Gaelic Roots

     Macadamia 
Motel in-room snack bar nut or toxin frackin’ Fido’s gut.*
     * Macadamias are apparently toxic to dogs.  

     MacBeth 
Toney Tony-winning part or tough transgender's nom-de-tart.

     McCormick 
Baltimorons' spice vendeur or 'mick'…or 'Mac.' (Seems no one’s sure.)

     McDuck 
Grasping geezer, Loon de Loot or Ebenezer, cast as coot.*
     *  A canvasback or gallinule or bufflehead – but no one’s fool

     Macedonia 
Where Phillip* plants his totem pole or country tasked with crowd control.** 
     * The Man of Macedonia, of course 
     ** Cf recent refugee crisis at Greek border

     McFries 
Slipp'ry slope towards childhood lard or poorly spelt 'McFlies.' (Canard!)  

     MacGuffin 
Hitchcock movie plot technique or letters from my 'muffin' leak.*
     * I.e., an ‘a,’ a ‘c’ and a ‘G’ dropped from ‘MacGuffin’ leave ‘muffin.’

     MacHu (Picchu) 
Abandon'd Incan real estate or Irish sneeze. (Gesundheit, mate!)

     McIntosh 
Apple breed, or leakproof coat or Gael immersed in nonsense quote.*
     * Mc in 'tosh'

     Mick Jagger 
UK knighthood candidate* or packhorse manager’s work state.
     * I.e., Sir Mick  
     ** In England the owner or manager of a pack of horses was called a jagger.

     MacKinac 
Island in a Huron Lac or relatives of Mac call’d ‘Ac.’ 

     McLean 
Virginia home to CIA or new McDonald's meal. (No way!)

     McMansions 
Nouveau-riche “garage mahal" or (sans 'i') Erse M.,* C.,** et al.***
     * I.e., Marilyn, the rocker   ** I.e., Charles, the nutter   
     *** I.e., other members of the so-called “Manson family.”

     MacNutt 
Dude dubb’d Boob (Rube's* handiwork) or laptop user's Apple quirk.
     * I. e., Goldberg.  

     McCoy 
Star Fleet officer named "Bones" or how a Jew from Galway moans.

     MacPherson (Strut) 
Suspension system in fine cars or move on "Dancin' With Scots Stars."

     McQueen 
Prissy to Leigh's Scarlett O'* or Irish guy in gay floor show.
     * I. e, Butterfly

     McRib 
Sandwich made with barbie’d pork or baby's bunk from Leith or Cork.*
     * I.e., Mac Crib.

     McSweeney's 
Innovative publishing,
or "What-if-Todd-were-Irish…?" thing. 

     ("Soap") MacTavish 
"Call of Duty" go-to guy or suds for Irish drip 'n' dry. 

    MacUlar (Degeneration) 
Age-related loss of sight or Quarter Pounder burger blight.

     McVeigh 
Homely home-grown terror bird* or Irish “Oy! Vey!” spelt absurd.
     * I.e., Oklahoma bomber Timothy.

     MaxWell (House) 
Caffeine good to final drop or where Mac plops his mops to sop.*
     * I.e., Mac's well house.  

    MaXimilien 
Major "Reign of Terror"ist”* or beaucoup bucks within one's fist.**
     * I.e., Robespierre   ** I.e., maxi million

      MacY's: 
Sponsor of that big parade or Irish inn where young men stay'd.*
     * A Dublin YMCA.

     MCZSGT: 
Sgt. "Jim"'s* own CAPTCHA word or letter salad – shaked and stir’d.
     * That’s Sgt. N. (“Jim”) Smithe-Magee (the N stands for ‘(k)Nack)

Middleton's Mongo Moodswings

Ming the Merciless:
"Bring me Flash Gordon...alive!" 

*  *  *  *  *

Ming the More-or-Less:
"Bring me -- if you feel like it -- Flash Gordon -- if it's not too much trouble -- or you can bring Gordon Ramsey...or Michael Jordon, if it's all the same to you -- dead or alive...whatever..."

Ming the Mirthless:

“A priest, a minister and a rabbi bring Flash Gordon into a bar...alive.” 

