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What rhymes with ''Orange''? Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 2014 Archive

Following are collected verses of doggerel that were written during the year 2014. Some verses may be accompanied by notes that were originally included when e-mailed to a few family members and friends, usually within a few minutes of the verses having been completed.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 01/01/14

Should old acquaintance be forgot?
She said, "I guess that all depends.
I don't want a relationship in real life,
But we can still be Facebook friends."

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 01/03/14

"Time travelers are using neither Facebook nor Twitter!"
So say research scientists who have found no connection.
Me? I say we are all time travelers! (Please, don't titter.)
But, we travel through time in only the forward direction.

Source of today's muse:

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 01/04/14

He said, "There are two sides to every story."
While that seems a fair way in which to react,
There may be three or more sides to consider
Or a single side of indisputable empirical fact.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 01/05/14

"Baby, It's Cold Outside" is a song in which, I think,
The woman's part is a drugged plea for escape.
At one point she even asks, "What's in this drink?"
Sadly, I suspect roofies and impending date rape.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 01/06/14

So now it seems the NSA would like your sewage.
Well, actually, those government spooks and nerds
Want wastewater to cool the Big Brother computers,
And not necessarily access to your urine and turds.

Source for today's doggerel muse:

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 01/08/14

You may cling to golden-oldie, pollyanna aphorisms.
Award each of their authors an everlovin' loving cup.
Me? I gotta go with one of Woody Allen's witticisms:
"No matter how cynical you are, you can't keep up."

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 01/11/14

It is not at all uncommon for the aging doggerel writer to, momentarily,
Lose his train of thought or access to the right words as he grows older.
So, sometimes a draft verse may duh-dada duh dah, duh-dada dee dee,
Duh-dada, duh-dada, duh-dada with temporary syllabic placeholders.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 01/12/14

What if the human male were more like the Old World monkey mandrill,
With an unambiguous visual analog of his junk displayed upon his face?
Would he have to wear a facial jock strap in public? Would that fill the bill
To avoid indecency charges, arrest, prosecution, jail, and social disgrace?

And if so, would it be an acceptable fashion fad or would it be too shocking
For a man to stuff his facial jock strap with a misleading, bulging stocking?
And if so, for students of semantics it should not be too difficult to suppose
Said scenario as an alternative derivation for the phrase "sock on the nose."

What about human females, with no flaccid Florida south of their Carolinas?
In contrast to guys' dork-like schnozzles, would their noses look like vaginas?
Okay, perhaps my thought experiment may be too bizarre, verging on insanity.
So now I ask, "What if mandrill noses looked like naughty parts of humanity?"

* * * *

Addendum Doggerel:

I wrote a 12-line rhyme about the mandrill face.
But I bet what would really amaze the masses
Is if I write a rhyming companion bookend piece
About their flashy, multicolored, monkey asses.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 01/14/14

Whoa! There's a mother-freakin' mechanical bull in this bar!
I'm so sorry, dear friends, but I must leave now, lickety-split.
After years of psychotherapy, I know what my stressors are.
And foremost on my list is: Stepping in mechanical bullshit.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 01/17/14

Yeah, dude, some drugs can cure the ills that ail ya.
But drugs like "Meow Meow" can really ruin your life,
And cause you to insanely whack-off your genitalia
— Not in a fun way, but with an emasculating knife!

Source for today's doggerel muse:

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 01/19/14

Love, let's ship all of our heartache and pain
Southwest by semi-truck or by freight train
To some god-forsaken, tiny, desert-town hell,
Where only rattlers and old masochists dwell.

Burn our bills of lading. After a 30-day wait,
It'll all go up for auction as unclaimed freight.
Then, the locals can take perverse pleasure
In bargain-buying all the new-found treasure.

It will surely be a win-win situation, m'Dear,
With no more tears, fears, and suffering here;
And the secondhand heartache, for pity sakes,
Will bring joy to masochists amid rattlesnakes.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 01/22/14

I'm listenin' to Ms. Loretta Lynn, "The Definitive Collection."
It's twenty-five tracks, mostly all cheatin' songs. And, Jeez,
There's not one line of lyric about anyone using protection.
There's not one word about sexually-transmitted disease.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 01/25/14

I was coerced into marrying my bitten-and-infected backwoods bride.
On our wedding night she died, but soon resurrected — all zombified!
So, I had to shoot her with the weapon we were wedded by, of course.
That is how our six-hour shotgun marriage ended in a shotgun divorce.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 01/26/14

Jasper's only motive for becoming a sperm donor had nothing to do
With helping childless wannabe-parents produce the next generation.
Nope, Jasper just liked getting paid his relatively decent wage to do
What would otherwise be free, frequent, unprofessional masturbation.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 01/27/14 - #1

When I'm prime for breakfast time,
The dire situation I dread the most
Is when we're all out of marmalade,
So you've put toe jam on my toast.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 01/27/14 - #2

When you and I are in the graveyard after midnight tonight,
Digging up thirteen human skulls in the cold, pale moonlight,
I will not want to mince any words, and yet words I will mince
If you say "skullduggery." I'll wince 'cause it sounds past tense.

But don't say "skulldiggery" in an attempt at the present tense.
"Skulldiggery" isn't a legitimate word, so it doesn't make sense.
To make matters less tense, I've a suggestion, please try it:
Be vigilant, dig up skulls, shut your mouth, and just be quiet!

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 01/29/14

They seemed to sing of an explosive device instead of soothing, healing salve.
The choir sang the old African-American spiritual, "There Is A Balm In Gilead."
Gileadeans must be itchy folk if their sole claim to fame is ointment they have.
But I know nothing at all about Gilead, so bombing the place might not be bad.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 01/30/14

She claimed to be an authentic Mexican hat-dancer.
To me, she appeared to be as Nordic as Nordics go.
She asked me for my hat. But before I could answer,
She had taken and stomped on my favorite chapeau.

Later, when I told a friend what happened, he said,
"Be thankful she first took your hat off of your head."

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 01/31/14
(aka Chinese New Year's Day, 4712 - Year of the Horse)

For good luck when I was a child in China, we all got haircuts and new clothes for each New Year's Day.
The change in 'do and duds was meant to make us unrecognizable and, thus, help keep evil spirits away.
Since we were all freshly-shorn and newly-clothed, one would have expected the playing field to be level.
But, apparently, I'd been made to look like kids that at least a dozen different demons pledged to bedevil.

I asked my wise elders, "Why?" I recall their stoic mumbles: "That's the way the fortune cookie crumbles."

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/01/14

I dreamed Les Paul and Leo Fender both went out for a bender one night,
Separately, but at the same time to the same bar, which is where they met.
And though it was "Open Mic Night," what happened next wasn't quite right
When they decided to take the stage together and play an all-acoustic set.

(For those in the dark, missing the irony in my remark about these two stars:
Both will be associated forever with signature, solid-body, electric guitars.)

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/02/14

Over one hundred years ago, drunken Yalies first sang "The Whiffenpoof Song."
It's an a cappella drinking ditty that's soft, sentimental and, yes, a little bit goofy.
It embraces an inebriated camaraderie, derived from a bottle instead of a bong.
It's about little lambs lost due to boozing, way back when Whiffens were poofy.

The Chorus*, Singing:

We are poor little lambs who have lost our way.
Baa! Baa! Baa!
We're little black sheep who have gone astray.
Baa! Baa! Baa!

Gentlemen songsters off on a spree,
Damned from here to eternity.
God have mercy on such as we.
Baa! Baa! Baa!

*NOTE: While the lyrics of "The Whiffenpoof Song" are attributed to Meade Minnigerode (Yale, 1910) and George S. Pomeroy (Yale, 1910), the chorus was actually lifted from the poem "Gentlemen-Rankers" by Rudyard Kipling, initially published in 1892.

To listen to Rudy Vallee's 1927 hit recording of "The Whiffenpoof Song," check out:

Brother Dave's Addendum Doggerel, 02/02/14

If, instead of abusing alcohol, those singing Yalies had used cocaine,
"The Whiffenpoof Song" could have been about actual whiffin', literally.
And, so, rather than lifting lyrics from a Kipling poem for their refrain,
They could have done lines from a folk song, "Take A Whiff On Me."

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/03/14 - #1

It's a cold, hard fact that the world's eighty-five richest individuals own
Obscene amounts of wealth. They can afford to buy into social Darwinism.
Their total riches equal that of the poor half of all the human population
— A potential three-point-five billion voter block favoring global socialism.

Yeah, I know this story came out a week-and-a-half ago but, hey, I awoke with this doggerel in my head today. Please, pardon my delay. For more information about the inequitable distribution of global wealth, check the contents of your own wallet or see:

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/03/14 - #2

NASA's "Cold Atom Lab" in space will attempt to reach
Temperatures almost Absolute Zero. I say that's a start.
One hundred pico-Kelvin is cold as hell, but I bet each
Attempt will fail to come close as your cold, cold heart.

Source of doggerel muse: :

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/04/14

As with any other living thing, you may find romantic love'll
Die and rot and stink a lot. So, it is smart to keep a shovel.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/06/14

Me? I generally like my mornings relatively free
Of foreign intrigues and terrorists' evil ventures.
Unaware, I brushed my teeth with a minty-fresh
Toothpaste bomb! Now I need some dentures.

Source for today's muse:

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/07/14 - #1

The phrase "taking a leak" is one euphemism
That, if taken literally, runs counter to intuition.
It would be better suited to the job description
Of the average drug-screening lab technician.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/07/14 - #2

Like me, you know the meaning of the phrase "tit for tat,"
Although we might not know that expression's backstory.
But, as self-evident as nipple rings, any tattoo parlor that
Advertises "Tats for Tits," well, that's all self-explanatory.

I didn't know the derivation of "tit for tat" when writing the above doggerel. Afterward, however, I read about the origin of the phrase here:

I especially like the almost-foreign-looking Middle English spellings cited in the phrase's origin details. Hotcha!

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/08/14 - #1

FGM, short for Female Genital Mutilation,
Is beyond cruel and worse than perverse.
A baby is born with her God-given clitoris
Pious men cite God-given right to reverse.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/08/14 - #2

All you wordsmiths, linguists, grammarians, and lexicographers, too:
It would seem use of the word "inhuman" could use some reviewing.
While "inhuman" implies taboo and crimes that humans can never do,
It's used to describe revealed vile deeds some human has been doing.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/08/14 - #3

Forty days into the new year and with six more weeks until spring,
Each daily single-word diary entry says the same goddamn thing:
"Snow. Snow." [page turn] "Snow. Snow." And on and on it goes.

The Winter weather has been especially cold and bleak and blowy.
But his diary entries are not commentary on it being extra snowy.
No, "snow" is slang for the powdered drugs he snorts up his nose.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/09/14

[Verse 1]
I was PASSENGER 20, with just one spoken line
In an Oscar-nominated film that dropped last May.
Until the countdown timer reached zero, I was fine.
Then, BOOM! I was obliterated in a movie cliché.

[Verse 2]
In a made-for-TV movie that airs on Sweeps Week,
I’ll be TERRORIST 10 who, to Al-Qaeda's dismay,
Sees the trap at the last second. Before I can speak,
A Hellfire missile wipes me out in a movie cliché.

[Verse 3]
I was cast as CLUELESS TOURIST in a sci-fi flick.
Hawaiian shirt, straw hat, with one scene to play:
I spoke my soon-to-be-ironic line as a Southern hick.
SNAP! A mutant monster ate me in a movie cliché.

[Bridge 1]
I tell my agent that I aspire to play something more.
He says, "Kid, for onscreen dying, you're the wiz!"
I'll never be heroic lead, love interest, sidekick, or
Anything else. But, how could I ever quit showbiz?

