First up, first thing this AM, I stepped out back to test the weather and was greeted by the wonderous sound of low flying geese. They very quickly came into site and I could instantly see why they were making such a racket. There was only two of ‘em so they were obviously having a lengthy and heated discussion as to how best to fly in that mandatory goose ‘V’ formation. Tricky for two hence the shouting.
Next-up, an old friend mailed me re the young lady and her poem wot she read {for read, read red} out at that inauguration thingy. For reasons not fully explained – possibly for the best – this reminded him of the Jabberwocky and in turn, this place here. Could it be me and the jab vs. the Jabber bitty? If so, how’s this for a time waster, below are the verses that could best be parodied to reflect some folks feelings regards the Jabb-a-Wokery wot seems, according to the MSM, to be so popular right now amongst the elderly and woke folk:
“Beware the Jabb-a-woke, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jabjab bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabb-a-woke, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
“And hast thou slain the Jabb-a-woke?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
He chortled in his joy.
Give it a go. Say wot now? Oh, come on, I’ve done the hard part; I’ve changed Jabberwocky and the Jubjub bird... Okay, how about line two:
The needle that bites, the chemis that latch?
Regards the original Jabberwocky, if you like a parody, click this blue bit and you’ll find links to some cleaver parodies.
Quote; Greg Nagan.
“It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. It was the future, and everything sucked.”
Adrianne Ambrose.
“Some people fight fire with fire. I've found water to be more effective.”
2 comments:
You got me feeling all poetic today Mac, so how about a poem of my own...
My hate for you I can't express
The whole of my life do you depress
For Matt Hancock, you make me sick
You're as welcome as an oil slick
Your head, it seems, is made of tin
And how I'd love to kick it in
And stomp your face into the ground
And watch your eyes roll round and round
And when they popped out of your head
We would know that you were dead
And we'd bury you in an unmarked plot
And leave you there, to eternally rot
With Love
The British Public.
There once was a Prime Minister called Boris
Who was irate at being called Doris
He said with a frown
"Im gonna lock you all down!"
"Don't blame me for covid, it was Soros!"
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