Following are collected verses of doggerel that were written during the year 2017. Some verses may be accompanied by notes that were originally included when posted on Facebook and/or Twitter, usually within a few minutes of the verses having been completed.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 01/01/17 - #1
For years, the government of China mandated a strict "one child per family" policy,
All in an effort to curb population growth and its demands on each limited resource.
But that gave rise to selective abortions, favoring boys due to tradition (and fallacy).
Now there are thirty-three million more men than women in China. So, intercourse?
Well, you know China makes so many products, exporting most to the rest of world.
They make half of all sex dolls but keep the majority, for guys needing surrogate girls.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 01/01/17 - #2
Rasputin died a century ago, plus one or two days.
Exactly when or how many times, no one can say.
After ingesting cyanide-laced cakes, tea, and wine,
Incredibly, miraculously, he seemed perfectly fine.
So, his impatient host drew a gun and shot him twice,
Thinking poison AND point-blank lead would suffice.
But Rasputin arose from the blood-drenched floor,
Went outside, was discovered, then shot once more.
His body was hauled back indoors, presumed dead.
Another gunshot for good measure, to his forehead.
Then, wrapped up in a blanket and iron-chain bound,
He was dumped into an icy river, where he drowned.
When his corpse was found, all clues indicated he'd
Revived under the ice just long enough to be freed
From his bonds before he died, Russia's "Mad Monk."
But some say he lives to this day. I say that's bunk.
There's a bird, a cardinal, outside my bedroom window.
Does that bother me in any way? I have to say, "Nope."
I'm reasonably certain I'd be closing the curtain, though,
If instead of a cardinal, it was a priest, bishop, or pope.
DISCLAIMER: No, there really isn't a cardinal outside my window today. At least, I'm unaware of one being there. I wrote the preceding doggerel after seeing a photo from a friend's x-years-ago-today Facebook "memories" that popped up in the news feed a little while ago. (I'm lookin' at you, Amy Hensler.) I only make this statement now so as not to seem to be intentionally trying to mislead any dedicated birdwatchers out there. And, oh yeah, I'm not a Catholic, either. I don't want to seem to be intentionally trying to mislead any Catholics or, especially, any Catholic birdwatchers out there. It's simply a case of coming up with the punchline first and, then, having to write and rhyme my way to that end. So there!
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 01/03/17 (Written after rereading Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 01/03/13)
It's a mighty fine line, not emblazoned or embossed.
So, no, you might not see it until the line is crossed.
— • —
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 01/03/13
The artist Salvador Dali said, "The only difference
Between me and a madman is that I am not mad."
But a madman might make that same claim, too,
Especially if his grasp on reality is a passing fad.
On second thought, b'golly, I've doubts about Dali.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 01/05/17
Yesterday, I heard a high-tech news story on one of my analog radios,
About how engineers are working on making an electronic cyber-nose.
If they were to test it on your farts, might it reply, "No ifs, ands, or buts,
Those trillions of microorganisms in your colon really hate your guts!"
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 01/16/17
Okay, so it's not doggerel, per se. But, hey, there's some internal rhyme and alliteration in the title, and this screenplay was spontaneously created after rereading a haiku I'd written exactly two years previously. See:
Brother Dave's "Sixty-Second Cinema"
Screenplay For The Day, 01/16/17
1 EXT. - PARISIAN STREET CAFÉ, CIRCA 1897 – DAY – 1
COVER SHOT: It is a lovely summer day in Paris.
After establishing the city skyline, we slowly
lower our view to street-level, to settle on two
men seated around a small table at a sidewalk
café. MASAOKA SHIKI is twenty-nine-year-old
Japanese poet, author, and literary critic. His
companion is RAINER MARIA RILKE, a twenty-one-
year-old German poet and novelist. A WAITER
reaches in to refill the wine glasses of the two
patrons, then leaves. Already buzzed, the men
take to the newly-filled glasses with warm smiles
and glassy-eyed gusto.
Their conversation continues:
Zo again, mein dear Masaoka, vahs
ist daht name you give your style of
CU: Angle on Masaoka Shiki.
CU: Angle on Rainer Maria Rilke.
(laughing, beat, continuing)
You zee vaht I did zehr, mein friend?
I make zee little joke. You zay, "Haiku"
vitch zounds like a sneeze. Undt den I
say, "Gesundheit." Ist funny, no?
What? Do I like you?
Well, why else would I write you
This short-ass haiku?
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 01/17/17
Though we may be curious about your exact age,
Good manners prevent us from asking such things.
But Emily Post never wrote a single forbidding page
Against cutting you in half and counting the rings!
DISCLAIMER: Hey, the preceding doggerel was written on and in commemoration of an old friend's birthday, so pardon me for being sentimental, 'kay?
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 01/19/17
Jennifer Aniston is shilling yet another product in a commercial on TV.
Tho' I may seem like a heartless S.O.B., I can still weep, cry, even sob.