[Verse 4]
See me in an action flick, in upcoming summer days.
I'll be BAD GUY 17, with one word of dialogue to say.
Then, the hero turns to me, repeats his catch-phrase,
And fires a hail of bullets. So, I die in a movie cliché.

[Bridge 2]
Of course, the audience will laugh at the hero's pun.
It's all black 'n' white, with no confusing shades of gray.
They'll cheer when my small part in the evil plan is done.
Down again I go, tailspin in slowmo, dying in a movie cliché.

[Verse 5]
So, see me in the new blockbuster action film, okay?
I'm a day player earning "under-five" AFTRA scale pay.
Before the good guy gets the girl and they both ride away:
Gun battle, empty saddle, my death rattle in a movie cliché.

Villain or victim, I live by this dictum: Die in a movie cliché.
Victim or villain, it's me they'll be killin': Death by movie cliché.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/10/14 - #1

I time-traveled again, during the wee hours while in my Dreamland.
The fabric of space-time was strangely sticky, giving me the creeps.
For example, instead of any fluid movement when I waved my hand,
I only saw a series of staccato jump-cut, large-scale quantum leaps.

Before frictional temporal forces fractured fault lines and broke me up,
My conscious mind roused to respond, intervened, and woke me up.

Whew, another near-tragedy was narrowly averted! Whew, again!

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/10/14 - #2

A healthy giraffe named Marius was deemed "surplus" by the Copenhagen Zoo.
Other zoos and individuals offered to take Marius. But, no, none of that would do.
Babbling about genetic diversity, officials dismissed all other options in defiance.
So, they let school kids watch as they shot Marius dead and fed him to the lions.

For the sad, creepy, infuriating muse to today's second bit of doggerel, see:

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/12/14

On an early recording, Ray Charles tried to sound like Nat "King" Cole.
Without any doubt, Brother Nat was someone great to emulate, okay?
Still, if Charles had not found his own voice and his own musical soul,
The world would be a poorer place with two Nats but no Brother Ray.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/14/14 - #1

Haylee has taken to wearing only her very best threads
Ever since she received several credible death threats.
Yes, Haylee hired a full team of body guards. But still,
If and when she's chalk-outlined in untimely final repose,
She will not be caught dead wearing old casual clothes.
No. So till she feels safe again, she'll be dressed to kill.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/14/14 - #2

If you call me "Junky," I won’t think you’re rude.
There’s no needling need for us to be discrete.
Although I don’t do drugs, I often do junk food.
And, hey, as they say, "You are what you eat."

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/16/14

Way back when I slept like a baby because I was a baby
Beneath a baby blanket in my baby crib in post-war USA,
Young Charles Manson was being beaten and sodomized
By bigger guys in reform school, twenty-five miles away.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/17/14

Her name is April and she'll be living in Paris. Hot dog and oh boy!
Due to the song "April In Paris," that should be easy to remember.
Never mind that the Paris she'll call home is in East-Central Illinois.
Never mind that April can't be in Paris till sometime next November.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/20/14 - #1

Last night as I strummed on my nylon-strung six-string,
My mind drifted along with a soft, mellow song But,
Suddenly my thought was caught on a fantastic thing:
I was pleased my strings are plastic instead of catgut!*

*The traditional term "catgut" is appropriate here, although it is a misnomer. Historically, before the use of metals and/or polymers in their construction, musical instrument strings have been made from intestines of sheep, cattle, or other animals, but seldom, if ever, have they been fabricated from the guts of cats. So, now you know.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/20/14 - #2

Some women of the Pussy Riot punk band were horse-whipped in public by Cossacks.
That's what the NPR radio newsreader read this morning. And I wish he had quipped:
"Just to be sure you heard me correctly, just to be certain I clearly stated the facts,
I'll restate and reiterate: Pussy Riot punks were horse-whipped, not pussy-whipped."

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/21/14

Facebook now lists fifty-eight different options for gender self-identification.
That sounds like a helluva lot of options but, hey, I say that's okay and fine.
Still, I can't help thinking that if Facebook folks did an in-depth investigation
Into that last blind date you went on, well, total options would be fifty-nine.

Source for today's doggerel muse:

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/22/14 - #1

The old woman is generous to a fault,
With that fault being she is a pigeon,
Whose life savings stream without halt
To TV hucksters who deal in religion.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/22/14 - #2

No one had forecast that Stacy the weather girl would go crazy on Channel Seventeen.
But beneath her trench coat on that day, she wore a unitard colored chroma key green.
Then, when she was live on News At Five, she shed her wrap so all viewers could see
Only her disembodied head and hands, with a storm front where her boobs should be.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/24/14

Even though I do not know what they are,
I'm aware that their desired default norm
Is to have one's "hackles" be calmly down
And one's heart "cockles" be cozily warm.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/25/14

"The Seven Wonders of the Ancient World" should
be filed in my memory bank.
Maybe in middle school I could name the lot. If so,
that knowledge did not endure.
There was the Great Pyramid, Hanging Gardens,
Colossus,… Then I draw a blank.
So, the "Wonders" were aptly named, because I
wonder what the hell they were.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/27/14

Yeah, you can call me "xenophobic," but you shouldn't be too hasty.
What if space aliens like us humans only because we are so tasty?

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/28/14

This line, then thirteen more to complete this sonnet.
D'dada dada, d'dada deedee, uh er Aw, piss on it.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/01/14

Many dyslexic reads at Eight-Oh-Eight
And the name "BOB" is what I've seen.
But today my clock displayed the name
Of the vintage Roland drum machine.

Then, in an hour and a minute later
When I glanced over to read the time,
Instead of "gog" I saw the nomenclature
Of Roland's subsequent Nine-Oh-Nine.

Alpha-numeric digital display dyslexia
Can be annoying, even a total bummer.
Today, however, my misreadings mean
I sometimes march to a different drummer.

For more information on Roland's classic "808" and "909" electronic drum machines, see: and

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/02/14

I time-traveled to old Jerusalem just to talk with Jesus.
I was a fool to think he could say anything useful to me.
See, he spoke Aramaic but I thought he'd speak English
As fluently as most foreigners and space aliens on TV.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/03/14

Do you wonder why the tallest people in the world, on average, are the Dutch?
I imagine a subconscious Darwinian experiment, with natural selection and such.
In a homeland mostly at or below sea-level, to each newborn son or daughter,
Parents pass along genes to provide the means to keep one's head above water.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/06/14

She made a mental list of her friends,
Then scanned down through that roster.
And it occurred to her that, in the end,
She even loved the obvious impostor.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/07/14

You are the product of love or lust or, what the hell,
Maybe you're formed from a combination of the two.
That month's waiting ovum, one winning sperm cell,
Nine months of incubation, and then there was you.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/08/14

Today, March Eighth, should've been my Mom's eightieth birthday. Although,
Whether there are parallel universes or not, in this one she's no longer alive.*
She passed from here four years, four months, one week, and five days ago.
I'd expected another fifteen years or so from her, but she died at seventy-five.

*For more hopeful doggerel verse, in which I pose an incredible theory whereby Mom may still be extant, see: Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 07/20/12

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/09/14

Jesse time-traveled a century-and-a-half into the future,
To a time when everyone he had ever known was dead.
But that future was filled with the same sort of assholes,
So he switched to solo intergalactic space-travel instead.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/10/14

O, the great late Middle English adjective "ineffable"
Refers to some thing or thought that is indescribable
By virtue of being too boundless, powerful, beautiful,
Holy, overwhelming, et cetera and so forth for words.

But when I hear "ineffable," it is virtually inescapable
That I imagine some poor soul who’s wholly incapable
Of engaging in shared physical activity that is sexual
Or in any way comparable to ways of bees and birds.

So, to summarize in case my point wasn't clearly made,
"Ineffable" suggests to me someone who can’t get laid.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/11/14 - #1

Honestly, I have done so many dyslexic readings of my digital clock,
Imposing alpha values on the numeric symbols. Someday, I should just list 'em.
Last night, I awoke for a moment at one-oh-five and I was shocked
To think my clock was promoting the Apple-developed mobile operating system.*

*Yeppers, I read 1:05 as iOS, which originally meant "iPhone Operating System."

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/11/14 - #2

Carl realized a roll of toilet paper lasted a lot longer now,
Six months after being abandoned by his twenty-year wife.
He belly-laughed a good while when he thought about how,
At least and at last, there is a whole lot less shit in his life.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/12/14

Until the railroad line was up and runnin' for good
And the first train sent my career into the crapper,
I drove stagecoach between here and Deadwood
— A six-horse team and me, their whippersnapper.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/15/14 - #1

No, I am not educated, trained, certified,
Or otherwise qualified to be a biologist.
But I've seen enough X-Files, Doctor Who,
Et cetera, et al, to be a cryptozoologist.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/15/14 - #2

Friends, beware the Ides of March!
Beware all spiders with parachutes!
Beware any door-to-door evangelist!
Beware the march of hobnail boots!

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/16/14

The word "serendipity" means a "pleasant surprise."
Most people enjoy that stuff, and yet a few will fuss.
There are always gals 'n' guys who despise surprise
Or, at least, like their serendipity less serendipitous.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/17/14

I have thought it over. Now it occurs to me:
Correct punctuation can be a vital necessity.
Otherwise, I'll be ill without an apostrophe.
Or, I'll be mistaken for Roman numeral three.
Or, perhaps folks will think, "Oy! This ol' boy
Missed his period when abbreviating Illinois."

When it comes to apostrophe, I'll be obsessive
In indicating contractions and cases possessive.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/18/14 - #1

No, I'm not famous, rich, or even handsome.
So, no doubt, no one would pay my ransom.
My future, therefore, would be in the crapper.
And while that, dear friend, would be a bitch,
Because I'm not handsome, famous, or rich,
I'm not apt to attract attention of a kidnapper.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/18/14 - #2

The rattlesnake gave its tail a shake, announcing its existence.
It sounded like a jonesing meth-head playing a Mexican maraca.
I could tell that, sure as hell, it was well within striking distance.
So, I did my frantic panic dance and I filled my pants with caca.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/20/14 - #1

The Gordian Knot was fashioned so that few, if any, could hope to untie it.
Just a quick glance revealed no chance of disentanglement, so why try it?
Alexander The Great would not wait to solve the puzzle of undoing the lot.
So, he hacked at it with his sword, dividing the halves from the have knot.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/20/14 - #2

Once, I was employed to rate bees and to grade their honey.
I measured quantity and quality. And USDA gave me money.
Data I collected would be collated, sifted, and published later.
I didn't directly berate bees, but I was a professional bee-rater.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/21/14

When I was a kid, "Shit fire and save matches!" was an expletive I had heard.
And it caused me to wonder if anyone had ever excreted, say, a flaming turd.
But matches were cheap, or promotional items given freely. So I would've bet,
Even if someone could shit fire, he'd rather waste a match to light his cigarette.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/22/14

I hitched a ride with a spacey, spacefaring, space alien.
She said, "Let me take you to a place that never was."
She put stellar drive in park, made the bridge semi-dark,
Rolled and sparked a bomber, then we copped a buzz.

Hey, kids, no matter how cool they may seem to be, don't bow to peer pressure exerted by extraterrestrial aliens (even if, by definition, "alien" is the antithesis of "peer")!

Don't do drugs!

If you think today's doggerel does not sufficiently warn against the dangers of drug abuse, consider this: After the two characters "got high" and immediately after our "stoned" narrator wrote down this rhyme, the space alien ate him. And not in a sexy oral-sex way. Nope, she devoured him whole, quickly digested all his soft tissue, then regurgitated his complete skeleton back out onto the deck of her spaceship's bridge, where a service 'droid collected it and transported it unceremoniously off to the (endo- and exo-) skeleton trophy room.

