I know what you mean, Rats. Having the last syllable of the 1st, 2nd and 5th lines fall on an unstressed beat seems a little less natural for a limerick. Removing one syllable from each (and allowing a little distortion of "nephew") yields:
'Appy Birthday ol' Dan me nephew.
Oi hope all yer wishes come true.
When ye come back to Oz
get a parrot because
Ye'll look daft if ye've got a cuckoo.
I think this revised version works better, however:
I'm afraid what's been said has been said.
I mailed before I went to bed.
My last minute rhyme
didn't leave me much time.
Maybe next time I'll start weeks ahead.
(Yeah, likely.)
I like these...they are great for a kid, and made even a soggy old hoser like me smile. I have a wee suggestion--the last line of the first one doesn't QUITE scan with "carry" in there--that word doesn't fit and messes up the rhythm. Maybe try this:
When ye come back to Oz
Get a parrot because
Ye'll look daft if ye've got a cuckoo.
My faculties aren't online tonight, so I've probably missed something blatantly obvious, but I'm going to say you hooked her on something. Some band, probably. New Kids on the Block. Am I right or WHAT?
(Flouncing off, now, secure in my blaring wrongness.)
I like games :D I'm going to go with the writing bug. That, or a retro-virus engineered to reactivate a person's dormant "give Virge money" gene sequences.
I hear your pleas for clemency, but there is a need for justice. My fingers cry out for satisfaction as they remember the slicing of its garotte-strings. My ears demand retribution for its thudding, tuneless, buzzing, over-damped decay.
Virgilanti has a devil put aside for that guitar.
No! No! Don't wreck it! Don't wreck it...it may be old, but one could still wring the odd tune out of it. If I lived anywhere near you, I'd come and rescue it myself! Being without any of the instruments I actually know how to play, I'd settle for a knockety old guitar!
Yeah - the connection between "gypsum impregnated board" and "common plasterboard" is not obvious unless you've been involved with house building or renovations. :)
No longer a lurker at your site Virgilanti, I materialize to be able to applaud your poetry, versatility, fantastic photography & delightful sense of humour.
Hey, want to trade lives? I'd kill for a bit of boringness right about now. Not to mention a dentist--you're not kidding about the expense! Hope you didn't have to get anything too drastic done, there.
*chuckles*
Sounds like a very Douglas Adamsian personal goal: to offer cyber to each and every net-connected being in alphabetical order. I must remember that goal for when I become an immortal. ;)
PuerilePropositioner, of course, in the manner of puerile propositioners everywhere, was not to be thwarted so easily. Virge was the last of the Vs, but there were still the teeming shoals of the W-Z crowd to be plundered. The Ws in particular were looking promising, with lots of Willies and Wankers and Willy Wankas, and even the odd Willy Woofter.
Alas--even the wankers've got their standards:
Puerile Propositioner: hello wanker, by nammmme an by natcher?
Wanker: Quite. Ah. Do I know you?
PP: a/sl/???
Wanker: Yes, I am.
PP: hu?
Wanker: Asleep. Is that not what you're asking? It's a bloody good thing, too. I'd dread to even consider the possibility of this _not_ being a nightmare.
PP: i get nitemares too, thats y im awake late. i always get horny when i'm up late how abt u? :) :) :)
Wanker: Horny as a minotaur. Oh, dear. I think that's my phone. Terribly sorry. Nighty-night.
PP: i can put my head in ur lap wile ur on the phone, naughty hu?
Wanker: It's my mother, in fact.
PP: evn better! im so horny...cum on...lets cyber!
Wanker: (clicking the ignore button) I'd rather cyber with my mother, you capitalization-challenged crank!
Alas, poor PuerilePropositioner. Perhaps she'll have more luck amongst the legions of the XXXCyberNowXXX ilk. Or, more likely, she'll run out of profiles and come round full-circle, staging a second attack on poor Virge. Better hide your cyberbananas--the cybermonkey's gotta eat 'em ALL!
Dude, man, when I used to shave my head, I did EXACTLY the same thing. Not just once, either. I've probably got a whole network of wee snarly razor scars crosshatching across the back of my dome. One should really get a barber--it's impossible to do all those hard-to-reach places without the occasional war-wound.
Was it the clap? A love for cooking? A wanton need to destroy animals?
Nope, definitely the clap.
As with every great caricature, your summation was dead-on, if not entirely flattering! I love it!
I like it! Now, let's get some gruesome vivisection poetry going! Show me the grey matter!
I know what you mean, Rats. Having the last syllable of the 1st, 2nd and 5th lines fall on an unstressed beat seems a little less natural for a limerick. Removing one syllable from each (and allowing a little distortion of "nephew") yields:
'Appy Birthday ol' Dan me nephew.