So those artificial tears Jen is selling really don't appeal or apply to me.
Besides, as an actress, selling us fake tears is part of her regular job.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 01/26/17
To illustrate the full extent to which he does not give a damn,
His circle intersects with no other circles on a Venn diagram.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 01/28/17
Now you're calling me a smart-ass!?
Well, I have always been this way.
But I had hoped I'd be a wise-ass
By the time I got this old and gray.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/02/17 (Based on a true story)
While in the kitchen a moment ago, where and when the microwave
clock displayed "5:08" in that particular instance,
I misread it as "SOB." And then wondered if I was being told to cry
or if the microwave was mourning its own existence.
So, I had seen the word “sob” in emphatic all-caps. But you may say,
"Hey, Brother Dave, what if your fundamental glitch
Was in thinking your microwave was demanding uncontrollable tears
When it was calling you S.O.B., as in 'son of a bitch'?"
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/04/17 - #1
"So, is that a banana in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?" she said.
I hadn't thought that I'd be caught, but answered, "I don’t mean to seem elusive."
I took the banana from my pocket and slipped off my robe at the foot of her bed.
"But sometimes the choice between binary answers is not mutually exclusive."
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/04/17 - #2
When Dwayne wasn't being nearly assertive enough to suit her,
Vicki Sue publicly voiced her displeasure rather than be discreet.
"You’re a pussy!" she yelled. With no remote control to mute her,
He deflected the insult, saying loudly, "Well, we are what we eat!"
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/09/17
Don't call ol' Joe a racist, sexist, misogynist, ageist, homophobe, or xenophobe. Nope,
He hates pretty much anyone and everyone, and proudly owns the title "misanthrope."
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/12/17
Oh sure, the meaning of the idiomatic phrase "Hell to pay" is reasonably unambiguous when seen in print.
When only heard, however, it may seem that a man's demon- possessed hairpiece might be what is meant.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/14/17
Eric Clapton isn't God, no matter what some slogan from old graffiti insists.
The most profound difference between the two is that Clapton really exists.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/17/17
Intrinsic in the nucleic acid sequence of our human genome
Is a fetal stage of development that makes us deuterostome.
In contrast to protostomes, whose first orifice is their mouth,
Our initial embryonic deuterostome orifice forms further south.
It’s a fact of life, not a slander meant to demean or defame us:
Our very first orifice, or blastopore, becomes our lifelong anus.
Once, we were each just assholes! And now that you know it,
Be glad you outgrew that stage. Some folks never outgrow it.
I used my best Bluegrass pickup line, "Honey, let me be your salty dog."
But her glare conveyed that I am worthy only of open animus and odium.
"You are so disgusting," she said, "abhorrent, repugnant, and loathsome.
My salty dog!? As if! I'm a cat person, on a prescribed diet low in sodium."
I've been familiar with the "Salty Dog Blues" since, well, pretty much forever. And while I've always been curious as to what a salty dog might be, I guess I never had enough motivation to perform even the most basic sort of research regarding the phrase …until now:
"Salty Dog" comes from the archaic practice of rubbing salt into the coat of one's favorite dog as a flea repellent. Therefore, one's "salty dog" is one's favorite person, best friend, and so on. This is the meaning of the line in Salty Dog Blues: "Let me be your salty dog, or I won't be your man at all." — Edited excerpt from Salty Dog (slang) at Wikipedia.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/25/17 (Written after revisiting other doggerel on its third birthday)
How many people entering port stared up at the Colossus' crotch?
Well, we've no way of knowing, but I'd be guessing it was boatloads.
It's just another mystery of ancient history that all historians botch.
Meh. I'd rather know who is The Colossus of the Fender® Rhodes.
— • —
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.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 02/26/17 (a slight panning of pancakes, a minor flap over flapjacks)
There's round, square, rectangle, sheet, springform, tube, specialty, novelty, et al
— When it comes to making cakes, some kind of cake-baking pan is what it takes.
But pancakes!? They don't bake in any cake pan, but fry in a frying pan! The gall!
Call ‘em griddle cakes only if made on a griddle …which isn't a pan, fer chrissakes.
It's a fact that the word "poecilonym" is an old synonym to the word "synonym."
So then, taking a logical approach, based on mathematics and not on a whim,
According to Algebra's Symmetric Property of Equality (No flam and/or flim!),
If A equals B, then B equals A, and "synonym" is synonymous to "poecilonym."
According to Sherry, be wary if Harry asks you if it's okay for him to vent.
Instead of candidly sharing some grievances, he means he'll be flatulent.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/15/17
Well hell, you really have to hand it to William Shakespeare,
Even if he sometimes wore a sissified ruff of lace and starch.
Instead of something like "May mid-March fill you with fear,"
He wrote a much more ominous "Beware the Ides of March."
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/16/17 - #1
A week ago, I awoke in the wee hours with a Midwesterner's words echoing in my head.