So, although it might not have been clearly apparent initially, the moral of this story is: Drugs can kill! And exotic interstellar space drugs, doubly so!

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/23/14

My ol' horse and I were waiting for the mail train, running late and later.
Track was blocked, my guns were cocked, I was ready for some crime.
I swore I'd swap the country's elected president for a supreme dictator,
If one of his dictates could guarantee that all trains would run on time.

Finally, the train came into view, approached, then screeched to a halt.
The engineer apologized for tardiness, but said it really wasn't his fault.
He said, "Son, there's not one red cent left onboard for your gunny sack.
You see, we were delayed and already robbed, just ten mile up the track."

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/24/14

If a race of space aliens actually communicated via crop circles,
Imagine the scale of ag production one alien novel would need:
A continental plain all sown in grain, plenty of sunshine and rain,
Then the full text imprinted before harvest or it all goes to seed.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/27/14

Gramps started on some new meds.
They put his mind in a dreamy daze.
He's rocking out in his rocking chair.
And he's loudly singin' "Purple Haze."

His doctor says we should not worry.
It's just a temporary adjustment phase.
Working the wammy bar on air guitar,
Gramps keeps wailin' on "Purple Haze."

Since ol' Gramps is neither gay nor bi,
Maybe his hearing's been bad always
'Cause "'Scuse me while I kiss this guy!"
Is how he sings that line in "Purple Haze."

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/29/14

I know how to hide my mind behind vivid imagined porn
Whenever the Thought Police pull me aside to test me.
So far, I've amassed a stack of citations meant to warn,
While scans fail to find hidden valid reason to arrest me.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/30/14

I have a new theory about those who expose themselves.
My theory's sound, even profound, so now I shall share it:
Perhaps it is due to homophonic confusion with an idiom,
That exerts on perverts a compulsion to "Grin and bare it."

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 04/01/14

There may be those hereabouts who have their doubts,
But I've pondered it and exercised my mental muscles
To postulate that, if we wait to harvest Brussels sprouts,
We might be able to grow us some full-blown Brussels.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 04/04/14

I've no doubt that you know about the aphorism incitin'
Us to make lemonade whenever Life hands us lemons.
I say, if Life hands us writin' by Edward Bulwer-Lytton,*
Trade it for books by Samuel L. "Mark Twain" Clemens.

*Bulwer-Lytton wrote the florid 1830's novel "Paul Clifford," the opening sentence of which begins with the oft-derided phrase, "It was a dark and stormy night" For more info, see:

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 04/05/14

There are spiders as big as Brahma bulls on planet Beta Trydem.
Hairless apes, who sort o' look like us, domesticate and ride 'em.
"Spiderboys" rove the range, tending herds of cow-like creatures —
"Cow-like" except, other than herding, they lack bovine features.
If ever a stray requires ropin'-'n'-tyin', a spiderboy makes a lasso
From strong and sticky silken rope pulled from his spider's assho'.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 04/06/14

"You two can take my bed," I said, "I'll crash on the couch,"
When Buffy and Willow dropped by for an unexpected visit.
"Xena and Gabrielle are already asleep in the guest room.
What brings you heroines to town? Some derring-do, is it?"

Next day, Batgirl and Catwoman drove up in the Batmobile.
Kara "Supergirl" Zor-El flew down out of the sky. And then,
Ellen Ripley, Sarah Connor, River Tam, and Princess Leia
All showed up, so I set up cots in the living room and den.

There are sleeping bags on floorspace by every bed and cot,
And there are sleeping bags along the wall all down the hall,
For Dana Scully, Samantha Carter, Aeryn Sun, Lara Croft,
Natalia "Black Widow" Romanova, Daenerys Targaryen, et al.

Now, Wonder Woman sleeps in her plane in the backyard.
And because her plane is invisible, it doesn't hide the stars
From those resident in a magic tent with Hermione Granger:
Katniss Everdeen, Sheena Jungle Queen, 'n' Veronica Mars.

There are heroines everywhere in my house.
They won't tell me what they are doing here.
I try to be a generous host, so I do not grouse.
There must be terrible trouble brewing near.
There are heroines everywhere in my home.
My place is Command Central now, I suppose.
This is all too busy for a guy used to living alone.
I wonder if I could die from a heroine overdose.

Jamie "The Bionic Woman" Sommers, Kara "Starbuck" Thrace,
Max "Dark Angel" Guevera, Mrs. Emma Peel, Ms. Foxy Brown,
Leela, Romana, Amy Pond, and River Song came to my place
Via car, spaceship, motorcycle, Tardis whatever ride they found.

Should I mention the sexual tension is too often too intense?
Just imagine, there's all these alpha females with just one guy.
I think Supergirl uses her x-ray vision to see my naughty bits.
I'm a sex object to everyone but Willow and those two who are bi.
(You know who I mean. They both flirt with me as a potential lover.
But, for now at least, they both pretty much keep to each other.)

Jill Munroe of Charlie's Angels tried to blow-dry her Farrah hairdo.
But what she thought was a blower was Wilma Deering’s blaster.
Now, Ms. Munroe is bald as a billiard ball that’s undergoing chemo.
So, Kris, Jill's younger sis, will fill Jill's role hereafter this disaster.

Seven of Nine is recharging her cybernetic parts in a kitchen corner.
Resident Evil's Alice is here, as are Kitty Pride and Faith Lehane.
Susan "Invisible Woman" Richards is around, but I haven't seen her.
Plus, there's Éowyn of Rohan, Leeloo, Tank Girl, and Calamity Jane.

There are heroines everywhere in my abode.
I wait in line with women just to use the can.
Shower's cold, but the lid's down on the commode.
Tampons in the trash, with things not known to man.
There are heroines everywhere in my home.
My place is Command Central, cramped and close.
This is way too busy for a guy used to living alone.
I wonder if I could die from a heroine overdose.

Yes, m'Dear, I fear I might die from a heroine overdose.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 04/12/14

All of the bad guys, good guys, and general populace of Metropolis
Must be extremely gullible, almost blind, or just absolute dumb-asses.
How else could Superman convincingly maintain a ruse as thin as his,
Becoming Clark Kent by putting on a pair of non-prescription glasses?

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 04/13/14

There are so many free-range kids no one wants because, hey, Life's a bitch.
What if, each week, a few kids were lured to the gingerbread home of a witch?
Her kitchen's commercial grade, wired with cameras, mics 'n' lights for live TV.
She's a condescending diva, but she always shares a mouthwatering recipe.
What if she has a half-dozen apprentice chefs to whom she can be a total jerk?
Why, it could be a hit, prime-time, cooking, reality TV show for Fox Network!

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 04/15/14

Opposing each other on either side of sleet are snow and rain.
Now I wonder why intermediate stages are, seemingly, forsaken.
I would propose to name those halfway points "slow" and "slain,"
If not for the fact that those two terms have already been taken.

Brother Dave's Precipitation Scale: April 15, 2014

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 04/19/14

Sisyphus, a king in Ancient Greece, is in Hades for his intrigues and deceits.
He cusses at that goddamn rock he must forever roll up, then back up, a hill.
During the brief respite while the rock rolls down and before he again repeats,
He cusses his easily-mocked name because childhood teasing hurts him still.

"O, Sisyphus, Sisyphus, Sisyphus,
You’ll always be just "Sissy" to us.
Go ahead and pitch a fit that's hissy,
But your name claims you’re a sissy.
Where butch boys swear and cuss,
You have hissy fits, you sissy fuss."

As childhood trauma and eternal torment of an impossible task take their toll,
Sissy is snubbed a "Hall of Fame" nod each year, tho' he founded Rock 'N' Roll.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 04/20/14

Whenever someone says "to be honest,"
I become suspicious and I wonder why:
Was everything said up until that point
A calculated, callous, self-serving lie?

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 04/23/14

Did you know that chronic depression can shrink one's brain?
If you didn’t, now you know. If you did, you’ve been reminded.
If you're wondering why I bring this up, my reasoning is plain:
I'm hoping you'll excuse me whenever I'm being small-minded.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 04/26/14

While looking back over my life thus far,
I review theme, imagery, narrative motif.
I've never been a hero in my own movie.
I guess, at best, I was the comedy relief.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 04/27/14

A lot of Scottish surnames begin with Mc or Mac. And pretty much the same,
It's capital M, small c or ac, then a capital again to begin the rest of the name.
So now I'm wondering if Shakespeare's Macbeth had been written "MacBeth,"
Maybe he 'n' his Lady might've avoided crimes, madness and untimely death.

Yes, I confess my reasoning here is light on logic and does not explain how'll
Respecting the mentioned convention might avert MacMurder most MacFoul.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/03/14

"What shall we do with the drunken sailor?"
— Alcoholism was studied in an old sea shanty.
But proposed treatments were prime for failure
Because underlying efficacy was nil or scanty.

"Throw him in the brig until he gets sober."
When at sea, so far from haven harbor docks,
Detention may suit the drunk till voyage is over
And there’s 12-step plans and clinics for detox.

If you say, "Shave his belly with a rusty razor,"
That's where our teamwork will face a schism.
I don't see how that cure could be any crazier.
It seems more apropos to homoerotic fetishism.

In the refrain "Weigh heigh and up she rises,"
I don't know who "she" is, but I have a hunch.
While "she" could be the sea, in this kind o' crisis
I'm betting "she" is the drunk's last liquid lunch.

If I'm to join in the intervention, I give fair warning:
I don't care if the drunkard's demon is rum or gin,
Forget all that crap about "early in the morning"
Because I, for one, damn-well plan on sleeping in.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/05/14

In the font used for the model name on the tailgate,
Distinctions between "D" and "O" are too damn few.
I know "SILVERADO" is what it is intended to state.
But at first glance, it looks more like "SILVERAOO."

SILVERAOO! Werewolves of New London.
SILVERAOO! It's full-moon fun in Connecticut.
SILVERAOO! Werewolves of New London.
SILVERAOO! Use canine butt-sniffin’ etiquette.


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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/06/14

I went to bed sometime around two-thirty this morning.
When I awoke, my mind was in its typical reboot fog.
My alarm clock display displayed an alarming warning!
At nine-oh-nine, to my dismay, it seemed to say, "gog."

Both Gog and Magog are in The Book of Revelations.
They are evils cited along with war, pestilence and pox.
They are prophesied to appear in The End Of Days,
But not half the team in name only on digital clocks.

Friend, if you were taught Christian Fundamentalism
Back when you were a gullible child, just as I had been,
The moral of this story: Adjust your clock with exorcism!
Or better yet, sleep in till a post-apocalyptic nine-ten.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/08/14

A demonstrative woman asked what I thought of her.
Due to her enthusiasm, I was going to say, "Effusive."
I got the first two syllables out, "Ef fu," then I coughed.
She pulled out her pistol and did something abusive.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/10/14 - #1

In first grade I learned to read stuff like,
"See Dot. See Dot run. Run, Dot, run."
Now I wonder whatever became of Dot.
Is she running still, or is her running done?

I used to believe Dot was running for fun.
Did I mistake hysteria for joyous laughter?
Maybe, off-page, someone pointed a gun.
Maybe Dot was running away, not after.

After I mastered that Little Blue Reader,
Dot and I each went our separate ways.
Did she run for class prez or club leader?
Did she run track, or run in a rat-race maze?

Did Dot run off to college after high school?
Did she run her nylons? Oopsie, out of order!
Did she run into a handsome, charismatic fool
Who got her to run drugs across the border?

Did Dot spend the '70s running from the law?
And thus, to hide out and perhaps to atone,
Did she run a B&B down in Podunk, Arkansas?
What ran thru her mind when she was alone?

Did Dot run for an aerobic form of exercise?
Did she run in marathons and come in first?
Did Dot run a successful dotcom enterprise
Until Y2K, when the dotcom bubble burst?