Ming the Merthileth:
"You bathturdth better ethcort Mithter Flath Gordon into my prethenth immediately if not thooner -- and make thure he'th fully conthciouth."

Merce the Mingciless:
"Fring me Gash Bordon...that is, Bash me Ford Grindon…that's to say, Gore me Fling -- ...lull-hive!" 

Minga the Murderess:
Mongo's Minga death rays aimed
at earth. The bitch left earthmen maimed.
Said Minga,"I'll hit overdrive, 
unless you bring me Flash...alive!"

Ming the Mascaraless:
"Bring me Flash Gordon alive...and a couple of tubes of L'Oreal Paris Makeup  Telescopic Original Lengtheners in Carbon Black!"

Ming the Mercibeaucoup:

“Apporte moi Monsieur Gordon vivant, s’il vous plait!”

Ming the Immersible:

“Blub-blub-bling me blub-blash Gorblub-blb…alie-flub-blub-blub…”

Ming the Mercantile:
"Bring me Flash Gordon...and a price quote on one of those fancy new digital atom furnaces!" 

Ming the Mercenary: 
"Bring me Flash Gordon! (The Clay King has issued a fatwa on that rascal and I’m just the interstellar bounty huntin' bastard to fulfill it and bring him in... alive, of course.)"

Ming the Merlinophile:
“Bring me Flash in a flash, ala "abracadab"!
No, don’t call Flash an earthling! Don’t call Flash a cab! 
No, don’t call Flash for dinner! Just bring Buster Crabbe!
Oh...and bring Flash alive...I'll brook none of your gab."  

Ming the Merrymaker:
“Bring me three Doctor Zarkovs, two Princess Auras and a Flash Gordon – alive! – in a Plutonian pear tree.”

Ming the Merganser:
“Bring me Flash Gordon, plus a bucket of crustaceans, a Mongo mollusk or two and some nice insect larvae...alive!”

Ming the Merkelanhanger:
"Bring me Herr Gordon: Angela wants to meet the dude and you know I can’t say ‘nein’ to Die Chancellor."

Ming the Mercurial:
"Bring me Flash...no, wait...yeah, go ahead and grab that bad boy...no, no: hold on a minute...yeah, get him, get him…oops, wait a sec…"

Ming the Molly-Malone-Lass:
"Bring me Flash Gordon...alive, alive, oh-ohhh, alive, alive, oh-ohhh..."

Telling Death Where to Get Off

O Death, where be yer stinger…?
(At five o'clock ‘n’ closing fast. 
Mad Marksman Ghastly's unsurpass’d.
Extinction’s on the wing.) 

Yo, Death! There be yer stinger! 
Bared teeth, unsheath’d, beneath yer shirt!
Within one min, who's munchin' dirt
on 'ccount o’ Seker’s* zinger…?
     * An Egyptian falcon god of the dead 

Sho,' Death: I'd flee yer stingers,
tho’ 'tain't I'm ill-prepared to go:
I'd merely like some quid pro quo:
how's 'bout one final fling befo’…

…yer Kaddish chorus sings…?
I'm a-ok with playin’ slot,
or smokin’ pot… (God knows I'm not
yer quintessential swinger.)

Bro Death, spare me yer stinger! 
Sham shamans spout, "He's got a clot."
Whose fault…? "His own!" (I'd best quest not
for whom curt curfews ring.)

So: Death, Bereavement Bringer:
My mother's call I’m urged to heed.
(What call…? "My son: resist yer need
to loiter, loll ‘n’ linger.") 

Show, Death, where be yer stings:
None out back. None in Santa's sack.
They're lacking in our postman's pack.
(Plus, twice he always rings.)

Who-o-oah, Death! Put by yer stingers! 
Just cool it, Earl! Yer lip uncurl! 
Desist, Death Dipshit, lest I flip
ya birds: third -- upwards -- fingers!

AFI's Greatest Alternate Remakes

(Like Gov. Christy, "We spoof in the spirit of Spooner.")

In this sequel to Citizen Kane, Charles Foster's bastard son, 
Christopher, continues to search for the meaning behind his
father's mysterious final word. Failing to discover it, the poor 
boy is eventually institutionalized. 
     The film is called Kit Is Insane.

