Sometimes I eat my snacks,

I always eat my treats.

Sometimes I eat my blazer,

and one time I went on eating spree and ate

all my underwear.

My mom was mad;

She said I should have washed them first.

I have been forbidden to possess a dresser.


Sometimes I do not eat my tasty edibles,

While often I bake cookies out of pure Crisco.

Sometimes I bathe in pure lard.

I purport to make a banana fruit cake,

but I eat all the ingredients

(mainly raw egg and uncooked beef).


Sometimes I stuff my pants with roses,

I always digest Digestibles.

Sometimes I get truly delicious cookies,

Other times I sneak into the bakery at Safeway

and lick

the cookie batter off the floor.


Who am I but a paucity of fervour,

like a giggly beast who tickles his tervour.

I am illimited to fruity yum-yums,

I consummate my dream of eating tums.

I am a consummate master of Smith-Kline Beecham.

I purport to leave a septic tank

in my kitchen.

But I am being deceptive when I affirm that I am

a cowboy.

I obfuscate the truth.  I have a donkey.

My donkey loves my bedroom.

I ejaculate ridiculous words.

Who am I to ejaculate, but a man?

The pit of my stomach turns to ice,

perhaps because I am breathing pure liquid nitrogen.


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A Fly in my French Toast

My French Toast has a fly on it.

An earthworm burrows through the stacks of Pancakes that I fried up in my bland cookware.

The Bacon on my table top.

My days pass by

like a slow boat

to my own home,

where I already sit.

My face is shiny

from the eight showers

I have taken this morning,

to pass time.

Alone in the barn,

I try to rid my food of the small vermin

which are destroying what was supposed to be one more

joyous morning of eating

and a morning, again, of waiting in the barn.

I still must wait.

While my mornings of waiting and too many showers

are the only true facsmile of a life,

I cannot bear much more time

of no true action in my life.

The bland sameness

of the house is interrupted

only by those insects

disrupting my food.

I shall let them stay.

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The net was so tight.

Taut like I have never seen before.

Hooking it up was like

my mix-master

when I dropped a spoon in the mix and deformed the mixers.

I must pump super-cooled

liquid nitrogen

through the poles.

I have refined it

to a science.


Basketball net.

Safety net.

Security net.

Fishing net.

I am a master of nets.

We are ready to play.

Play on!

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Tanking up

I tank up.

Gasoline fumes bubble over and tickle my nose.  I am tickle-me-elmo.

I am in heaven with Bino, my uncle.

I pull the cord…………yank! yank!…….grrrrrrr…………yank!

Nothing growls out.

yank! yank! extra hard!

The monster roars into cranking and

I am cranked up,

so I wheel my load onto the calm, long, dark, real nice spreadth of grass

in my yard.

As I run back and forth over it,

chewing on a moccasin I bought at a garage sale,

like an old donkey in the old mill that my old father used to work at in the old days,

The grass shoots off, I lose my socks in the snow blower.

The grass flies, tumbles away to the moon growing above.

I am calm.  The sun sets and the dew settles.

I blow the carbs out of my car.

I park it at a Jiffy Park and acquire a free shirt.


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Weather is seasonably warm

With not a cloud in the sky and temperatures reaching a high of 12 degrees-Celsius, residents expressed amazement today at how seasonably warm the weather was.

“Is it just me or is this weather exactly what you’d expect it to be for the middle of October?” asked one local, causing others to nod in agreement that the weather was indeed surprisingly normal for this time of year.

Even climate experts were baffled by the seasonable balminess.

“Our models predicted we’d be experiencing weather that was pretty much in line with what we saw today,” said Channel 5 News Meteorologist Dan Danly.  “But it’s extremely usual that we’d be getting this level of seasonable warmth.”

Residents are advised not to make the most of it because the end of the normal spell is far off.

Said Danly: “As we head into winter we can expect the temperatures to drop and the weather to become very cold.  In fact, we’re expecting this winter to be particularly seasonably chilly.”

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How many hoots do you think I should give about that?

Is That My Shirt is pleased to introduce a new guest contributor, Ruth Chapman.  If you have ever had trouble figuring out how many hoots you should give about something, worry no longer.  Ruth is here to help.

“My co-worker Linda was ten minutes late for a meeting I was holding.  Later she came up and apologized and launched into a string of excuses, including that she had a kid staying home sick from school and the car wouldn’t start.  I just wasn’t sure how many hoots to give.  Please help.” — Liz Delfino, New York, New York

Ruth’s take: 4 hoots.

“My friend likes to read those trashy tabloid magazines and occasionally I’ll pick one of them up and flip through it.  I guess they’re kind of entertaining to read if you’re bored, but generally speaking, I’m not really sure how many hoots I’m supposed to give about this kind of celebrity gossip stuff.  What do you think?” — Deborah Sandling, Fresno, California

Ruth’s take: 1 hoot

“Ruth, I am 78 years old.  How many hoots should I give about the popular music kids listen to these days?” — Jean Haley, Victoria, British Columbia

Ruth’s take: Don’t give any hoots.

“Ruth, I need your help.  I am trying to encourage my sister to recycle, but she says she couldn’t give two hoots about the environment.  How can I get her to give more hoots?” –– David Daniels, Crumpton, Maryland

Ruth’s take: David, I really couldn’t give two hoots.

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His Love is Manifest, a poem for Charles de Gaulle

The world of dreams
Allows mortals to be queens,

But the dreams of one

Were a lot more fun;
And powerful

The man, a dreamer
The hero, a keener.
He was no ordinary man.

He was a dream come true
He was our dreams realized
We dreamed of love and we got…

His love is manifest.

A general was He
Of the finest degree
The world was at war
And so he slammed the door;
On Hitler

The man, a dove
The hero, pure love
He was no ordinary man

He was a masterful man
Who hated Japan
We prayed for him and we got…

His love is manifest.

When evil hit France
He said “there’s not time to dance.”
The men he was arming
Boy was he charming;
And sexy

The man, a hero
The hero, a man
He was no ordinary man.

Our land is now free
But under grass is he
The time has come
For the people to be one
With Charles

The man, so great
The hero, a saint.

He’s in all our hearts
And all the parts of France
We called for an answer
To put down the chancellor

We called for him. May he rest in peace.
CHARLES DE GAULLE His love is manifest!!!!!!!!!!!!

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