At the very least, Dot is in her sixties now.
Has her running become just a jaunty jog?
Does she run numbers so she knows how
Heart-rates and distances compare in her log?

Yes, thoughts of Dot run 'round my in head.
I may never see her again, but I've no doubt
That sooner than later dear ol' Dot will be dead.
And the running's done when the time runs out.

All the running is done when the time runs out.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/10/14 - #2

This is my recommendation if you engage in shoe-gazing:
Wear footwear that is sensible, comfortable, and amazing.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/12/14

Send the kids to bed without supper, overnight in the local slammer.
Commit 'em to an extended stay in a psychiatric hospital. Or worse,
Give 'em over to an exorcist and a cult mind-control deprogrammer,
If ever they show any indications of wanting to write doggerel verse.

It's tough love, but one day they'll know you saved 'em from a curse.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/14/14

So, a googol is ten to the power of one hundred.
That's a one that's followed by a hundred zeroes.
To write all whole numbers from one to a googol,
We'd need a whole army of clerical superheroes.

A googolplex is ten to the power of one googol.
To write whole digits from one to one googolplex,
There's not enough matter in the known universe
To make the paper and ink to meet project specs.

If that weren't the case, there's not enough space
In the universe in which to put all numbered pages.
If paper and ink and archival space were sufficient,
There's not enough time before The End of Ages.

So, to show how impossibly large is a googolplex?
I don't know, but I bet the closest we might ever get
Is in counting, counting, counting, always counting
Each 'n' every picture of a cat that's on the Internet.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/15/14

My friends say they warned me, "Beware that Ida Mae!"
But new love is not only blind, it just as likely cannot hear.
What I thought they said was, "Beware the Ides of May,"
Recoining a quote from "Julius Caesar" by Shakespeare.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/17/14

Performing cunnilingus to the bebop jazz beats of Charlie Mingus
Can pleasure even the prim lady who is particularly persnickety.
Beats be kickin'. Tongue be lickin'. Don't need no electric dingus.
Thirty-two bars, there you are: Lickety-split on a clit that's lickety!

[*jazz hands*]

NOTE: Hoo-boy, that verse went off in an entirely different direction from the one in which it first began. Oy. For whatever reason, my muse wanted me to write a rhyme with the word "persnickety" in it. With that goal in mind, I thought one rhyme-pair would be "persnickety/rickety." And then, initially, I anticipated the doggerel verse would be about finding the balance when creating something that is artistically-crafted but, by necessity, must also be quickly-produced: Product Quality vs Production Time Efficiencies. Following is the unfinished first draft, with syllabic placeholders in lines three and four that would have been replaced had the whole "cunnilingus" verse not popped into existence instead:

Sometimes balance between quality and quickness is tenuous.
Offering slap-dash kitsch as finely-crafted work is disingenuous.
Duh dada duh dah, duh dada dee dee, something, dada rickety.
Duh dada duh dah, duh dada dee dee, something, persnickety.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/18/14

Amazon® e-mailed me yet another TV series DVD box-set sales alert
During the wee hours this morning, when the come-ons never cease,
Among the series depicted was Bill Cosby's cartoon show, "Fat Albert."
If The Cos rebooted him today, he'd be "Albert, The Morbidly Obese."

# # # #

     FADE IN:
     THE GANG are standing around, waiting to begin
     another weekly misadventure so that, just
     before the episode's run-time is up, they may
     know the moral to their newest tale — so that
     they may learn and grow and then, apparently
     and inexplicably, forget everything by next
     week's episode. Go figure.
     CU: Albert, The Morbidly Obese begins his
                      ALBERT, THE MORBIDLY OBESE
          Hey! Hey! H… H…
     XCU: Albert, The Morbidly Obese is fearful
     panicky and, obviously, in great pain.
                      ALBERT, THE MORBIDLY OBESE (CONT'D)
          H… Heart Attack!!!
     MS: Albert, The Morbidly Obese clutches at
     his chest. His eyes bulge. He gasps for breath.
     He wobbles on his legs, then buckles and
     CRASHES to the ground. SFX: THUNDEROUS, EARTH-
     COVER SHOT: The Gang gathers around the hulking,
     lifeless body of Albert, The Morbidly Obese as
     a billowing cloud of dust slowly settles down
     around them.
     MS: After wide-eyed assessment of the situation,
     MUSHMOUTH speaks.
          Dat chubbidy-chubba mubba-fubba be dead!
     COVER SHOT: The Gang reacts to the news — at
     first disbelieving, then horrified and grief-
                      THE GANG
               (in unison)
          Oh, hey, hey, hell no!
                                        SLOW FADE TO BLACK

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/19/14 - #1

There was a time when I used to love you dearly.
But that was then. I've since gained some clarity.
Now I see the only thing you ever meant sincerely
Was your smooth, almost-sociopathic insincerity.

Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/19/14 - #2

Born on the winning side of the American Revolution,
And not for any other reason or for a sense of drama,
I prefer serial commas named after a U.S. institution.
So, I choose a Harvard brand over any Oxford comma.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/23/14

Hey, it's Indy 500 "Carb Day" today.
Hear the roaring racecar sounds!
Me? Man, I plan to celebrate
By gorging on carbohydrates
Until I weigh around 500 pounds.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/27/14

Oh, so you two ladies are both lesbians.
The local folk'll be glad to have that clear.
It had been rumored that you're thespians,
'N' we don't much cotton to that kind here.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/31/14

A headline asks, "Does Watching Porn Shrink One's Brain?"
Well, the logic of porno movie plot lines would surely fail ya,
If the blood that normally engorges your brain would remain
And not drop below your equator to engorge your genitalia.

Source of inspiration for today's doggerel:

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/01/14

Sometimes scientists cite the Second Law of Thermodynamics
As Life's, the Universe's, and Everything's underlying fatal flaw.
So now, the more I see of entropy overtaking me, I don't panic.
That is how it must be and, thermodynamically, I'm no scofflaw.

Hey, Kids: For more info on Entropy, see:

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/02/14

Regarding cunning predators, I say
The ones that I find to be most rude
Are those who lure in clueless prey
By disguising themselves as food.

NOTE: Today's doggerel was written after reading a tweet earlier this afternoon that mentioned a snake that twitches the tip of its tail to entice worm-eating prey, and after reading a tweet yesterday about a spider that weaves its web to look something like bird poop to those prey who find that sort of entree to be irresistible. Talk about "bait 'n' switch"! Oy.

ADDENDUM: The solid, amorphic patches of spider silk meant to mimic "feces most fowl" are only representative of the white bits of bird shit. The spider leaves the dark bits of excrement to be implied by the absence of silk. (There was a photo.) And this reminds me of a joke that Ray Hansell, may he rest in peace, told me back in grade school. He asked, "You know what that white stuff is in bird shit?" Being genuinely curious about the subject and anticipating an insightful answer, I said, "No, what?" That's when Ray revealed that I'd been setup for a joke. His punchline was this, "More bird shit!" Funny, and yet Zen-like, right?

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/03/14

Call me an "Old Timer," if you will.
But let me tell you this, Miss Janet,
I'm fond of those good ol' days still,
Way back when Pluto was a planet.

Poor Pluto's "major planet" status
Was rendered both null and void
When IAU threw a new term at us,
Calling Pluto a "dwarf planet plutoid."

So far from the sun, its ice can't melt,
That is the orbit Pluto's been dealt.
If Pluto could feel, it would have felt
Jaded, downgraded in the Kuiper belt.

Poor Pluto's "major planet" status
Was rendered both null and void
When IAU threw a new term at us,
Calling Pluto a "dwarf planet plutoid."

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/04/14

Although I really do not know,
If my off-hand hunch is right,
Surely, the speed of darkness
Must match the speed of light.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/07/14

"Toxins are in the drinking water," scientists said.
But I'd take a drink and think, "No, it's still healthy."
I lied to myself until I awoke with a second head,
Too late to do anything but snap and post a selfie.

Rosie Grier and Ray Milland in ''The Thing With Two Heads,'' circa 1972

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/08/14

All of her great-nieces and great-nephews
Call her "great-aunt," as they are wont to do.
But she's just the right mix of angel and devil
That each ground-floor niece and nephew,
And even those few on the great-great level,
All lovingly call her their "great aunt," too.

* * * *

For me, a Midwesterner, the familial term "aunt"
Is pronounced the same as its homophone, "ant."
Anyone whose pronunciation rhymes with "flaunt,"
To my ears, sounds like a pretentious dilettante.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/10/14

I'm a loner, Dottie, an asocial hermit.
However, I never would have guessed
That they'd revoke my human permit
Just because I flunked the Turing Test.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/12/14

I've received official snail-mail correspondence from the NSA.
It says, "Dear Mister Lister, we don't wish to cause you strife.
But we've read all your e-mail and heard every word you say.
And you're so boring that we're snoring, so please get a life."

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/14/14

Michelle designs, sews, and sells needlepoint samplers in her très chic boutique.
Choose any color, point size, font whatever you want. Each sampler is unique
— Except for her message. No "ABCs" or "Home! Sweet Home!" can tempt her.
Nope, each sampler she stitches for all of us bitches only says, "Caveat Emptor!"

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/16/14 - #1

I awoke too early today, feeling guilty for not having written yesterday.
The sleep-depriving guilt is odd since I shouldn't be bothered one iota.
It's not like I deferred insistent words, avoiding something I should say.
It's not like I'm contractually obligated to meet a daily doggerel quota.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/16/14 - #2

Wanda m'Dear, I'm at this wishing well, wishing you well
Till my wishes are granted or I've no more spare change.
Why, I might displace all of this wish water with coinage,
By buying near-worthless currency via foreign exchange.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/20/14

Leprosy is also known as Hansen's Disease.
When I warn of "fake lepers," everyone yawns.
But if ever, like me, you're duped by their pleas,
Then, tho' too late, you'll believe in leper cons.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/22/14

You say you've got your mojo workin'. So, congrats galore!
And now, by no means do I mean to make you feel off-put.
But, should I be thinking more along the lines of metaphor,
Or of a hoodoo bag full of roots, herbs, and a chicken foot?

NOTE: I was up till the wee hours this morning, listening to Muddy Waters sing some Blues. When I awoke a little while ago, the makings of today's doggerel were on my mind. Hotcha!

So, fo' mo' info 'bout the mojo, Yo, go to:

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/24/14

Kitty cats are meowy.
Puppy dogs are barky.
Jodi, when she speaks,
Is smartass 'n' snarky.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/25/14

Beware and be skeptical, dear friends, or else some jerk'll
Try to convince you space aliens made another crop circle.

NOTE: This morning on my Twitter feed, there was a photo of some crop circles recently made in rural Italy. The caption above the photo included the phrase "possibly the work of space aliens." That tweet inspired today's doggerel. Then, I remembered I'd also written about crop circles earlier this year. So, FYI and/or déjà vu all over again: Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/24/14

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/27/14

So, I awoke around three o'clock this morning
With a doggerel idea that wouldn't let me be.
I've previously given The Muses fair warning,
"In wee hours on workdays, don't bother me!"

The story that the rhyme was supposed to tell
Was to be about an adolescent Hillary Rodham,
Running away from home and hoping to sell
All her songs at the Brill Building in Gotham.

Hill imagined working beside the great teams,
Like Bacharach and David, Boyce and Hart,
Leiber 'n' Stoller, Mann 'n' Weil, Goffin 'n' King,
Pomus 'n' Shuman and that's just the start!

She'd co-write with Shadow Morton, Paul Simon,
Phil Spector, Neil Sedaka, Sonny Bono t' boot,
Marvin Hamlisch, Laura Nyro, and Neil Diamond
(Before the satin, rhinestone-studded jumpsuit!).