As variant to his groundbreaking On the Waterfront, Elia 
Kazan's new production portrays life in and around the world 
of horse racing experienced by Edie Doyle's younger sister, 
an unattractive but plucky dwarfling. 
     Elia calls his latest film Wanda, Odd Turf Runt.

With production of Wanda well under way, cinebuffs learned 
that a Mexican film company is developing an animated sequel 
to Kazan's classic which will relate the adventures of a young 
Chicano lad who escapes LA gang life to become A&R 
man for a group of performing sea mammals living and working 
in the waters off the Baja Peninsula. 
     Planned for a Christmas holiday release and suitable for all 
audiences, the movie is called Juan the Otter Front.

In so-called Wuthering Heights II, Heathcliff and Cathy depart 
the Yorkshire moors for a West Indies sugar plantation where 
they spend their remaining years harassing a native population 
held by them in bondage. 
     The working title of this sequel is Hovering Whites.

In re-envisioning The Maltese Falcon as a biopic, documentary 
film makers feature journalist Muggeridge playing himself and 
claiming full responsibility for Original Sin. 
     The film is called The Fault? 'Tis Malcolm's.

This made-for-TV feature takes a U-turn from its model, 
The Grapes of Wrath. In the revision, Grampa Joad, after dying 
of the drug overdose administered to him by his family, returns 
from the dead to confront Tom, Rose of Sharon and the others, 
ultimately convincing the lot to eighty-six their trip to California 
in favor of emigration to Bar Harbor, Maine. 
     Rated R for language, the film is called The Wraith of Gramps.

666

Or the Beast is Yet to Come the Beast is Very Much With Us

Zero to 666 mph* in 6.66 seconds:
the UAR (Ungodliness Acceleration Rate)
of the Beast. 
     * 1077 km/h

666 miles per gallon:
the Fuel Economy Rating on the Road to Hell
of the Beast.

Skik-shik-shiksa:
the Gentle Gentile Goyim Goyl 
of the Beast.

66.6% abv:
the Brewmeister Beerelzebub's Beer Boast
of the Beast.

"Six-sixty-six skidoo!":
the BeelzeBum's Rush
of the Beast.

N+ 666:
the Oulipoetical Transliteration Technique
Whereby Each Noun in the Biblical Book 
of the Apocalypse Is Replaced with the 
666th Noun Following It in Webster's New 
International Dictionary (Third Edition)
of the Beast

"666 bottles of beer on the wall, 666 bottles of beer...":
the "Binge-Till-Yer-BeelzeBlotto" Satanic Stein Song
of the Beast 

"Sykes Sics Sheiks":
the “Stix Nix Hix Pix”-Type Tabloid Headline Featuring 
Story Concerning a Rabid Ms.  Wanda Sinking Bared 
Canines into Deserving Saudi Royals
of the Beast

The 0.666%*:
the Percentage of the U.S. population claiming membership 
in “Billionaires For The Beast”
of the Beast 
     * These bastards control 66.6% of the nation's wealth  

"Sixty-six days hath September":
the Calendrical Mnemonic
of the Beast.* 
      * "Sixty-six days hath September. 
         Six times six: March through November.
         Jan and Feb…? One less than seven.
         Dec…? Six plus five. (Eleven)
         Leap year starts from scratch, by heaven: 
         then, Sept's days run sixty-seven!" 

Snick-snick-snickers:
the Brimstone-Coated BeelzeBar
of the Beast

"Six hundred sixty-six men on a sick man's chest..." 
the Prince of Darkness Pirate Sea Shanty
of the Beast

Fahrenheit 666:
the Combustion Temperature of Brimstone
of the Beast.

"Leaflets six-six-six: touch not with ten-foot sticks!":
the Cautionary Mnemonic Identifying Devilishly 
Toxic Ivies
of the Beast.

"Sucks! Sucks! Sucks!":
Every Hannity Broadcast
of the Beast

666 Dalmatians:
the Diabolical Disney Derivative Devil Dog Dramedy
of the Beast.

Spooks! Spooks! Spooks!:
the Ghostbusters Cinematic Homage
of the Beast. 

