Repost: Abecedarial Celebrity/Verbal Meme Pairs, Constrained (Incomplete)

       [AZ: Absolute Zero, Alexis Zorba]

"Absolute Zero's one get-go,* albeit a bleak..." 

specs Alexis, who's married, with children, and shrugs, "Hey! I'm Greek.

   
     * I.e., a get-go like the Great Get-Go, sometimes mistaken for the Big Bangle.


     [BY: Be Yourself, Boris Yeltsin]

"Be Yourself! (HO* whom else would you be...?" asks (rhetoric'lly) Boris.  
"To be somebody else might cause Mother** some serious tsoris.*

     * Russian Cyrillics for 'but' and pronounced (roughly) 'noh.'  ** I.e., Mother Russia, of course.

     [CX: Contemn Xenophobes, Cugat, Xavier]
     

"Contemn Xenophobes! Contemn..." Rhumba King Cugat repeats.  
(Just as he would be treated, each stranger this vir bonus* treats.)

  
     * What the good man does is always right, or so suggest the Grimms.

     [DW: Do Without, Dionne Warwick]
     

"Do Without! Pledge thy pounds to the poor," warbles Dionne (the song bird) --  
though it's Bacharach (Burt) who'll at last teach her right word from wrong word.

  

     [EV: Every Valley, Edward Villella]
     

"’Every valley exhaulted shall be; every rough place made plain...’:   
I shall dance thee that text," Edward vows, "in a Balanchine vein."

  

     [FU: Fed Up, Felix Unger]
     

"Fed Up! UFOs, URLs, UXBs..." fumes our Felix.
"In the end, all they yield is some abecedarial helix."

 

     [GT: Gin (&) Tonic, Gene Tunney/Tierney]
     

"Gin...and Tonic...and juice of one lime: pour the lot over ice..." 
prescribes Gene.* "Good advice," echoes Gene.** "An innocuous vice!"

 
     * Actress Tierney  ** Pugilist Tunney

     [HS: He (versus) She, Hailie Selassie]
     

"He v. She...? The distinction's ambig," differentiates Hailie. 
"One's call'd Shlomo. But what's in a name...? Life's a Pi; life's a Riley..."

 
     [IR: I, Robot, Irene Ryan]
     

"I, Robot, rest my case," in tones Rumpolean...

roars Irene. "I'd rap it, were I Rock 'n' Rollean."

 

     [JQ: John Quincey, Jose Quintero]
     

"John Quincey's not the seventh Chief Exec," corrects José.
"He's number six, post James Monroe...but what the heck! (More: what the hey!!)

 

     [KP: Key Personnel, Kendrick Perkins]
     

"Key Personnel...? Kevin...? Paul...? Rajon...? Ray...?" Kendrick Wonders.*

Then Perk's traded, which trade shall yet prove Boston's biggest of blunders. 

     * Garnett, Pierce, Rondo, Allen, kendrick: all former Celtics.

     [LO: Leigh/Olivier, Laugh Out (Loud) 
      

Leigh/Olivier, Lunt/Fontaine: which duo's dropp'd from the list 
of best thespian pairs...? Jolie/Pitt...? LOL! They’d be miss'd...?

 

     [MN: Machiavellian...? Not, Mike Nichols]
     

"Mach'avellian, not to say cynical: 'twas just her way," 
muses Mike, as he pegs one-time partner, the late Elaine May.

 

     [NM: Not Much, Norman Mailer]
     

"Not much!" mutters Norman, when asked if he liked married life. 
"Good when naked, far less good when dead: much depends on the wife."

 

     [OL: Ozymandias: Look, Orlando Lasso]
   

Ozymandias: "Look on my burg, Mr. Big, and despair!"
(Or Orlando: "Give ear to my music...or not -- I don't care.") 

     (a work in progress) 


[PK: P. Kilbride]

[QJ: Q. Jones]

[RI: R. Ingersoll]

[SH: S. Houston]

[TG: T. Geisel]

[UF:   ]  

[VE: V. Emmanuel]

[WP: W. Demarest]

[XC: Xavier Cugat (again)]

[YB:   You Bet!]

[ZA:   ]

Repost: There's A 'Y' In My 'Eye"

I spy an 'a'...down at the far end of 'our sofa.'
Some spot a second at the bottom of 'the sea.'
One more (a third) makes an appearance in the middle of each 'day.'
(One marks the end of every 'era,' b'lieve you me.)

Three 'b's lie sleeping -- sleeping b(ee)s...? -- inside each 'baby's crib'...
and on my cousin’s rocking 'zebra,' too, a 'b.'
Somebody thrust -- of all the crust! -- a 'c' in front of Uncle's 'car'...
then added handfuls to Gran's 'chicken cacciatore.' (How bizarre!)
As for the 'c' inside Mum's 'ice,' claims Mum: "'Tis tea!"