She'd only go back home to the Hudson Valley
After hearing her first song play on the radio.
That was her plan: Succeed in Tin Pan Alley;
Less than overnight success would be too slow.

At the Brill, Hill couldn't get her foot in the door.
Try 'n' try, days went by. Finally, her dream went.
She wrote some sad Blues songs on a bus home.
Later, she became the first female US President.

NOTE: Yeah, the above doggerel is dated for last Friday, although it is only being published today, June 29th. It really was three o'clock on a workday morning when this nonsense awoke me and, then, would only allow me a restless sort of slumber, at best, before the six o'clock alarm sounded. Oy. Is there any truth in the doggerel? Well, other than for the names of the main protagonist, all the songwriters, and the Brill Building, any claim to veracity should be highly suspect. Why I would impose on young Hillary aspirations of being a songwriter is beyond me. But, hey, the idea came to me in a dream and, typically, it follows dream logic, which is to say, there's little real-world logic to it at all. Anyway, I wrote half the doggerel down late on Friday evening. I already knew the whole story, so I wrote notes pertaining to the second half, which is what I've worked on today. Apparently, Hillary Diane Rodham was born in Chicago and grew up in Park Ridge, Illinois. I did not know that. But, like I said, dream logic was at work here and, unlike "the Hudson Valley," neither of those two Illinois placenames rhymes with "Tin Pan Alley." So there! Oh, and by the way, this doggerel should not be construed to be an endorsement for her candidacy if Ms. Clinton should decide to run for the presidency. Nor should it be construed to be a repudiation of same. (I want to keep my options open for a possible Cabinet post.). TTFN.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/28/14 - #1

I schemed to award the schoolyard bully an honorary medical degree.
I'd made a construction-paper diploma that said, "First, do no harm."
Did it ameliorate her meanness? No, she still beat me so mercilessly
That, tho' not shopping for rural real estate, I nearly bought the farm.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/28/14 - #2

First, I learned that "vs." is the abbreviation of "versus."
But then, I subsequently learned "v." is also the same.
My plea for just one option may earn praise or curses.
But for the quandary of "vs. versus v.," I'm not to blame.

NOTE: I trust that you, Dear Reader, reconstituted the two competing abbreviations so that you read the quote-marked phrase "vs. versus v." as "versus versus versus." Hotcha! Although not mentioned above, because convention equally permits inclusion or exclusion of a period at the end of the abbreviations, acceptable permutations are: vs and vs. and v and v. (Yes, that last period both completes the abbreviation and concludes the sentence. Whew! That's a lot of multitasking for a single dot to do.) The rhythm of the above verse is not amenable to the extra beats, but the even greater quandary of "vs. versus vs versus v. versus v" could have been cited, and read as "versus versus versus versus versus versus versus." I don't know about you, but in my head the first, third, fifth, and seventh "versus" are pitched higher than the second, fourth, and sixth "versus." Imagine that!

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/30/14

Those who transcribe and post song lyrics
Should be kicked full-force in the scrotum
When they cite solely the recording artists,
If those weren't the writers who wrote 'em.

(And those who are scrotum-less
But guilty of lyrics credit botches,
Deserve some equal pain, I guess,
Like swift kicks in their crotches.)

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 07/02/14

Okay, so it's not doggerel, per se. But, hey, there's some internal rhyme in the dialog. Still, today's entry might better be titled as follows:

Brother Dave's Script For 30-Second Sci-Fi/Horror Film

     FADE IN:
     wise peaceful mid-size American town now scurry
     in abject terror from an unearthly, 50-foot-tall
     OF DEATH! Establish scene, then:
                      TERRIFIED TOWNSFOLK
               (stopping to scream in unison)
          Holy Mother of Pearl! There's a
          humungous fungus among us!
                                              CUT TO:
     CU: Angle on "face" of the gloating, drooling
     fungal monster.
                      GINORMOUS SPACE ALIEN
                      TOADSTOOL OF DEATH
          Excrete in fear, puny Earthlings!
          I thrive on your species’ feces!
               (then, laughing villainously)
                                              CUT TO:
     MONTAGE: A lot of pandemonium and embarrassing
     involuntary self-soiling ensues. The creature
     gleefully wreaks havoc on the infrastructure
     and on the townsfolk — all of whom are trying
     to evacuate the vicinity, and many of whom are
     simultaneously evacuating in another sense of
     the word, by the pantload. Oh, the humanity!
                                        SLOW FADE TO BLACK

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 07/07/14 - #1

On this day in 1456, Joan of Arc*
Was declared innocent of heresy
— Or so I've just read and learnt.
This new verdict missed its mark,
Not because it lacked legal verity
Joan was 25 years dead 'n' burnt.

* Jeanne d'Arc (aka Joan of Arc [English translation], "The Maid of Orléans"): born January 6, 1412; died May 30, 1431 at 19 years of age. Her heresy charge was overturned on July 7, 1456.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 07/07/14 - #2

Young Joan of Arc was burned at the stake.
She spoke with angels, so she was screwed.
But she was named as a saint, fer chrissake,
Five hundred years after being barbequed.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 07/10/14

"Live life in the present,"
So the old saying goes.
I live life for the present,
A gift in ribbon 'n' bows.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 07/14/14

Friends, you know what I don't get? Foot fetishism,
A pronounced sexual interest in feet and/or shoes.
That a woman could cum or a man shoot his jizzum*
Due to feet or footwear, it just leaves me confused.

So, does size matter to someone with a foot fetish?
And, does a foot that's dainty make one feel fainty?
Or, does the fetishist swoon to Big Foot Yeti-ish?
And, eww, is toenail fungus equivalent to an STD?

*Yep, I spelled "jizzum" that way. Why? Well, that spelling is reiterated and the choice explained in some doggerel and its accompanying note from two years ago. So, FYI:

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 07/16/14

Fairies could use rolls of cash register paper to wipe their little butts.
That is, if they don't mind that it's not soft and can cause paper cuts.

NOTE: Today's doggerel was written while standing in line in the canteen, waiting for the clerk to load a new roll of receipt paper in the cash register. I mean, what would you do while waiting to buy your newspaper and Coke Zero? Doggerel Writing: Sometimes, it's the equivalent of that cheesy rendition of "The Girl From Ipanema" when you're put on-hold during a phone call with the cable company.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 07/17/14

An attractive woman gave me a second look.
Why she did so, I don’t know, I can only guess.
Perhaps, it’s because I’m as cute as a button
— A homely button, but a button nonetheless.

NOTE: I read a tweet by Sarah Silverman this morning that said, "You're as cute as a (gross) button." Then, as I am often compelled to do, I edited that tweet in my head, changing it to read as follows: "You're as cute as a button — a gross button, but a button nonetheless." Generally, the parts of my inner monologue concerned with editing other people's words remain internal. For example, I don't presume that Ms. Silverman needs or wants my unsolicited editorial advice, so I'll not offer it to her. Still, rather than be just another stray thought that comes and goes, my musing soon mutated into doggerel. Imagine that! And, yeah, I realize that the logic of the punchline is not quite as clean as that in the edited Silverman tweet, but so it goes.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 07/19/14 - #1

When I awoke this morning, it suddenly occurred to me
That every casket lid I've ever seen opened on the right.
For those who sleep on their backs, no big deal I can see.
But I sleep on my left side 'n' wish to do so thru eternal night.

I may need a custom casket, one that opens on the left.
Otherwise, I'd be rude with my back turned to the bereft.
Or else a mirror could be placed so it will reflect my face,
With the benefit of fogging from my breath just in case.

NOTE: Yeah, I actually did wake up thinking about how, as I best recall, the lids of caskets I've seen were all hinged to the left of the Dearly Departed and, thus, opened up (and forever closed) at the deceased's right. Why I thought about this, I'm not sure. It could be due to the outer side of my right knee was hurting and, because I sleep mostly on my left side, well, what the hell was it complaining about since the left knee takes more nocturnal pressure and sleep-time abuse? I do flip over and spend a little time on my right side, off-and-on throughout the night. But still, Anyway, while the beginning of today's doggerel comes from reality, the rest is just rhyme. I've told my daughter, The Kiddo, that if any bits of me remain useful after my demise, they can be harvested and the rest should be cremated — no casket (regardless of which side opens), no funeral service, no graveside service, no grave, no headstone, no muss, no fuss. But if The Kiddo wants to hold a mirror to my nostrils or jab me with a hatpin just before I'm placed in the oven, well, that would be okay — especially if that simple test shows that I'm not quite completely altogether dead yet AND if, and only if, I am then given a reprieve for not being fully corpsified.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 07/19/14 - #2

Zachary bought some of those male enhancement pills off of the Internet.
He assumed that, if they worked, he'd soon have a noticeably bigger dick.
While I said the deal was shady, Zach still might impress some lucky lady:
He says penis size is the same, but his tongue is much longer and thick.

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Today's doggerel is a reprint of verse written two years ago.

Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 07/20/12

Today is three-years-to-the-day when Marguerite Lister passed away.
At least, that is what most of the funeral attendees would likely say.
Me? Being her firstborn child, I have seen her both up-close and often.
And I was never completely convinced it was really Mom in that coffin.

Mom is too kind-hearted to be a co-conspirator or a willing participant
In such a cruel hoax, as to feign her death and leave behind a replicant.
So, it's obvious to me that she was abducted by aliens from outer space,
Who had unintentionally left a nonviable pod-person's body in her place.

Though I've no interstellar intel nor the means to mount a rescue plan,
My hope is Mom can distract her guards by causing feces to hit the fan.
So she can escape her laboratory cage on, say, planet Simulacrum Five,
Then hot-wire a starship, pilot it home, and reveal that she is still alive.

# # # #

So now today, July 20, 2014, it's actually five years since Mom allegedly passed away. And if I've done the math correctly, Mom supposedly died on the fortieth anniversary of The First Manned Moon Landing. Imagine that! Space travel, Neil Armstrong's moonwalk, and Mom's alleged demise are all July 20th coincidental. Everybody knows that after he placed his foot down onto the lunar surface, Armstrong said, "That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind." However, known only to a very few NASA insiders till now, Armstrong continued on to say, "Houston, if I get kidnapped by freakin' space aliens while I'm up here, I plan to steal a starship and make my way back home. And if ever any of you find yourself in a similar predicament, I suggest you do the same. Roger that?" So, who knows? Perhaps Mom intuitively "rogered that" and could show up someday soon, with tales to tell and some way-cool new souvenirs to display along with all her porcelain angel figurines that are still on the shelves where she left them.

If I have any genes that predispose me to being a "worry wart," well then, I got them from Mom. And this morning when I awoke, a worrisome thought occurred to me: What if the warp-drive in the starship Mom steals from her captors is damaged by blaster fire during her escape? Sure, by running the sub-light engines at near-light-speed, relativistic time dilation would be a factor, allowing Mom to travel for years without noticeably aging. But if she is over, say, forty light-years away, I will probably have already died from old age, if not having succumbed even earlier due to accident or illness, before her triumphant-yet-bittersweet return. Oh, the irony! Oy.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 07/21/14

In Nineteen-Eighty-Two, "The Tylenol Killer" sneaked
bottles of poisoned capsules
Onto store shelves for shoppers to buy, swallow, then
suddenly die without warning.
That still-unknown killer's crime led to tamper-resistant
packaging and to a crap-full
Of curses on his or her head as I struggled to open some
multivitamins this morning.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 07/25/14

Yeah, you may think that you'll not be affected
By my threat for revenge by means of voodoo.
But tradition has been analyzed and corrected:
I'll skip the doll and stick pins straight into you!