"Spicks! Spicks! Spicks!":
the Illegal Immigration Insult (Hannity again) 
of the Beast.

"...ten...nine...eight...seven...six...six...six...":
the Aborted NASA Shuttle-Launch Liftoff 
Countdown Sequence
of the Beast.

"Shake! Shake! Shake!":
the Jerry Lee Lewcifer Look-Alike Contest Lyric
of the Beast.

"The 666 Horsemen of the Apocalypse":
the Military-Industrial Complex
of the Beast.

696:
the Menage a Trois Diabolical Deprave-o-glyph
of the Beast.

"Sing a song of 66 pence, pockets full of rye;
6 and 60 blackbirds baked (still breathing) in a pie...":
the Rhyming Recitation Recipe for Satan's 
Souffle Surprise
of the Beast.

Humphrey in Hell: a Constrained Rewrite

     (Day 9) 
Fred C. Dobbs: "If you're plannin' on smokin' them cigars, 
you'll need matches. Where's your matches...? Let's see 'em."
Gold Hat: "Matches...? We ain't got no matches. We don't
need no matches. I don't have to show you no stinkin' matches." 

     (Day 736) 
Fred C. Dobbs: "If you're as poor as you claim, your serapes 
would be full o' patches. Where's your patches...? Let's see 'em.
Gold Hat: "Patches...? We ain't got no patches. We don't need
no stinkin' patches...  

     (Day 82,054) 

Fred C. Dobbs: "If you'd just come from Ash Wednesday services, 
your foreheads would be smudged with ashes. Where's your ashes...? 
Let's see 'em."
Gold Hat: "Ashes...? We ain't got no ashes…

     (Day 9,998,976,001) 

Fred C. Dobbs: "If your compadres were actual members of the 
Italian Socialist Party, they'd be Fascists. Where's your Fascists...? 
Let's see 'em.”
Gold Hat: "Fascists...?”

     (Day 6,392,875,620,395,847) 

Fred C. Dobbs: "If you keep insistin' on sashayin' around in them 
skimpy two-piece bathin' suits, you'll need pageants. Where's 
your pageants...? Let's see 'em...
Gold Hat: “…” 

    (Day 83,492,736,574,839,283,759,293)

Fred C. Dobbs: "If you're really Muslims you’ll need hajjes. 
Where's your hajjes...?" 

Teddy Fare or Who'd Make Smooth (and Delicious) Fried Rice...? He'd Need Heed a Rough Rider's Advice (A Wok in Progress or Spooner on Steroids: You Decide)

President Theodore Roosevelt's most-frequently quoted maxim must surely be his famous, "Walk softly and carry a big stick." Less widely known is his counsel to a young Chinese-American friend and fellow hero of the charge up San Juan Hill which takes the form of his advice regarding the successful preparation of what would become this friend's -- indeed, this future White House chef's -signature dish, Colonel Roo's Felt Chicken:

"To carry this off, Li Yan, stick with a big wok!"

Pub Crawls / Pubs, Scrawl'd

Shall not snuggery sojourns and speakeasy spree/rambles
start with iambic pentameter preambles?

Of all the bogus bars, gin mills, canteens,

sakayas, gay bars, brew pubs, cuca shops,
red lanterns, supper rooms, saloons, shebeens,
meyhanes, BYOs, pieds-a-hops
in all the urbs and ‘burbs about this ball,
why’d whetted whistles sing of these oases...?
Why these (trump’d-up tied bars and taverns all)...?
Why framed milieus...?
Why famed “who’s who”s,
feign’d views, stain’d loos,
fake wait-staff crews...?
Indeed, why choose
bent booze and brews
from fabricated places...?

The Angler's Rest in Wodehouse's Mulliner Nights 

A Wodehouse roadhouse! There I’d first while hours

(“Miss Postlethwaite: a half, please, of your best!”),
my Mild amid their Stouts and Lemon Sours.
In short, I’d hang (in shorts) at Angler’s Rest,
to savor sev’ral spells – ideally, dozens –

with Mulliner (that’s Mister M to you)...

regaled with tales of M’s amazing cousins:
the silly stuff
(such guff, much, fluff;
such puff: much, bluff,
yet ne’er enough)
he claims they say and do.