Who needs a 'd'...? One's near the bottom of 'our garden.'
A silent 'e's tied to the tail-end of 'my kite.'
An 'f,' demure (though opportune, arriving just before high tea),
comes early in each 'afternoon' -- an ancillary point d'appui...
with neither cosy, cup nor spoon -- all too jejune, it seems to me...
(A giant 'G' lurks in the middle of the 'niGht').

An 'h' floats, freestyle, near the middle of 'my bathtub.'
There sits another, wa-a-a-ay up high -- top o' the 'heap.'
I spot one 'i' (not four, not five) 'bout halfway down our neighbor's 'drive.'
Und Ja! I've seen that 'J' in front of 'Junior's Jeep.'

Look for a 'k' down at the far end of 'the running track.'
Two 'l's -- lost...? -- linger at the far end of 'the hall.'
About those 'l's we've all heard tell lie at the bottom of 'the well'...?
Hell's bells! They're there! (An 'm' looms halfway 'cross 'the mall.')

Note well the 'n': one's at the bottom of 'the ocean.'
Next to the last of 'The Mohicans' stands an 'n.'
And lo! An 'o' sits in the middle of Aunt Violet's 'viola.'
Oops! I missed one 'n': there's one -- behind 'two men.'

How come a pair of 'p's appears inside 'my apple'...?
(One 'p's most prompt, arriving early ev'ry 'Spring.')
And yet, how queer to see a 'q', there in the middle of a 'marquee'...
though an 'r' to start a 'race' seems just the thing.

Some say, "There's 's's at the soul of every 'issue'..."
then shout about one special 's'...back of 'the bus.'
They warn us: "Never drop the 't' from the beginning of 'time'..."
and that a 'u's much like an 's': "Both part of 'us'!"

Then, in 'November' -- on the 3rd -- arrives a 'v.'
Who'll find the 'w' which sits at 'rainbow''s end...?
And, pray tell, who has been the someone hiding 'x's in 'Sox boxes'...?
(Let's assume -- for now! -- that someone is a friend.)

As for the 'y'...? It’s in the middle of my 'eye.'
(One more's midtown -- smack in the middle of 'New York.')
And, fin'lly, 'z's, so good with cheese, adorn the middle of my 'pizza.'
Time to get a life! Come, wife: a knife...a fork!! 

My Message To America

MASK, MAN!

Repost: Losers : A DIY Nonsense

      ABbot's
up in the air, 

     sluggish
out of the box, 

    lax when
after the _____ 

    (unlike 

NFL _____).
                                                         

     CeDric's
earn'd your contempt, 

     ever
down in the dumps, 

     not quite
over the _____, 

    (loath to
taking his _____ ).
                                                        

     EFrem’s
up to his ears, grazes
outside the fence -- months be-
hind with his _____. (Doesn't
rate your two _____.)
                                                        

     GerHardt’s
up to no good, ducks the
top of the heap, won't look
after the _____. (All who
read of him _____.)
                                                       

     IlJa
skates on thin ice, never’s
in on the joke – pig-like,
in his own _____. (Someone
fix him: he's _____.)
                                                       

     KyLe spends
life on his knees, too far
out on a limb, giving
in to each _____. (Captain
Blue-Sky: that's _____.)
                                                       

     MaNute's
lacking a map, won't a-
bandon the nest, last bloke
in on the _____. (Manute!
Give it a _____!)
                                                        

     OPie’s
down – I’d say
"out" -- well be-
yond the perim- ...iter,
nearing his _____-...it. (We
all feel for _____.)
                                                       

     QuaRk keeps
on the QT -- never's
off to the races, ain’t
up to the _____: the
saddest of _____.)
                                                      

     STeve lives
under a spell, always
over the top. Self es-
teem...? Not a _____. (Never 
fails...as a _____!)
                                                      

     UVe’s
down the "up" stair, doesn’t
lower his voice. Options...?
None that are _____. (In breefe:
note very _____.)                                                                                                                 

     WaXman’s
kept under wraps. He's (with-
out the "X" factor) toss'd
under the _____. (His
wife...? Friends bush-_____.)                                                     

     YaZzer’s
"back o' the yards," too far
out of the zone, well be-
yond reach by _____. (Someone!
Throw Yaz a _____!)

Repost: 13 Abecedarial Rock Bands of the Near Future

ABle Was I...?
Palindromic and twee.
CaDre...?
Your kids will ignore their CD.

EFfusion...?
A foursome less fab, more forlorn. 
GHosts In Machines...?
Five kazoos, one French Horn. 