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 07/26/14

When you say "good China," excuse my responding with a blank stare.
It's just that, in light of current events, the phrase seems sort of vague.
Are you referring now to fancy-schmancy, special-occasion dinnerware,
Or to the country before bad-meat McNuggets® and bubonic plague?

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 07/27/14

As if Nineteen-Fifties covert commies were not enough for folks to fear,
Some experts then thought that Batman comics might make kids queer.
Now, we know gay kids are born gay, and need no comic reasons why.
And so, at most, today's Batman books can only turn heterosexuals bi.

NOTE: Today's doggerel was inspired by a tweet posted by The Daily Beast this morning on Twitter. The tweet said, "Congress once thought Batman could turn you gay (really)." A truncated proxy link led to their supporting article at this full URL:

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 07/30/14

Rather than engendering any love or like or laughter,
"Sight rhymes" inflame me with thoughts of slaughter.
I care not if a Middle English poet's ink was his blood,
His off-putting "eye rhymes" put me in an awful mood.
Most "visual rhymes" date to Great Vowel Shift years,
1350-1700, so now it's like comparing apples to pears.
Nonetheless, I still find "sight rhyme" unsightly enough
To pitch 350 years of English poetry into a hog trough.

Hey, kids, for more information about Eye Rhyme (a.k.a. Visual Rhyme and Sight Rhyme) and the Great Vowel Shift, see: and

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 08/02/14

Age-old adages, axioms, and aphorisms each usually have a relevant and valid point to be made.
But, old sayings can be too simplistic. For example, "When life hands you lemons, make lemonade"
Would only actually work if life also hands you a sharp knife, a clean cutting board on which to slice,
A juicer, a pitcher, some sugar and water, a stirring spoon, and a beverage glass. Plus, ice is nice.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 08/06/14

What is this, a smile on my face?
I'm getting a sneaking suspicion
It may be a great day to be alive,
As opposed to the other condition.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 08/13/14

Life's situations can go pear-shaped and catch us unawares.
But with my head hair buzz-cut, I feel less compelled to watch
Out for when Misfortune wants to grab me by the short hairs.
'Cause now, at least, it grabs at my head instead of my crotch.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 08/15/14

Whenever I'm in a boat on the ocean,
Being called "chum" is something I hate.
Is it a lame term of feigned friendship,
Or am I soon to be used as shark bait?

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 08/16/14 - #1

Halfway through a sandwich and to my dismay,
I discovered one of Life's funny little surprises.
Some whitish lettuce in my lettuce-less entrée
Was half-eaten paper separating cheese slices.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 08/16/14 - #2

After a dozen years, I saw a physician for reasons I need not fully mention,
Except to say that my doctor prescribed Atenolol for borderline hypertension.
But that name makes my blood pressure rise when I think, "What the hell?
It must be a joke and the joke is on me because Atenolol ends with L-O-L."

NOTE: This Sunday morning, August 17th, on the day after writing and posting the above doggerel, I looked further into information about the beta-blocker Atenolol. Now I'm thinking that the doctor prescribed Atenolol primarily for reducing my elevated heart rate, while another prescription, one for Hydrochlorothiazide, is intended more for treating my hypertension. Oy. So, what does this tell us, kids? DON'T DO DRUGS! DRUGS ARE BAD! Unless, of course, they're prescribed by a physician and used only as directed. Still, Atenolol once was a first-line treatment for hypertension. So, the doggerel is not completely invalidated. If you were thinking of asking for your money back because concepts in yesterday's verse may seem to have been dispensed to you after their expiration date, well, you can forget that, Buster! So there!

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 08/18/14

It is TV dialog and a British woman says to another actress, "You can't!"
But to my American ears, she sounds uncharacteristically vulgar 'n' blunt.
Her /kɑ:nt/ pronunciation violates my /kænt/ expectation and disenchants
Because, initially, it seems Woman #1 just cussed #2, saying, "You cunt!"

NOTE: In the wee hours this morning, I was re-watching some episodes of Doctor Who, The Complete Third Series when the snippet of dialog described in the first line of today's doggerel occurred. Just for a moment, I thought, "What the!?" But then almost instantaneously, I translated spoken British English into spoken American English in my head and thought, "Oh-h-h, I get it." Sometimes I'm hypersensitive to language. However, I'm also naughty by nature. So,…

To get more of an impression for what I mean, listen here:

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 08/21/14

If and whenever she casts off all her long-suffering passivity,
Anyone who ever wronged her will finally have grave regrets.
They will rue that the woman they knew harbored a proclivity
For feeding and even breeding the peeves she kept as pets.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 08/22/14

In his own lifetime, he was the most popular poet of this nation.
So now, it seems an especially egregious sort of crying shame
When the once respected, revered, even hallowed appellation
Of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow is presumed a porn star name.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 08/23/14

The third movement in a bagpipe medley* among new MP3s
Is titled "The Sheepwife." And so I think, "Oh gawd no, please,
Let this be about a woman married to a herdsman, and keep
Away from bestial love between a shepherd and his sheep!"

* "March, Strathspey, And Reel: I. 74th Farewell To Edinburgh, II. Arniston Castle, III. The Sheepwife," as performed by the 2nd Battalion Scots Guards, track 16 of 35 from (hyperbolically-christened, I’m sure) "The Complete Scottish Bagpipe Collection" by various artists, ©2009.

* * * * *

If you're a regular reader of BDDFTD, you may be thinking, "Jeez, Brother Dave, why would you buy a so-called complete collection of bagpipe music? Wasn't it just mid-Spring last year when you wrote a snarky verse dissing bagpipes?"

Well, I can't justify or defend my actions in this particular instance. Oy. But I commend you on your powers of recollection. And, yes, you're correct, I did write (and continue to maintain my stated position in) the following verse:

Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/14/13

Bagpipes are played at solemn memorial services
For our fallen soldiers, firefighters, and policemen.
Those pipes wheeze and wail so the living won't fail
To not only honor the dead, but to also envy them.

PS: I just now listened to the aforementioned audio track. It is instrumental only — pipes and drums, no singing. While some lyrics might have spoken to the actual nature of the "sheepwife," the excruciating wail and drone of the bagpipes cannot resolve the mystery (Woman? Or, sheep?) one way or the other. Still, I've got to suspect that a people who could invent bagpipes and then willfully impose them on humanity are, no doubt, capable of other perversions too vile to even imagine. Oy, again.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 08/25/14

The phrase "wild horses couldn't drag me away"
Was just an old expression, a bromide, a cliché.
That is, until Mick and Keef turned it into a song.
What's the song about? About six minutes long.

On YouTube: "The Rolling Stones - Wild Horses - HQ"

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 08/26/14

She asked me, "How was your weekend?"
I paused to recall and pondered it a spell.
Finally, I said, "Well, I lived to tell the tale.
As it turns out, tho', there is no tale to tell."

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 08/29/14

The Burmese python is infesting the Everglades.
This snake is a large, voracious, invasive species.
Local yokels will run for cover when they discover
The earthly remains of fellow Floridians in its feces.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 08/30/14

Hey, I am all for curing AIDS, Ebola, ADD*, Herpes, and Cancer.
But there are other widespread illnesses in need of healing, too.
So, let's save all the rain forests! They may yet hold the answer
To curing, say, Rockin' Pneumonia and the Boogie Woogie Flu.

*For those of you who may suffer from Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD), I realize that addressing footnoted information to you may be the height of folly, as well as being very inconsiderate on my part. Sorry. But just in case your attention jumped directly from the asterisk in the above text to the asterisk beginning this note, know that the second, third, and fourth lines of today’s doggerel verse have something to do with** ecology and not forgetting about types of pneumonia and influenza that have plagued Americans since the Nineteen-Fifties. You know, deep stuff.

**Okay, okay, I'm guessin' it was about at the first double-asterisks point in the previous note that either 1.) You were totally distracted by something else so, well, you're not reading this now, or 2.) Your attention was immediately diverted by the double-asterisks in the preceding note directly to the double-asterisks*** beginning this second note. So now, more quickly: Ecology curing Nineteen-Fifties maladies and Poodle Skirts,… I think. No, wait, I got distracted there. Hmm, I imagine I meant to say something quite profound, but I've forgotten what. Nothing about Poodle Skirts, though. Oy.

***One of my college professors, Lawrence J. Londino, once shared his disdain for how so many people mispronounce the word "asterisk." Too often, one can hear, say, "astericks" or some other variation thereto. For those people, Londino had a mnemonic device to recommend. It is based on the famous last words of an American Revolutionary War patriot, Nathan Hale. The mnemonic goes like this: "I only regret that I have but one ass t’ risk for my country." Get it? Oh, and if you (non-ADD reader that you are, I'm assuming, since you're still reading this) if you were wondering, no, I didn't expect any ADD-sufferers to last through this triple-asterisks level, bless their hearts. Heck, I barely made it down this far myself. Oy, again.

PS: African-American singer, musician, and composer Huey "Piano" Smith, along with lyricist John Vincent, wrote and recorded the classic Rock 'n' Roll standard "Rockin' Pneumonia And The Boogie Woogie Flu" in 1957. Smith's recording of the song made it into the top of the R&B charts. But white radio station programmers gave the record little airplay, so Smith's own recording of this quintessential Rock 'n' Roll song never made it into the Top 40 charts. Smith also composed, arranged, and performed another Rock 'n' Roll classic, "Sea Cruise." However, his own lead vocal was stripped off the track and the voice of a white singer, Frankie Ford, was dubbed over the instrumentation, ultimately becoming a huge hit for Ford. Smith became disillusioned with Show Biz, quit, and — as one may sometimes be sorely tempted to do in the most desperate of times — he became a Jehovah's Witness. Eighty-year-old Smith is still among the living today so, who knows, maybe some Saturday morning he will knock, knock, knock at your front door, to wake you from your lazy-hazy dreams of an illness-free ocean voyage and offer you a copy of The Watchtower. Oy again, again.

Sources pertinent to today's post-script are and

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 08/31/14

When you are in pedestrian mode and crossing a chaotic thoroughfare,
A vehicle might violate your voting rights for every subsequent election*.
There are those who, through callous carelessness, could kill you there
And misshape you, like Antarctica on a world map in Mercator projection.

*There are, of course, some municipalities in which the deceased continue to cast ballots long after departing this mortal precinct. They're the ultimate absentee voters.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 09/01/14

I was saddened when I read the headline, "The Russian
Space Sex Lizards Are Dead!"
No, that is not in reference to some death metal band,
but to actual lizards instead.
Geckos were used to study a subject into which our
prurient curiosity forever delves:
Sex! Scientists shot 'em into orbit, essentially saying,
"Lizards, go fuck yourselves!"

Rest In Peace, Russian Space Sex Lizards, Numbers 1 Through 5 (b. 2014, d.2014). May you have eternal, uninterrupted, hot lizard sex in Heaven, without the prying eyes of humans and their perverse prurient interests.

Sources for today's doggerel muse: Gizmodo and Wired.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 09/05/14

I was an early adopter of teleportation travel.
I beta-tested the first unit when it was invented.
Teleporting wasn't as instantaneous as today.
Back then, it felt more like being 3D-printed.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 09/07/14

My latest lover is so hot and shiny and new.
Her only flaw is that she's utterly demented.
What went wrong? Her insanity could ensue
From a data glitch when she was 3D-printed.

NOTE: Yeah, I realize that this is the second doggerel verse this week to conclude with the hyphenated, compound, passive-voice, past participle "3D-printed." I was surprised to see that both verses have similar metrics and line-lengths. (Although, today's verse has an ABAB rhyme scheme, while the previous verse has an ABCB rhyme scheme. Oy.) Am I two-thirds of the way to a possible trilogy? Am I two, three, or more verses, a bridge, and a tune away from a new song? Or, will this be it? Time will tell, I guess. Only time will tell.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 09/08/14

"You lost eighteen pounds this summer!" my doctor exclaimed.
And that's just from going on a low-sugar diet. Isn't that groovy?
The weight is equivalent to giving birth to twins, whom I named
"Julie & Julia" after the final Nora Ephron written/directed movie.