From his "Farewell Transmission" song, "Long, dark Blues" is what he repeatedly said .
Awake, asleep, awake again, "Long, dark Blues" until the alarm buzzed me out of bed.
When Jason Molina self-medicated for his long, dark Blues, alcohol was his go-to med.
Songwriter, singer, musician: Thru a handful of band names, he was the unbroken thread.
Due to alcohol-related organ failure four years ago today in this town, Molina was dead.
"Long, dark Blues. Listen…."
Songwriter, singer, and musician Jason Andrew Molina was born December 30, 1973 in Lorain, Ohio. He died at the age of 39 years of alcohol-related organ failure on March 16, 2013, in Indianapolis, Indiana, with nothing in his pockets except a cell phone. …End Of Transmission.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/16/17 - #2
She used to be my baby,
But now she's such a bitch.
So, no if or and or maybe,
It's a case of bait 'n' switch.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/21/17
Today, March Twenty-First, is "World Poetry Day" according to UNESCO.
That's the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization.
Poetry and poets are to be esteemed and celebrated today, as is apropos.
We doggerelists, however, are told to cease 'n' desist or face incarceration.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/23/17 - #1
It's a sort of flight of fancy, a smoke-'n'-mirrors mirage, or maybe mental misdirection
That takes place in the average person's mind when inspecting one's own reflection,
To see one's own physiognomy as more physically attractive than what it, in fact, is.
So, rather than romantic leads, we'd be cast as comic relief if Real Life were Show Biz.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/23/17 - #2
I thought I’d put on a blue-striped shirt in dim morning light. Instead,
It was a full three hours later when I realized I had missed the mark.
My green-striped shirt reminded me of something Ben Franklin said
About why young men should consider taking older women to bed.
For my shirt or Franklin as a big flirt, "All cats are gray in the dark."
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/24/17
Perhaps the origin of crop circles appearing in fields of grain can be traced back to the space alien moms who were too delicate, dainty, and ethereal.
Yeah, I know it’s a common cop-out to blame parenting. Still, at breakfast time it would have been fine to say, “Hey, kids, don’t play with your cereal!”
NOTE: Last year, Facebook began to remind me on a near-daily basis of something I had written and posted [x]-years-ago to the day. I wrote the preceding exceedingly-long couplet of lines after being reminded this morning of this following verse from three years:
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.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/25/17
The man and woman in a two-person sleeper cell
Fell in love, though they knew it shouldn't happen.
When the signal came to rise up and raise holy hell,
The two were in a cozy post-coital cuddle, nappin'.
And that's why the dam still stands and we're still dry.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/28/17
Professional musician James McKee, 33, of Kankakee, passed away on the date
Of March 15th. McKee had registered as an organ donor for when he met his fate.
After a pedantic semantic interpretation, however, by a representative of the State,
The late keyboard player's treasured Hammond B3 was confiscated from his estate.
Before you imagine that's a cold and callous thing for a heartless bureaucrat to do,
McKee's Vox Continental, Farfisa Combo, and Fender Contempo were taken, too!
All those vintage musical instruments aside, was McKee's real intent given its due?
In contrast to his keyboard collection’s prime condition, his insides were useless goo.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 03/31/17
Once I was this young and trim, clean-cut G.I.,
Who'd make Spec/5 rank, equivalent to "Sarge."
But I looked like some freaky, hairy, hippie guy
Just a few months after an honorable discharge.
Time flew by and I grew old, my hair grew thin.
That's Life …well, my life. I am not complaining.
No comb-over, Rogaine, or Hair Club for Men:
I am buzz-cut again, as I was in Basic Training.
So, this has only been a pause for self-reflection.
Not to be mistaken for nostalgia, regret, or sorrow.
Seeing an old photo led me into this introspection,
Reminding me Life is "Hair today, gone tomorrow."
Listening to music is one of the few activities that utilizes all of your brain.
At least, that's what a factoid I read said. Then I wondered if it's germane
To all music. I mean, there must be a caveat concerning the matter's crux.
Maybe, for example, it only takes half a brain to listen to music that sucks.
The NSA cryptographers who hacked the CDC,
I do not know if I should disparage or pity 'em.
They learned while targeting its encryption key,
A computer hack cannot crack cryptosporidium.
NOTE: Don't be alarmed. To my knowledge, the activities outlined in the preceding rhyme have NOT happened. The four lines were merely an exercise in working out the whim to associate "cryptography" with "cryptosporidium" in verse. As such, and due to the inclusion of this explanatory note, the imaginary incident outlined in today's rhyme should not be misconstrued as being an attempt at fabricating so-called "Fake News" or "Alternative Facts." If, however, some future exposé surfaces about a covert operation similar to that described above, it would be a case of Life imitating Doggerel. Oy! For those of you who may not be familiar with some of the more arcane passages of Biblical prophecy in The Book of Revelation by John the Apostle, well, "Life imitating Doggerel" is one of the least ambiguous signs heralding The End of Days. So, beware …and always wear clean underwear! So there!