The Alpha Inn in Conan Doyle's "The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle"

The Alpha Inn enjoys a parlour bar.

It’s Windigate’s. I’d cue there, third to order.
Those two (Hello! You well know who they are)
distinguish Alpha’s geese from Alpha’s porter.
The first is Doyle’s PI; through clues he combs
to crimes from times before electric chairs.
He’s Doctor Watson’s Johnson, Sherlock Holmes!
One dick, one doc
and – drei – me nigh.
“But why...?” you’re asking.
“Why me...? Why...?”
It’s Holmes and Watson, bre’rs!
Let share their drafts who dares.
Now’s closing time…? Who cares!

The Admiral Benbow Inn in Stevenson's Treasure Island 

A “pleasant-sittyated” grogshop, pegg’d

The Adm’ral Benbow Inn in RLS’s
Treasure Island, wherein single-leg’d
Jack Tars ‘n’ salts (some, cooks) brook mix’d successes.
There’s where I’d deign drop anchor, near Kitt’s Hole,
to, parch’d, partake of Hawkins’s strong rum...
and, perch’d before the fire, well-stok’d with coal,
taste tunes tenfold,
from sea dogs old,
of maps enfolding
secrets sold
for buried gold,
of “…heat and cold…
and all the old
romance retold…”
(including some concerning mould-
infected apples in the hold)
until my eardrum’s numb
(with sailor’s tales a-hum).

Rick's Cafe Americaine in Michael Curtiz's Casablanca*

I’d pen a phrase for fans of classic flicks

like “…all the bars in all the towns…(etcetera),”
or maybe “Everybody comes to Rick’s,”
then scribble out, in verse, an alphabet or a
haiku, one penn’d best at Signor Ferreri’s,
abetting his Blue Parrot crew’s new tricks
to loot from Blaine Américain sans “sorry”s.
(You see how everyone does come to Rick’s...?)
I’d steal a Steinway, swipe a Sam to “Play it!”
(Did Ilsa say “…again…”? No, she did not,
Though Sascha…) But, alas! I could not stay. It
works out quite slick
for Lund and Vic,
but Lou and Rick
do exit schtick
and, what with visas none too thick,
those Nazi plots grow hot.
(Loike, a poisson could git shot.) 

     * Curtiz directed the film. The screenplay was based 
on a play written by Murray Burnett and Joan Alison.

The Chalice in Jaroslav Hasek's The Good Soldier Svejk 

I’d drink with Svejk a black from Palivek,

who, with his wife, landlords it o’er The Chalice.
I’d drink. I’d wink. I’d warn (in cashier’s Czech)
of undercover snitch Bretschneider’s malice,
and hope, with this, my twist to Hasek’s tale,
no altered u’d occur, ordaining poor,
course Palivek to not sit out, in jail,
his war, nor Svejk
the eldertyke
to bike (not hike) 
around the reich

Battuta-like 

on path and pike,

misfortunes to explore.

Pseudo Goose

Hark! Mark! 
Blue Dogs do bark
when caucuses come into town.
Industry flacks,
financ’d by their PACs,
will cut taxes: what’s up must come down.

Cy Simon met a meta-pieman going to a fair.
Said meta-pieman said to Cy, “Man! You’re displaced, but where?”
Said Cy said to said meta-pieman, “I’m here. What’s so funny...?”
Said meta-pieman, “Funny...? Nope. But can you cope with punny?”

Droll Mother Goose, when her wont was to squander,
would ring Rent-A-Reindeer, reserving a Donder.
Though no soul than me is of Claus faunae fonder,
I fear that, for years, she’s been bilk'd: Blitzen conn'd her!

Needles and pins! Believe me, you guys:
it’s zilch that a Lincoln or Washington buys.
A half Quarter Pounder with small drink and fries
will exhaust ev’ry purse. Frickin’ Mickey D lies.

Little Bo Peep has meep'd her sheep,
not seeming to care she’d malign'd them.
Leave ‘em alone. Recent research has shown.
as they grow, they’ll put Bo’s tales behind them.