I, Jambot...?
From Ijamsville...? Ja! Und they’ll jam. 
KLangfarber...?
Lukewarm about ’em I am.) 

MNemosyne’ll
groove in a Grateful Dead vein.  
OPerabuffa
will classic'lly train. 

QuaRe...? 
They'll lose EuroVis ’69
STand Up, Stupid!...? 
Pre-pre-teens...great-grandkids of mine.  

The Rays...? 
A band formerly known as UV. 
The WaX...?
Yeah, they’ll polish your Pro – for a fee.

San YZidro...?
The first rockers bless'd by the Pope.
(And there’s bound to be more:
best abandon all hope.) 

Repost: The 12 Dyes of Xmas

       On the
first day of Xmas I

sent a gift to you…
dyed
"Christmas-Without-You-It's-A"
Blue.
     On the
second day, another (you'll 
never put this down!)…
dyed 
"Let's-Pretend-That-He-Is-Parson"
Brown.
     On the
third day, a further (I 
give because I can)…
dyed
"Tannenbaum-O-Tannenbaum"
Tan.
     On the
fourth day, one more (I pray my 
dogg'rel's not grown cold)…
dyed
"Rings-Six-Geese-A-Laying-Five"
Gold.
     On the
fifth day, a bonus, from
eBay, sight unseen…
dyed
"Sleeves-And-Who-Else-But-My-Lady"
Green.
     On the
sixth day of Xmas, (do not
open until Jan.) a
gift dyed
"Claus-I-Saw-Mommy-Kissing"
Xant’a.
     On the
seventh (you'll adore this – at
least trust you might)…
it’s dyed
"Christmas-I Am-Dreaming-Of-A"
White.
     On the
eighth, an award (you cry: "This
guy is quite the joker!")…
dyed
"-Risthmas-Tree-O-Kristhmus-(sic)-Tree"
Ocher.
     On the
ninth day, a boon you’ll not, of
course, receive a bill fer…
dyed 
"Bells-It's-Xmas-In-The-City"
Silver.
    On the
tenth day, one dyed by me, right
in my kitchen sink…
dyed 
"At-Your-Nose-Jack-Frost-Is-Nip-..."
Pink.
     On the
eleventh (who inaugurates such
nonsense...? Heaven knows!)…
one dyed -- no
lie! -- a "Lo-E'er-Blooming-How-A"
Rose.
     On the
twelfth day, one last gift, from 
me your Xmas Fairy…
dyed
"Cheeks-Like-Roses-Nose-Like-A"
Cherry...
     And so to
all, a poetaster's "Very
Merry!"

Repost: Clews...? Oh!

A’s for the ape: Ray crept – caped! -- down the drape,
consummated his caper, then made his escape.
Abnegating the grape, Ray'd been staying in shape.
Mapes, the gatekeeper, videotaped it (Ray's jape).

B’s for the beard: Crime career nearly queer'd,
Pier, as fear'd, engineer'd it (a shear of his beard).
Dierdre sneer'd as the austere Pier – shear'd – reappear'd.
Cheerless Kier, leering, jeer'd, “Dear, dear: seriously weird!”

C’s for the child I’d misfiled under ‘mild’
whom unreconciled psychics reviled as beguiled.
“For some while, Pyle’d not smiled,” sigh'd Childe Harold de Wylde
(Since Pyle died, Childe’s decided, “Pyle’s piles had been filed!”)

D’s for one drown'd whom a flounderman’s hound
found – crown'd brown, run aground -- in Quowtown’s renown'd sound.
Zounds! The thousands of pounds Browne found ‘round ‘bout Xaone Mound
helped bring down the clown’s fun’ral expense, I’ll be bound.

E’s for the earl (christen'd Burl) whom rur’al churl Cyr’l
found curl'd up in church tarted up like “Merle’s Girl.”
Surly Burl’s curls, unfurl'd, skirl'd like mother-of-pearl,
while their twirling purged Fleurwell: Sir Fleur sure did hurl!

F’s for the furs. Coeur’s chauffeur, Merce, avers
he o’erheard her assure the Third Curate of Tours
how hers were from Sir Herb. It occurs terce Merce errs:
hers Coeur lured from the Kurtzes, curt restauranteurs.

G’s for the goat “table d’hote”ing the note
haute Lord Mortimer wrote before g’rotting Dot’s throat.
Said note read, and I quote: “I vote no more to tote
what’s verboten: (signed) Mo’t.” (Also missing: Mo’t’s coat.)

H...? For the hand –tann'd – Rand scann'd from the grandstand,
commanding the handbag with nine-hundred grand.
That damn dandy ha’n’t plann'd to abandon Dan’s van.
Man! That had to be Sandor: I’d branded that hand! 

