song-! 
My throng? Slight or "humong-"! 
My fate? Shite or "Go 'long!" I'm (like) 
my country, right or wrong!

My sex ed? Hite or Jong!* 
My -geist?** Zeit- or "ding-dong"!
My cuntwee? Wite or wong! I'm (like) 
my country, right or wrong!
     * Shere or Erica   ** German for 
characteristic spirit ('Zeit' means time).