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 04/05/17
They were two similar people in the same situation, as far as I could tell.
All things being seemingly equal, I could only wonder, "What's the diff?"
The first faced the matter with a resigned-but-despairing, "What the hell?"
The second, however, asked aloud a solution-seeking, "But, what if…?"
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 04/11/17
Some may say that she had a failed marriage, of course.
She, however, chooses to see it as a successful divorce.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 04/12/17 - #1
The novelty song "Your Feet's Too Big" was published in The Great Depression.
Written by Fred Fisher and Ada Benson, it has graced many a recording session.
Recordings range from Fats Waller and Ink Spots to Leon Redbone and Beatles.
However, I'd recommend recording this song only when it's the lesser of two evils.
I mean, really, a song criticizing the size of someone's feet? You'd better let it pass.
Otherwise, regardless of shoe size, a pissed-off bipedal person could kick your ass.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 04/12/17 - #2
Standing in line at the pharmacy, I see the dumbest brand name I have ever seen.
O-M-freakin'-G! It looks like the name of a space alien, not some new antihistamine!
XYZAL® looks unpronounceable, and could only seem sexy to those who hate sex.
Maybe a marketing dude named it after a dude ranch, ‘cause backwards it's LAZY X.
NOTE: The same day I posted it here, I also posted this doggerel verse as a series of four tweets on Twitter. The day after, I got an unexpected response from the XYZAL Twitter account:
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 04/15/17
OMG! This year is the one century anniversary of "OMG."
If anything can blow your mind, maybe this research'll:
Sometime during The Great War, apparently historically,
Someone wrote "OMG" in a letter to Winston Churchill.
Since it was called "the war to end all wars" back in the day,
You'd think writing "OMFG" in WWI would have been okay.
The data indicates a sleep-deprived person is more apt
To behave antisocially, as a cheater and liar and thief.
But is chronic sleep-deprivation the cause of such acts,
Or are seventeen wide-awake hours for crime too brief?
While the whiff of their own whizz might otherwise cause a tizz,
Women of Ancient Rome did not hold it in or hold their noses.
No, instead they would resign themselves to drinking turpentine,
For the sake of making their pee come out smelling like roses.
Yeah, Howard has always been a smart-ass,
So no excuses or shifting of any of the blame.
As for reducing a rise in non-fatal shootings,
He said, "Teach shooters to take better aim."
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 04/20/17
To avoid hinting that all your preceding words may have been deceitful and underhanded,
Rather than say a potentially misleading "To be honest,…" instead say "To be candid,…."
The inspiration for today's doggerel was a vintage BDDFTD verse that Facebook dredged up as a "memory" of mine on its third anniversary this morning.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 04/27/17
Our local Agatha-Christie-mystery-novel-loving amateur sleuth
Sniffed the corpse. "Smells like almonds," she said, "Cyanide!"
Later, however, the Medical Examiner stated, "The simple truth
Is the decedent aspirated an almond, then asphyxiated ‘n' died."
The moral of this story: "Sometimes you feel like a nut. Sometimes you don't …especially after you've inadvertently sucked one down your windpipe, and there's nobody around to perform the Heimlich Maneuver on you or to call 911 on your behalf, and then sundry scenes from your life pass before your mind's eye, and suddenly you see the light but you start to freak out because of the mixed messages given in the movie Poltergeist, like 'Go into the light, Carol Anne!' and 'Don't go into the light, Carol Anne!' and then you calm down again because your final moment of Life is ebbing and, ironically after all that worry over what to do about the light, you fade to black. Oy."
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 04/28/17
"Hey, Siri, um, did you happen to hear that sound just then?"
"No, Kevin, I did not hear your especially loud and long fart…
Uh, I mean, hear what? I heard nothing but the zephyr wind."
"Smart-ass smartphone! So, that's why you're called 'smart'."
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 04/29/17
The earliest-known vending machine dispensed holy water in exchange for money.
Imagine, automated salvation from technology almost old enough to be carbon-dated!
And here we are, two whole millennia later, and it strikes me as both ironic and funny
That machines still vend water — not holy, but flavored, sweetened, and carbonated.
Like electric shock, her scalp’s a-tingle from a thousand little legs
After brushing into a low-hanging tree branch bearing spider eggs.
If an egg sac entangled in your hair freaks you out then, natch,
It’s extra unfortunate to do so at the moment wee spiders hatch.
May the fourth be with you, Reba. May your cake be free of ameba.
May you have a birthday fit for a diva or the freakin’ Queen of Sheba.
Just don’t wash your birthday suit on the roof like Biblical Bathsheba,
Or you’ll end up on the nightly news, seen on a widescreen Toshiba!
Natal Day Felicitations, Reba!