I’s for the imp “mite ein grin und ein gimp.” 
He’s the pimply lipp'd pimp whose chimp’s pinching Jim’s shrimp.
Sift your usual suspects: walks one with a limp...?
I’m convinced, Sgt. Blymp, you’re a dimwitted simp.

J’s for the jam, ma’am, a ton if a gram!
That’s what jamm'd our li’l femme – Grammy Graham’s wee lamb.
Pam got flatten'd – ker-blam! – lying cramm'd in her pram.
(The damn’d monster responsible’s still on the lamb.)

K’s for the king. Rex reported last Spring
how he’d “misplaced” his ring after dinging the thing.
Bling’s since turned up – ka-ching! – on some pawnbroker’s wing.
Who’ll lay odds Major Klohdz gets His Highness to sing...?

L’s for the leg which the pregnant nun Meg
mused she’d used to seduce Reggie Weggman, the yegg.
Check these negs! Far from vague: Sister Meg’s leg’s a peg!
Oui…ze omelet, she begs pour ze break of ze egg.

M’s for the moon. (En Francais, c’est “la lune.”)
It our shrewd Sioux “assumes” loom'd, balloon-like, last June –
then impugnes me “le fool” and “le clueless baboon.”
Well, ‘twas prune-black that night, Chief. No moon rose till noon.

N’s for the net Vet Bette lets on she set
to prevent Annette’s marmoset wrecking her fete.
Yet Bette’s net went unset. Let me bet: ‘Nette’s pet met
with “a fate wois’ than deat’”: Josette’s deft bayonet.

O’s for the oar with which whoremonger Thor
swore he “sawr” Senor D’Or, ‘board the S. S. Lahore,
floor the War Commodore, mooring Moore at Death’s door.
Place no store in Thor’s story: D’Or’s oar was on shore.

P’s for the pit where li’l Whitney DeWitt
has insisted he’s seen Hittite hieroglyphs writ.
I submit whit’s a git. Quit the shit! Pit's unlit!
Blacker (more than a bit) than an blackamoor's tit.

Q’s for the quince bit by Vince, once a prince,
as he clipp'd mezzotints from Flint’s Septuagints.
Yet this dish evinced hints: a mint set of his prints.  
(Plus – don’t wince! – Vince has since fail'd to floss or to rinse.)

R’s for the rain Kane claims o’erflow'd the drain,
thus effacing the stain tainting Jane’s counterpane.
That Ranier wasn’t slain’s now insane to maintain.
Still, no-brainers (like, “Were Wayne’s chains fein'd, Zane...?) remain.

S...? For the scream oral testaments seem
to reveal was unreal: the accused “had a dream.”
Yet that scream was no dream, just one seam in Bea’s scheme,
lest Rhee’s semen be seen on Leigh’s lychee ice cream.

T’s for the twins, distant kin of the Quinns,
two whose winning grins misevince sinister sins.
Yes, they did Timmons in, in implanting pink pins,
dipp'd in thinn'd carotene, in their victims thin shins.

U’s for the urn Verne, Sir Ernest’s nurse, learn'd
could depart and return when Verne twirl'd Miss Hearn’s fern.
There the taciturn Dern hid the undiscern'd quern
he’d soon turn on the burn'd stern of Journeyman Byrne.

V’s for the vase where the Bishop of Thrace
placed his mace. Oh, Your Grace: what an ace hiding place!
After Matins, Bish flattens his archbishop’s face.
(Google “U is for urn” for a similar case.)

W’s wire required by Meyer.
Prior Dreyer hired Meyer (“The Highflyin’ Friar”)
to walk the tightwire, then to set it afire.
Meyer tried...but expired in the choir. How dire!

X...? For the ‘xi Tee decoded as ‘phi,’
casting guilt for Dee’s thievery spree on wee Lee.
‘Neath Bea’s third degree, Tee conceded the ‘xi.”
Now the digit of guilt seems to indicate…me.

Y’s for the yair where the charge d’affaire
shares, with devil-may-care heiress Sarah’s au pair  
an éclair – then, like Earhart, melts into thin air.
(As, I swear, has fair Sarah. Say…has she an heir...?

Z’s for the zoo where Druse Hugh’s clueless coups
slew two ewes, stew'd two shrews, abused caribous, too,
chew'd out kangaroos, cockatoos. Killer bees...? Few!
But those few Hugh’s confused crew let loose. In the loo!

Runcibl'd Spooner: Brigadoings

Re life eternal, we've been duped:
Shangri-La
Poor Pop Pahlavi; Reza's poop'd:
Lang'rous Shah.
     Moral:

Reza in exile: with suff'rings beset.

Perhaps if he'd ponder'd exploring Tibet...