NOTE: In developed countries, the average birth weight of a newborn is 7.5 pounds. But newborn infants weighing between 5.5 and 10 pounds are considered to be in the healthy range. Newborn twins, however, tend to weigh less than singletons, averaging 5 pounds and 5 ounces each. So, while the conceptual twins cited in today's doggerel are, at around 9 pounds each, considerably heavier than average twin infants, they are not beyond the realm of possibility — not by weight, at least. (That I could give birth at all is the far less likely element of the scenario, of course. I mean, Jeez, surely I'd be post-menopausal by now.) Yeah, I could have indicated triplets, or even quads, to get the math more in line with average vital statistics. But that would have messed up the potential for the wholly-satisfying fourth line. So, hey, I’m stickin' with what I've got, thank you very much. (Source for newborn weight stats:

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 09/10/14

Appearances to the contrary, m’Dear,
Sometimes I can be surprisingly smart.
So, while I might trust you with my life,
I know I'll never trust you with my heart.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 09/12/14

I was singing along with a Hollies song that made the rotation
due to iPod shuffle-play.
"The Air That I Breathe" is a beautiful post-coital pop ballad.
It’s a niche genre, okay?
But it's a song to be sung by a young lover. An old guy like me
could catch his death.
At that four-and-a-half-bar "breathe" in the bridge, I must stop //
to catch // my breath.

NOTE: The held and pitch-shifting "breathe_____" I'm referring to occurs at around 2:06 and again at approximately 3:17 on the timeline of this music video.

Sing along if you will, but at your own peril!

Oh, and by the way, the two "caesura" I use near the end of the last line of doggerel are the musical notation version (//), rather than the version sometimes found in archaic poetry (||). Why? Well, I'm more familiar with the // (aka "railroad tracks") used in sheet music than I am with the || (aka "double pipe") of ancient poetry. And, frankly, I see no reason to risk potentially-distracting gender issues with the needless introduction of the "masculine caesura" versus "feminine caesura" sexual politics of old poetry. Furthermore, the modern musical sense of the word is better aligned with my intention for today's doggerel: "In musical notation, a caesura denotes a brief, silent pause, during which metrical time is not counted." (See: The only difference I imagine is that, instead of "brief, silent pause," there should be "a brief pause, during which audible gasping and wheezing indicate an acute, possibly life-threatening shortness of breath." So there!

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 09/14/14

Instrumentally-challenged, Vernon doesn't know violin from viola.
But rather than me saying, "He doesn't know shit from Shinola®,"
Allow me to quote the English conductor Sir Henry Wood, friend,
Who once said, "He doesn't know his brass from his woodwind."

Source of inspiration for redirection of today's original doggerel musings:


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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 09/20/14

The calm, composed, and hyphenated Phoebe Smith-Smythe
Takes care of crises with aplomb and her "Little Problem-Solver."
It's a matter of nature, nurture, and a good aim with her 5-shot,
.38-caliber, snub-nose, chrome-plated, pearl-handled revolver.

If "Little Problem-Solver" does not suffice, Ms. Smith-Smythe'll
Proceed to reiterate her point with a semi-automatic assault rifle.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 09/21/14

Who knew a temp long-distance arrangement would disrupt us?
In real life, nothing about our relationship needed auto-correcting.
But by phone, our lovemaking often ended in coitus interruptus
Due to too many buzzkill typos whenever we engaged in sexting.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 09/25/14

It was forty-three years ago today when I married my loving bride.
On our twenty-first anniversary, she declared our marriage had died.
Looking back now, I'm glad it ended in divorce instead of homicide.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 09/27/14

Smoke it in an old smokehouse.
Soak it in a sugar-and-salt brine.
Either remedy will cure the ham.
Neither will ever cure the swine.

If you didn't get what I just said:
Ham is cured, swine’s still dead.
On the surface, it sounds absurd:
Tho' swine died, its ham is cured.

Bible said Jesus raised the dead,
Brought 'em back alive and new.
Dead or alive, he'd not cure pork
'Cause, fer chrissake, he's a Jew.

Next visit with your family physician,
Agree on the usage of the c-word.
Killed, then smoked or brine-soaked,
Technically, can mean you're "cured."

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 09/28/14

The terminator overtook us, bringing 100-degree light.
Now that light is baking and burning and melting us.
Yeah, I'd be a bit hyperbolic if talking in Fahrenheit.
This temperature, however, is measured in Celsius.

— Final log entry by the leader* of Lunar Survey Team 7 after their surface rover failed, the terminator shifted, and they were no longer on the dark side of the moon well, the third moon, actually, orbiting planet Xaxxon 3 in the star system commonly known to the natives simply as "Skippy."

*That the soon-to-be-departed and overcooked Phineas Mortimer Sneed, Survey Tech Fifth Class (b. 2469 CE, d. 2502 CE), would use his concluding moment of existence to record his team's last log entry in quatrain form is damned impressive, I think. Even if you, Dear Reader, cannot abide doggerel verse in general and assonance or slant rhyme in particular, surely you can still appreciate the humanity and gumption of someone who files his final report in an ABAB rhyme-scheme (rather than, say, a simpler ABCB pattern) and conjures the rhyme-pair (assonant though it may be) "melting us/Celsius."

How did I get all this information? I'm not at liberty to say. And that's okay. I mean, if I started talking — hypothetically, of course — about stumbling across an electronic book that obviously became (will become) dislodged from some distant future/place and then fell (will fall) through a fissure in Space-Time to suddenly materialize in front of me in the freakin' Here-'n'-Now, well, you probably wouldn't believe me anyway. So, I have absolutely nothing to say regarding the origin of my info.

And, oh yeah, the "terminator" with the lower-case t in the first line of today's doggerel should not be misconstrued to be a reference to an iconic sci-fi film character ("The Terminator" with its upper-case T and its likewise-capitalized companion definite article), as initially portrayed by Arnold Schwarzenegger. Nope, here, "A terminator, twilight zone or 'grey line' is a moving line that separates the illuminated day side and the dark night side of a planetary body. A terminator is defined as the locus of points on a Moon or planet where the line through a Sun is tangent." (See "Terminator (solar)" for more details.)

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 10/04/14

If carny fortunetellers had ever foretold it, okay,
I'd have thought them to be brainless buffoons.
I never imagined I'd ever live to see the sad day
Of no Saturday morning broadcast TV cartoons.

For more info on the subject of today's doggerel, see:

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 10/04/14 - #2

Maybe it is due to premature palsy
Or perhaps it's Alzheimer's Disease,
But I can no longer seem to hold on.
So now, I've been droppin' my Gs.

My Radio-TV-Film major earned me
Bachelor's and Master's degrees.
I can speak like a pro, dontcha know,
But off-the-air, I'll be droppin' my Gs.

Now when I wanna get "down-home,"
Please allow me plenty apostrophes,
‘Cause I will be speakin' in freakin'
"Hoosier" 'n' I'll be droppin' my Gs.

Unused Gs may be leakin' from my lips,
Fallin' 'n' breakin', pilin' up to my knees.
I'll be callin’ 9-1-1, yellin' "I'm dyin' here!
I'm near drownin' in these droppin' Gs!"

Grammar teachers and T-comm profs
Now in Heaven hear, then say, "Please,
Mister Lister, resist, cease and desist!
Stop dropping all of those fucking Gs!

"As we taught you in class, dumb ass:
Stop dropping all of those fucking Gs!"

* * * * *


If you want to use my rhyme in your new book
On grammar and are wondering about my fees,
Don't fret because I bet we can come to terms,
So long as you're ready to be droppin' some Gs.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 10/05/14

When I contemplate my own mortality,
The most meaningful thought that I get
Does not pertain to the meaning of life.
Instead, it reminds me I'm not dead yet.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 10/06/14

This morning when rousing from sleeping in, still lying fetal in my bed,
Giving the clock a sideways glance, rotating the numbers in my head,
I turned 7:07 in the wrong direction so that LOL is what my clock said.
"Laughing Out Loud!? Clock mocking me!?" Then it read 7:08 instead.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 10/08/14

"The Devil's in the details," she said after concluding her long list of slurs
and slanders against anyone of my gender.
So I said, "There’s a demon in demonetize. That's when the legal status is
withdrawn from what once was legal tender."
And I continued, "For example, precious metals have been demonetized.
We no longer exchange gold or silver coin."
She angrily replied, "You're a smart-ass! And if you'll recall, that was cited
in my list!" Then she kicked me in the groin.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 10/10/14

While driving to work, keeping the car between the lines,
I made double-use of my time by noodling a few rhymes.
"A waste of time," you say? Okay, today it was a waste.
Putting Ebola in The Kinks' song "Lola" was in poor taste.

(Singing: "Ebola. E-B-O-L-A. Ebola. Lo, lo, lo, Ebola.")

Check out the original (and Ebola-uninfected) "Lola" on the offical The Kinks channel at YouTube:

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 10/11/14

Don't you suppose same-sex love blossoms and grows,
Then sometimes fades and goes, same as for heteros?
So, yes, some same-sex marriages will, in due course,
Sadly end in same-sex divorce. That's just how life goes.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 10/12/14 - #1

He says he always aspires to be quick-witted but, alas,
Too often the best he can manage is being smart-ass*.

* Yes, I'm aware that I've used the hyphenated, compound term "smart-ass" in two or more other works of doggerel verse recently. Let's chalk it up to exploring a theme, okay? Where, historically, artists have been associated with, for example, a Gothic Period, a Baroque Period, a Classic Period, a Blue Period, or even a Missed Period, perhaps I might be described as currently being in my Smart-Ass Period. So there! (What's that? You think I've always and only ever been in a Smart-Ass Period? Oy, that hurts, Dude, that really hurts.)

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 10/12/14 - #2

Although I really don't know, I imagine the NSA
Is aware of who's wearing white after Labor Day.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 10/13/14

Vigo County mounties report that a trucker rolled his trailer.
Forty thousand pounds of raw turkey necks were the load.
Though the trucker is fine, now his own neck's on the line
For abusing both meth and opiates before hitting the road.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 10/24/14

Our third grade teacher taught us to break longer spelling words
into syllables or shorter words.
I recall her example was "altogether," which became "Al to get her"
for us young spelling nerds.
No, I never knew who Al was, who he was going to get, or what,
exactly, his getting her meant.
Imagine now how altogether bewildered we'd have been if then tasked
with spelling "incumbent."

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 10/25/14

I just had a dream of revelation, m'Dear Friend,
In which "Gwen," the diminutive of Gwendolyn,
Was revealed to be the homophone of "Guin."
So, I awoke in a cold sweat, with a dread fear
That I have mistaken what I occasionally hear
To be nickname for Gwendolyn, never Guinevere.


Wide awake now, wondering when I heard "Gwen,"
If "Gwyn," as in Gwyneth, was what was said then.
Looking online now, feeling even more ambivalent,
"Gwen" is feminine of "Gwyn," its male equivalent.
If e-t-h is dropped due to endearment or to putsch,
Would that make Ms. Gwyneth Paltrow seem butch?

Oy, again.

Why did names Gwen, Guin, et al enter my dreams?
My best guess is "delayed reaction" or so it seems.
A month ago, "Torchwood" binge-watching was super.
Its main characters: Captain Jack and Gwen Cooper.
Friend, if you're thinking, "Hey, Brother Dave, S-T-F-U!"
Well, bless your heart, that's precisely what I now do.