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/05/17
Persistent rains turn our prairies and plains
Into something akin to a swampy ol' bayou*.
It all gives me pause and just cause to say,
"Hey, let's rename today 'Sink-O de Mayo'!"
*NOTE: While I would typically pronounce "bayou" as "bi-yoo," this morning I've gone for the "bi-oh" pronunciation that Hank Williams used in his evergreen goodtime song "Jambalaya (On The Bayou)." Get it? Hank's "bayou" rhymes with the Spanish-language "Mayo" (not to be confused with "mayo" as in "Hold the mayo."). And if you, Dear Reader, are not familiar with Hank Williams, listen to his music on YouTube or some streaming service, and maybe read his bio (not to be confused with Hank's "bayou") online. Hotcha!
And, oh yeah, have you noticed that Cinco de Mayo is always on the 5th of May, not the 4th or 6th, not April or June, but the 5th of May!? I mean, what's up with that!?
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/06/17
I truly believed that Polly was my one true love. But in due time, she strayed.
Then she had a secret love affair and, thus, a classic love triangle was made.
When I discovered she had another lover, I cried, "Polly, I can't let this go on!"
She left with him. Ironically, love lost its basic-shape geometry with Polly gone.
Defined, a point has no width, length, or depth, in an otherwise pointless place.
I'm a single point now. There's no line segment to connect two points in space.
I couldn't find it glamorous to try polyamorous, so Polly split with her Don Juan.
But there's nothing equilateral, isosceles, or scalene polygonal with Polly gone.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/09/17
When revisiting vintage doggerel verses such as the one that follows below, I'm
Especially glad there's no one-eight-hundred hotline for reporting a rhyme crime.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/09/15
They have all come and gone, every adolescent wet dream.
It is half a century now since I slept 'n' dreamt 'n' jizzed 'em.
This is not nostalgia, but a contrived rhyme-scheme scheme.
Otherwise, this doggerel verse would not end with "wisdom."
— • —
To you who consider, in response, unfollowing or unfriending:
Yes, true wisdom often lies in not starting instead of in ending.
While Life taught its wisdom, I roamed the halls without a pass.
Closest I come is "wiseguy" now, which is to say I'm a smartass.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/11/17
The old guy thinks back to when he sowed all his wild oats.
He reckons if those seeds sprouted and grew, then they were eaten by goats.
At least, that's how most of the things in his life seem to go.
A blessing or curse, for better or worse, we do not always reap what we sow.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/12/17
Similarly, if and when he becomes a septuagenarian, the ironic twist to make the most sense
Will be if he renounces all belief in Septu, ancient Egyptian war god of protection and defense.
Or, hey, maybe not.
NOTE: Today's doggerel was written after re-reading the following quatrain of verse that Facebook reminded me I'd written five years ago today:
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/12/12
Sometimes he's amused by just how much irony
A single, quiet moment of reflection reflects.
But he has survived to become a sexagenarian,
Though it was so long ago he gave up on sex.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/13/17 - #1
When I imagine my future mind-transfer to my powder-blue android body, I think
That, due to the new skin-tone, I’ll likely wear more orange, lime green, and pink.
NOTE: Today's doggerel couplet was written after re-reading the note following a quatrain of verse that Facebook reminded me I'd written five years ago today:
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/13/12
Now that the Amish have finally won the international space race,
They're too humble yet to blow their own horn, so I'll give it a toot,
In praise of their handcrafted, hardwood, tallow-fueled spacecraft
And planetary rover drawn by a horse in its own patchwork spacesuit.
Note: Today's doggerel will be written in the future, precisely one hundred years from today, 2112CE, by what remains of my current essence that will at that time reside within a powder-blue android body — mostly humanoid-looking, I'm told, but also sporting some cool 1950s-style Cadillac fins and a state-of-the-art death-ray third-eye. The doggerel will commemorate actual current events. On that distant day, I will compose the rhyme and then send it wending its way back through time so that it will be (and was) transferred to my foggy, groggy noggin during that lazy, hazy phase of fuzziness somewhere between being sound asleep and wide awake, all on this Mother's Day Sunday in May, 2012CE. Imagine that!
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/13/17 - #2
All of the other elephants call Wally "Ol' Stubby."
It is, by the way, a nickname he has always hated.
It dates back to that time he slipped in the tubby
And, in a freak accident, his trunk was truncated.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/14/17
Bagpipes are associated with the same culture that came up with haggis*.
A cuisine equivalent to the assault on our ears, haggis was made to gag us.
*Haggis, the national dish of Scotland, a type of pudding composed of the liver, heart, and lungs of a sheep (or other animal), minced and mixed with beef or mutton suet and oatmeal and seasoned with onion, cayenne pepper, and other spices. The mixture is packed into a sheep's stomach and boiled.” — Haggis on Britannica.com
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.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/17/17
"Doc, ICve been pollinated by flora worthy of Sodom and Gomorrah.