Oi hope all yer wishes come true.
When ye come back to Oz
get a parrot because
Ye'll look daft if ye've got a cuckoo.
I think this revised version works better, however:
I'm afraid what's been said has been said.
I mailed before I went to bed.
My last minute rhyme
didn't leave me much time.
Maybe next time I'll start weeks ahead.
(Yeah, likely.)
Actually, on second thoughts, if I read it with the stress placed slightly differently, "carry" DOES work.
Ha.
I like these...they are great for a kid, and made even a soggy old hoser like me smile. I have a wee suggestion--the last line of the first one doesn't QUITE scan with "carry" in there--that word doesn't fit and messes up the rhythm. Maybe try this:
When ye come back to Oz
Get a parrot because
Ye'll look daft if ye've got a cuckoo.
Getting a little closer now, but it wasn't a band. And New Kids on the Block can never be "right" unless the block belongs to a butcher.
My faculties aren't online tonight, so I've probably missed something blatantly obvious, but I'm going to say you hooked her on something. Some band, probably. New Kids on the Block. Am I right or WHAT?
(Flouncing off, now, secure in my blaring wrongness.)
A good guess, but incorrect.
*heads back to the bio-containment basement with a new target*
I like games :D I'm going to go with the writing bug. That, or a retro-virus engineered to reactivate a person's dormant "give Virge money" gene sequences.
I hear your pleas for clemency, but there is a need for justice. My fingers cry out for satisfaction as they remember the slicing of its garotte-strings. My ears demand retribution for its thudding, tuneless, buzzing, over-damped decay.
Virgilanti has a devil put aside for that guitar.
Me too, dammit, me too.
No! No! Don't wreck it! Don't wreck it...it may be old, but one could still wring the odd tune out of it. If I lived anywhere near you, I'd come and rescue it myself! Being without any of the instruments I actually know how to play, I'd settle for a knockety old guitar!
Very creative and a plus in your photography...great!
I've just got to say--that is one LONG-NOSED DEER!
Heeee! *is stuck in a gigglefit*
Oh! Oh! Man, I just about died. Pure genius.
Yeah - the connection between "gypsum impregnated board" and "common plasterboard" is not obvious unless you've been involved with house building or renovations. :)
Would you believe I only "got" that while reading "secret" 3? *embarassed*
No longer a lurker at your site Virgilanti, I materialize to be able to applaud your poetry, versatility, fantastic photography & delightful sense of humour.
1 small filling + general clean and polish = A$190
Hey, want to trade lives? I'd kill for a bit of boringness right about now. Not to mention a dentist--you're not kidding about the expense! Hope you didn't have to get anything too drastic done, there.
*chuckles*
Sounds like a very Douglas Adamsian personal goal: to offer cyber to each and every net-connected being in alphabetical order. I must remember that goal for when I become an immortal. ;)
PuerilePropositioner, of course, in the manner of puerile propositioners everywhere, was not to be thwarted so easily. Virge was the last of the Vs, but there were still the teeming shoals of the W-Z crowd to be plundered. The Ws in particular were looking promising, with lots of Willies and Wankers and Willy Wankas, and even the odd Willy Woofter.
Alas--even the wankers've got their standards:
Puerile Propositioner: hello wanker, by nammmme an by natcher?
Wanker: Quite. Ah. Do I know you?
PP: a/sl/???
Wanker: Yes, I am.
PP: hu?
Wanker: Asleep. Is that not what you're asking? It's a bloody good thing, too. I'd dread to even consider the possibility of this _not_ being a nightmare.
PP: i get nitemares too, thats y im awake late. i always get horny when i'm up late how abt u? :) :) :)
Wanker: Horny as a minotaur. Oh, dear. I think that's my phone. Terribly sorry. Nighty-night.
PP: i can put my head in ur lap wile ur on the phone, naughty hu?
Wanker: It's my mother, in fact.
PP: evn better! im so horny...cum on...lets cyber!
Wanker: (clicking the ignore button) I'd rather cyber with my mother, you capitalization-challenged crank!
Alas, poor PuerilePropositioner. Perhaps she'll have more luck amongst the legions of the XXXCyberNowXXX ilk. Or, more likely, she'll run out of profiles and come round full-circle, staging a second attack on poor Virge. Better hide your cyberbananas--the cybermonkey's gotta eat 'em ALL!
Dude, man, when I used to shave my head, I did EXACTLY the same thing. Not just once, either. I've probably got a whole network of wee snarly razor scars crosshatching across the back of my dome. One should really get a barber--it's impossible to do all those hard-to-reach places without the occasional war-wound.