Little Jack Horner, ne Jacques (he’s a fore’gner)
puts framboise and peche in his pie.
If he stuck in his thumb, pulling out (say) a plum,
there’d be none more bewilder'd than I.

Jack and Jill went up to Hill,
a bankrupt Benny. After
poor Jack fell down, that tapped-out clown
joined Jill in shrill, daft laughter.)

Ron McDonald’s bought the farm:
E, I, E, I, O.
Doctors warn, “Fools come to harm
when scarfing foodstuffs faux.
     In McNuggets, there’s
fecal matter, hairs.
       Ronald’s shtick...? Getting sick.
Wouldn’t touch a carrot stick.
      Ron McDonald’s bought the farm:
Now he’s eating crow,
a gastronomic ‘ho.’
"The docs all told you so.
So: next time, listen, Bro!
You shoulda just said 'No!'
And now we're done in. Doh!"

Little Ms Muffet reads on her tuffet,
interpreting ‘curds’ and ‘whey.’
“I read ‘em because…well, they’re there. Still, why does
‘Jimmy Buffet’ not rhyme with ‘buffet’?”

Pete, organic pumpkin breeder,
sold his crop to Harris-Teeter.
Gourds this pricey I’ve not seen.
(It’s never easy bein' green.)

Punday's Girl Children (Not to be Confused with Your Kids of Whatever Gender)

This one-month array of female rugrats et. al. can be read as two amplified fortnights, four eight-day weeks or an octave of hemiweeks. You decide!

Monday's child.* Her face looks great.
Of Tuesday's child be grace the fate...?**
         * She's "fair of face" in the famous 
fortune-telling nursery rhyme. 
         ** The rhyme's lyric insists she's 
full of it.
Wednesday's child needs armor plate.* 
For Thursday's child, larks lurk in wait.** 
        * She is, after all, (or so states the 
rhyme) "full of woe."
        ** Not unlike Pip in "Great 
Expectations," this child has "far to go."

Friday's child does love create.
Saturday's child lifts loads o' weight.*
        * Saturdays' child -- again according 
to the rhyme -- must work for a living.
Sunday's child. (The ideal mate!)
"Monday, Monday..."* Trust...? Or hate...?
        * Mamas and the Papas apparently 
"...can't trust that day."

Tuesday Weld...?* She's Dobie's date.
Wednesday's kid: no sister Kate. 
        * Not to be confused with Ruby Tuesday, 
that Tuesday** being Mick's date.
        ** "That Tuesday" isn't Fat Tuesday. 
Neither Weld nor Ruby are in the least obese.   
Thursday* tells of Syme's debate.
Friday...?** Crusoe's third estate. 
          * That's The Man Who Was Thursday 
not Thursday Next, Jasper Fford's creation.
          ** Not to be confused with His Girl 
Friday, the film featuring Rosalind Russell.

On Saturday she parties late.
At Sunday's,* ushers pass the plate.
         * I.e., at the sermons of evangelist 
Billy Sunday.
Monday's Montag's rough translate-...
...shun Daytona's figure eight.

Ain't Sheffield Wednesday's football great!
Floyd Thursby...? He be Sam Spade's bait.*
         * In The Maltese Falcon
Her fried eggs perch upon her plate.
Still, sadder days may yet await!

Sun 'n' haze (no fog to date).
Mounties always get their...mate...?
Two stays snapp'd: who's overweight...?
When's Tey's* Miss Pym to meet her "fete"...?
         * Mystery writer Josephine Tey's 
character may or may not have earned 
a celebration.

Thirsty...? Sure. (Tey'll take hers straight.)
Fright...? Tey…? Scared she is -- first date.
She'd sat a day...or six...or eight...
 ...and, someday, verbs she'll conjugate. 

Monde de lui: c'est tres "oh fait." 
Tooth decay's laid waste her gait.
Then, any Wednesday,* license plates...
...return her to the starting gate.**
         * Not to be confused with Any 
Wednesday, a film featuring a Fonda girl.
         ** Doing metal-shop piece work in an 
Illinois prison facility leaves anybody so 
occupied with hours aplenty in which to 
count the days.