And I’ve been morally affronted by shameless nakedness of fauna.
My ills damn-near defy description, so now write me a prescription,
If you please, if you’re gonna, for USDA Grade-A medical marijuana.
"What? No, I’m not tryin’ to cop bliss by means of medical cannabis."
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/18/17
One in four-hundred-trillion! Whoa! The odds are better by far
That you would win the lottery AND Oprah would give you a car.
But, for whatever it is worth, that is the probability of your birth.
Such odds verge on the impossible. Yet, m'Dear, here you are!
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/20/17 - #1
Well, hell, I forgot to get something at the store yet again.
Distractions? Failing memory? Whatever, I am to blame.
If I were more disciplined, I'd write myself a list. And then,
I'd have what I want and, finally, live up to my last name.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/20/17 - #2
"Defence of Fort M'Henry" was four stanzas of verse written by Francis Scott Key.
Then, someone set it to the tune of a British drinking song. Thus, in this manner,
Its wide one-octave-plus-one-fifth range might best be left to the uninhibited tipsy.
Instead of "M'Henry," the hard-to-sing song is called "The Star-Spangled Banner."
That "one-octave-plus-one-fifth" range is not suited to the average citizen singer.
If it were only one octave of notes plus one fifth of hooch, it might be a humdinger.
But, as it is, the song became our national anthem during The Great Depression.
Despite how depressed the populace was, I wish they'd not made that concession.
Only nine years later, a song was written before the beginning of World War Two
That said, "This land is your land. This land in my land." — as American as me ‘n' you.
It may not rise to pomp and circumstance, but it's something almost anyone can sing.
And a Woody Guthrie folk tune beats any pub tune from a land then-ruled by a king.
Before my proposal that "This Land Is Your Land" be our anthem puts you into a funk,
Know that the song celebrates America …and you can easily sing it when you're drunk.
NOTE: Today's second installment of doggerel is first draft. Typically, that wouldn't be notable because nearly every bit of verse posted here is done so in its first-draft form. Oven-fresh, baked daily. It's just that today's second attempt at rhyme feels a little more first-drafty to me than usual. Sorry.
In "This Land Is Your Land," besides extolling the grand and varied natural features and resources of our homeland, Woody Guthrie also included some verses that commented (with sly and dry wit) on systems that impinge on freedom in America. This verse about a "big wall" seems particularly timely:
There was a big high wall there that tried to stop me.
Sign was painted, it said, "Private Property."
But on the back side, it didn't say nothing.
This land was made for you and me.
Or this variant:
As I went walking, I saw a sign there.
And on the sign, it said, "No Trespassing."
But on the other side, it didn't say nothing.
That side was made for you and me.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/20/17 - #3
Women assess eighty percent of all men to be "below-average looking."
I can accept that assessment of me to be valid. Still, on all men's behalf,
When below-average is thirty points above "mean," that's book-cooking!
Instead of looking at men, those women might look into books about Math.
Okay, so you are lying in bed and thinking about Scarlett Johansson, as you sometimes do,
When you suddenly wonder whether she has a sib and if that sib is named after a color, too.
Is there a Magenta? Mauve? Maybe a Baby Johansson, with a name too twee for an adult?
"Baby?" you ask. Well, when "Babyshit Yellow" is your color name, "Baby" is the best default.
PS: Just in case you’re curious, Scarlett Johansson has an older sister, an older brother, a twin brother, and an older half-brother from her father’s first marriage. Apparently, none of Johansson’s siblings is named after a color. And that, as they say, is that. So there! — Source of info:Scarlett Johansson page on Wikipedia
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/22/17
A balding eagle looks into the mirror and, "Yes,"
He says, "I guess I should have always known
I inherited a genetic predisposition for baldness
And for producing an excess of testosterone."
NOTE: Today's doggerel was written after re-reading some verse that Facebook reminded me of having composed five-years-ago today:
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/22/12
I tranq bald eagles with downer-darts for the Indiana D.N.R.
I note sex, age, health, wingspan, and whatever they weigh.
Before they are freed, I need to apply ID-bands to their legs.
And then, to each bald eagle head, I glue a wig or a toupee.
Often I think to myself, "Ah, it must surely stick in one's craw
Or stick in another birdy innard part, like, perhaps, the gullet,
To catch one's own reflection when swooping to catch a fish
And see a once-regal bald eagle now forced to wear a mullet."
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/23/17
Baby, you do not need to strut your stuff when you walk my way.
Perambulate with some sense of self-confidence and it'll be okay.
And you don't need to parade, promenade, cakewalk, or sashay.
But if you've enough pep for a spring in your step, it will be okay.
NOTE: While driving to the TV station this morning, I heard an old Rock 'N' Roll song on the radio that contained the phrase "strut your stuff" in its lyrics. When I arrived at my destination, today's doggerel spontaneously presented itself to me. So, hey, I wrote it down.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/24/17
If you think human relationships are complicated, I bet you've never seen
Any reproductive educational films or pornography of the Blaxxon Bleen.