For background info, see Wikipedia for Gwen (given name) and/or IMDB for Torchwood

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 10/27/14

I bought a "Dylan Thomas Reading Dylan Thomas" MP3 album.
It was edited by hacks.
The third track was nearly twenty-three minutes, four poems
in one long how-do-you-do.
I opened that track in waveform-editing software, to separate
poems into individual tracks.
But the program truncates ID3 tags, turning one title to
"Do Not Go Gentle Into That Goo."

To see the untruncated title and read the Thomas poem for yourself, go to: Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 10/30/14

Just so that you know, my mind is not always cluttered with smut.
Why, this morning I wondered about the derivation of "scuttlebutt."
Well, yes, my first guess was smutty. I’ll not beat around the bush:
"Scuttlebutt" sounds like a condition that a crab gets on its tush.

Butt no,…. (Oops!)

BUT no, the "butt" in this case was a shipboard freshwater cask.
Making a hole to access water, "scuttle" was the term for the task.
'Round a "scuttled butt," sailors slaked thirst for water 'n' hearsay.
That is how "scuttlebutt" equates to "water-cooler gossip" today.

For more info on "scuttlebutt," see:

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 11/02/14 - #1

Doggerel Meant To Assuage m'Dear Denise's Sadness
Over A Bookkeeper's Embezzling Of A Million Dollars
From Her Hometown Monastery (Bless Her Heart.)

Was he once just another teenage punk?
Did he play overlong with his man-junk?
Was he a natural-born, low-down skunk?
I mean, why would he steal from a monk?

In a college course in ethics, did he flunk?
Did he suffer from a kleptomaniacal funk?
Was he simply a no-count, thieving drunk?
What kind of person purloins from a monk?

Did he begin with big ideals that then shrunk?
Why, in a mine of avarice, would he spelunk?
Was it some illusion of virtue he had to debunk?
What makes an accountant rob from a monk?

He's off to prison where the clink key goes clunk.
He'll become the bitch of some big, mean bohunk,
Who'll wreck his rectum injecting loads of spunk.
He'll end up butt-fucked for fucking over monks!

Yes, he bet his ass on believing that crime pays.
Anal-rape in prison: God works in wondrous ways.

For background info pertaining to today's doggerel, see this article: Couple Accepts Plea-Deal In Connection With Embezzlement From Abbey Of Gethsemani

DISCLAIMER: While, by His bewildering refusal to intervene and actually help the helpless, God may seem sometimes to condone rape, anal or otherwise, the writer of today's doggerel does NOT condone it in any way, shape, or form. So there! Please, don't kill the messenger. Amen.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 11/02/14 - #2

Some sad day, when the once-footloose Cookie Monster is footless,
Blind, kidney- and heart-diseased, perhaps then he'll write a treatise
About how unbridled addiction to his signature sweet-'n'-sugary treat
Led to tooth decay and, to his dismay, the complications of diabetes.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 11/04/14

At least and at last, it's Election Day! All the campaign promises,
Double-speak rhetoric, and attack-ad slurs have been dispensed.
If, like me, you don't feel compelled to go out to vote for anyone,
Then let's still fulfill our civic duty and go cast our votes against.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 11/06/14 - #1

When that woman said she loved me,
I should've suspected she was a liar.
If anyone speaks of love again, I'll be
Damned sure that I'm wearing a wire.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 11/06/14 - #2

The "Toilet-Seat Spider" produces venomous goo.
Ew! And it lurks beneath a seat, where it will wait
For the next human to do number(s) one and/or two,
Excepting those who stand when they only urinate.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 11/14/14

It was a month ago today when Pop passed away.
Mom passed away five-years-and-change hitherto.
A line from a 'Forties folksong is haunting me today:
"I'm an orphan now, and I'm only passing through."

NOTE: The folksong "Passing Through" was written by Richard "Dick" Blakeslee sometime in the Nineteen-Forties. I learned it from the arrangement and recorded performance by Leonard Cohen, from his "Live Songs" album, circa 1973. You may listen to the song (and sing along) here:

"Passing through, passing through. Sometimes happy, sometimes blue.
Glad that I ran into you. Tell the people that you saw me passing through."

— Blakeslee

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 11/15/14

I wonder, could there ever be any feeling that is more miraculous or holier
Than experiencing the sometimes transcendent phenomenon of pareidolia
And seeing the divine face of Jesus Christ or The Blessed Virgin Mother
On one's tortilla, grilled cheese sandwich, or another something-'r-other?

Jesus, Mary, or maybe some Saint may appear to believers mysteriously.
But, Prophet Mohammed doesn't show because that would be blasphemy.
As for atheists, pareidolia may stay away from hierophany and theophany,
To reveal, perhaps, famous or infamous visages from pop culture or history.

To sum up, if you haven't guessed, pareidolia is like a Rorschach inkblot test.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 11/16/14

The English language has no words that rhyme with "Purple."
Of course, if given the challenge, you just know some twerp'll
Do something weird, like guzzle grape soda so his purple burp'll
Rhyme. It's a crime! But if I don't do it, another deviant perp'll.

NOTE: If you're like me, you can go to bed around four in the morning and sleep-in till ten, then awake to find you possess most of a brand new doggerel verse already in your groggy, foggy noggin, rhyme that was conveniently composed by your subconscious while you were slumbering. Am I right? While I'm not positive, I imagine that my muse must've been revisiting my admiration for how Roger Miller mangled the word "syrup" so he could create a rhyme-pair for the third verse of his song "Dang Me."

"Roses are red and violets are purple.
Sugar is sweet and so is maple syrple.
I'm the seventh out of seven sons.
My pappy was a pistol, I'm a son of a gun."

— excerpt from "Dang Me" by Roger Miller, 1964

What’s that? You think I should go back to bed and stay there till I stop doing stuff like this? Sorry.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 11/17/14

"This is my considered assessment,"
She said. "Now listen up, you bitches!
This life is so rich in embarrassment
That it's an embarrassment of riches."

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 11/18/14

I've been straight for years now and I have atoned.
Don't know if it's Pavlovian, Skinnerian, or Freudian,
But I'm still behaviorally conditioned to feel stoned
Whenever I hear music that sounds Pink Floydian.

NOTE: Today's doggerel was written after first listen of the new Pink Floyd album. And, yes, as one might reasonably expect, it does sound very Pink Floydian. And And Dude, where do ya keep the munchies? Don't Bogart the Doritos, man. That's not cool. That's totally not Oh wow, dude, dude, dude, check out that shadow in the corner! Check it out! No, no, no, man, not THAT corner, the OTHER corner. Doesn't that look kinda like Jesus? Yeah, man, Jesus or that other biblical guy um, Charlton Heston! You know, before he was dead. He's still dead, right? Like, he didn't resurrect, too. Whoa, head rush! Didn't you say somethin' 'bout some snacks, man?

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 12/01/14

I just glanced at the digital clock.
It tried in earnest to tell me, "Two,"
Too bad the clock can't really talk,
'Cause I misread it to say, "ZOO."

People talk of clocks that are biological.
I'm guessing mine might be zoological.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 12/03/14

I hope you are not alphanumerically dyslexic like me
And, thus, might avoid the panic-producing mistake
Of misreading a digital clock display at exactly 5:55
SSSo it hiSSSes like SSSome venomouSSS SSSnake.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 12/05/14

Around eleven last night when I went to bed,
The Fleetwoods sang "Mr. Blue" in my head.
Then I woke up around three and, my oh my,
Jeff Lynn and ELO were singing "Mr. Blue Sky."
When the alarm blurted, "Wakey-wakey time!"
I awoke and arose and wrote down this rhyme.

Don't know the songs I reference, or now want to revisit them? See and listen to these YouTube videos: "Mr. Blue" by The Fleetwoods, and the trippy "Mr. Blue Sky" by Jeff Lynn and Electric Light Orchestra (aka ELO).

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 12/06/14

His clinically-diagnosed chronic depression, in due course,
Became a fundamental factor that contributed to their divorce.
Alone but seldom lonely now, in nighttime calm and stillness,
He knows genes, but marriage too, led to his mental illness.
It took some time, but he's much better and doesn't disparage
His ex or the split because he'd not have healed in marriage.
He'll be eternally grateful to his former-wife for their offspring,
Good times in their shared life, and peace divorce can bring.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 12/09/14

Obviously, it is a clear case of censorship by the state
When you can't get a "FUKGOVT" vanity license plate.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 12/13/14

Here are the astonishing facts
About Brother Dave's Ass Wax®:
The cost is low, little, very tiny!
And it'll make your heinie shiny!

* * * * *

Available at fine stores everywhere!
Ass Oops, ASK for it by name:
Brother Dave’s Ass Wax®

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 12/18/14

She was wearing one of those "naughty nurse" costumes.
She held a dog collar and a leash, up near her bazooms.
Wide-eyed, I said, "Whoa, Hot Mama, what's your deal?"
"I'll heal all your ills," she said, "and then I'll make you heel."

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 12/20/14 - #1

Mistletoe is a parasitic plant. And now you know.
Mistletoe robs its host of vital nutrients and fluids.
No one knows why we kiss underneath mistletoe.
But, in fact, that act may date back to the Druids.

For more info (but less doggerel), see:

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 12/20/14 - #2

I dreamed I saw Cab Calloway in a red zoot suit.
On his back, he had a big sack of reefer in tow.
If the good outnumbered your year's bad deeds,
Santa Cab would gift you primo Christmas weed,
Jumpin' to the jive 'n' singin', "Hi-De-Ho, Ho, Ho!"

For more info on Cab Calloway (who, by the way, was born on a Christmas Day), see:

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 12/20/14 - #3

Protect yourself from the naughty elf!
He's a drunken lout out on the loose!
He'll thrust his thumb up your rectum,
Shouting, "Here's a Christmas goose!"

Dear ol' Santa Claus has been alerted.
Six victims say they've called the cops.
But such butt violation is only averted
If elves disavow peppermint schnapps.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 12/21/14

We sorely lack an English word that perfectly rhymes with "Solstice."
So, I would ask the task be given to some Official New Word Minter.
Until the wound is healed, instead of applying a slant-rhyme poultice,
In December I'll remember to rely on the phrase "First Day Of Winter."

(If this problem persists come next solstice in June, it'll be a bummer
To be denied "Summer Solstice" and settle for "First Day Of Summer.")

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 12/27/14

We were wearing only our raincoats, anticipating our flash-mob moment,
Unaware the cops awaited this event an intercepted text meant to foment.
So, the cue was given: Raincoats open, mob flash, then raincoat closure.
But before we made our getaway, we were busted for indecent exposure.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 12/28/14

On a scatter-plotted PowerPoint® graph regarding
the general usage of hyphens,
I imagine my own lone state-of-the-art data-dot to be
one of the statistical outliers.
Too many writers eschew hyphens entirely, as if they
were feral Burmese pythons.
I find they add clarity, especially for many compound
nouns, verbs, and modifiers.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 12/29/14 - #1

Do not use double-hyphens to represent either en or em dashes.
That hack is as obsolete as the typewriter. Also, it looks like crap.
You do not have to memorize keyboard input "Alt code" matches.
Simply select, copy, and paste from the goddamn Character Map.

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 12/29/14 - #2

Every end-of-the-year, lists of celebrity names are compiled and released,
Citing the Who's Whos who died during the past twelve months. So, woe.
And, "Whoa," I always find myself thinking about several of the deceased,
"I'd have sworn these people had already passed away many years ago!"

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Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 12/31/14

"I heard of the Baby Safe Haven program," Gladys said
to the admitting attendant tasked
With accepting unwanted infants being anonymously
abandoned, with no questions asked.
Speaking from her driver's-side window, the old lady
concluded, "So sorry if I'm a little late."
Gladys ordered her son out of the car, then drove away
and left him. His age is forty-eight.

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