While we've two sexes, they've six! If you're wondering, "How's that work?"
Well, the closest human analog would be part clusterfuck, part circle jerk.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/27/17
With tar and feathers and pitchforks and torches,
In their little town streets, from their front porches,
A mob of local yokel folk’ll be chanting in chorus,
“Them gays ‘r’ okay, but NO showbiz folk for us!”
When situation’s real and fear’s a genuine factor,
It’s hard to act cool, even for a professional actor.
Or, hey, maybe not.
NOTE: Today's doggerel was written after re-reading the following quatrain of verse that Facebook reminded me I'd written three years ago today:
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'd been rumored that you're thespians,
'N' we don't much cotton to that kind here.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/31/17
"Your Honor," he said, "My exposing my naughty parts in a public park
Was not done for exhibitionistic reasons or for perverse prurient intent.
No, instead it was an innocent homeopathic remedy intended to spark
Natural testosterone production by as much as two-hundred percent."
One would expect that, at my age, I should have a clear sense of who and what and where I am.
But reconciliation of relativistic and quantum perspectives might mean the Universe is a hologram.
And if everything is much flatter than it seems, at least according to theory and proofs mathematic,
Then I must be an unwitting victim of such flattery, being less three-dimensional, more holographic.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/04/17 (Modern English, written in left-to-right, with vowels and spaces, normal doggerel format)
Reading left-to-right, right-to-left, or up-to-down is cultural. But written language without a vowel?
Besides vowel-free right-to-leftness, Standard Biblical Hebrew would make me throw in the towel.
Having to parse each word and phrase and sentence from a randomly-broken character chain,
Much like masturbation in Medieval Europe, might be expected to make one blind and insane.
The extra effort required for reading scripture might impinge on one’s visual and mental health,
Such that a mystical metaphysical system such as Kabbalah could spontaneously create itself.
*PS: Please excuse any typographical errors in the backward all-consonants version of today's doggerel, if they exist. I tried my best while transcribing, but this experiment kinda hurt my head too much to attempt proofreading the translation.
Also, I’m reminded of a comedy bit I saw on short-lived "The Roger Miller Show" (NBC-TV, September 12 to December 26, 1966). Singer-songwriter and our TV host, Roger Miller, began speaking a string of obviously-fake, quasi-Spanish-sounding gibberish. Then, in English, he said something like, "I don’t let total ignorance stop me from speaking a language." I was a kid, but I got the joke. Anyway, it is in that same vein that I have approached the writing of today’s doggerel, not letting my most superficial, almost-totally-ignorant understanding of Standard Biblical Hebrew formatting and/or the Kabbalah get in the way of spouting off about them. So there!
The motivation for today’s verse? Well, while I was still in bed this morning, in that foggy-groggy phase between being sound asleep and wide awake, I wondered what some lines of verse would look like written backwards and without the vowels and spaces. Why? I haven’t a clue. But my muddled mind started composing some verse required for conducting the experiment. Oy. So, I got out of bed, turned on the computer, and started the project. Sorry.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/05/17 - #1
Way back when everything seen on a TV screen was only black ‘n’ white ‘n’ several shades of gray,
There were commercials for an over-the-counter remedy to treat maladies not ever mentioned today.
Unlike those old Anacin™ ads, no new nostrum is explicitly marketed to treat "neuritis and neuralgia."
Don’t those same pains yet remain? Or, were they cured and I have neuritis and neuralgia nostalgia?"
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/05/17 - #2
Put your best foot forward! Go for it! Have a great attitude!
Carpe Diem! And (blah-blah any other affirmative platitude)!
But if it’s positive thinking that puts you into an odious mood,
I hope wishing you “Meh, whatever.” earns earnest gratitude.
After turning off my computer, IOT TV, and bedroom light,
A yellow-green LED on the modem kept flashing last night.
No big deal, my iPhone likely was updating apps via Wi-Fi.
Then in LED-dotted darkness, flashing on the ceiling! Why?
A lightning bug was inside! It blinked its path to the modem,
Which, I’d guess, he took to be a female trying to goad him
Into joining her for sex. He didn’t get laid, as he was thinking.
But he wasn’t eaten, the alt default goal of bug butt-blinking.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/10/17
Lying in bed this morning, in that groggy-foggy lazy-hazy phase between sound asleep and wide awake,
I could've been reported by the casual observer as "not moving at all," but such news would've been fake.
In my fuzzy-thinking thoughts, it occurred to me that, if at the equator the Earth spins around at the rate
Of a thousand-plus miles per hour, then, even here near the forty-north latitude, my motion is not sedate.
It's all relative, but before calling my moving eastward at almost eight hundred M.P.H. "not moving at all,"
Consider that I am also moving sixty-six thousand miles per hour while the planet circles around old Sol.
And Sol, our sun, is dragging Earth ‘round the galaxy at just under a half-million miles per hour. Then, too,
The galaxy is cruising through the Cosmic Background Radiation at one-point-three million M.P.H. Whew!
So, this morning if someone had said, "Get your lazy ass outta bed and move!" I'd have data to resist ‘em.
And all the numbers would sound one-point-six times greater still, if I expressed ‘em in the metric system.
PS: While still in bed, I had the numbers for the first verse already in my head. But then, I had to get up and go online to find the other data. I used the standard Win10 calculator and some online conversion calculators for any aftermarket math. The main source for today's doggerel data was mined from this very unassuming webpage:https://astrosociety.org/edu/publications/tnl/71/howfast.html
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/11/17 - #1
Anna was given some left-over ED meds from a recently-widowed friend.
Anna had not had sex in too long a time, a problem she meant to amend.
A blue pill ground into powder, in a secret-compartment ring found online,
Anna felt like a movie femme fatale spy as she spiked her husband's wine.
Now Anna glows way too much to feel guilty when she awakens at dawn.
Her man has yet to link his lust to the nights Anna has her cocktail ring on.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/11/17 - #2
A drugstore cowboy is "one who wears cowboy clothes but has had no experience as a cowboy."*
Back in the ‘Fifties, my dad and his fellow Country & Western music bandmates dressed in cowboy drag.
A drugstore robot is not necessarily a physical automaton, or even someone who dresses up as one. Oy.
"Drugstore robot" is the voice of pharmacy robo-calls, saying my meds are ready, come pick up the bag.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/11/17 - #3
The bacteria in my gut, which is essential to digestion, will turn on me after I die.
"Hey," they may say, "he is not eating to feed us anymore, so let us eat this guy!"
No fear of me taking meds or measures to curb their consumption ‘n' propagation,
They may party hearty, never suspecting the forthcoming cremation conflagration.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/11/17 - #4
Who has what rare condition that causes her fifty or more spontaneous orgasms a day?
Well, "some woman in Alabama with Persistent Genital Arousal Disorder" is the answer.
Hopefully, she doesn't have to have a cigarette after each, 'cause… um, cum what may,
That is two-and-a-half-packs-a-day, likely leading to poverty, emphysema, and cancer.
Artificial Intelligence, or AI, could ultimately evolve capabilities beyond what anyone currently expects.
Artificial Emotions, however, might remain minimal, comparable to those that were evident in your Ex.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/15/17
Puzzled, she asked, "Well, what brought about that whim?"
With a gleam in his eye and a grin, he claimed, "Whimsy!"
While she often found excuses for his behavior to be slim,
She could not fault the logic of whimsy-to-whim as flimsy.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/17/17
Sometimes an image, a song, or a movie scene reminds him of his youth.
It's as if he has a vague recollection of some life experience, when, in truth,
His nostalgic so-called "way it was" was more accurately the way it wasn't,
And his fuzzy sense of reminiscence makes the sort of sense that doesn't,
Because the false remembrances of his younger self are derived, variously,
From other people's images, songs, movies, and lives he lived vicariously.
It's other folks' visions, dreams, words, memes, and lives lived vicariously.
PS: I had planned to sleep in, but when I awoke early this morning I discovered that at least half of today's doggerel already had been written — in my sleep, in my head, in my bed. The theme was there, all the rhyme-pairs had been selected, and some of the lines were near completion. I only had to get up and finish the project.
My muse? I haven't a clue. But maybe it's only what ought to be expected after staying awake into the wee hours, watching wacky serialized subtitled anime with its original Greek-to-me Japanese soundtrack, which, at critical moments in the action, has Japanese-accented English words thrown into the dialogue. For example, when Momoko, our heroine of Sumomomo Momomo, is launching a special martial arts counterattack against another of many wannabe assassins targeting the guy she loves, protects, and intends to marry, Momoka may yell, "Shout Bazooka Strike!" At those moments, though, a full screen of Japanese text momentarily replaces the action to write the translated equivalent of, say, "Shout Bazooka Strike!" Or, so I am led to assume from the English subtitle and voice-over narrative for that particular text screen.
I know. WTF, right?
And blah, de-blah, blah, blah. I should just go back to bed now. TTFN.
PPS: Oh, and in case you were wondering, no, I didn't wake up this morning with false memories of having been a petite, hyperactive, hyperemotional, incredibly strong, and dragon-avatar-generating Japanese girl in my distant youth. Today's doggerel and the aforementioned anime don't have that connection, if any, other than for these ramblings here. So there!
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/19/17 - #1
All people literally have, and some people figuratively are, a-holes.
And most stringed musical instruments in orchestras have f-holes.
So now, I am wondering what cabal or cartel hoards and controls
Access to, even awareness of, all things with b-, c-, d-, or e-holes.
NOTE: The vintage 1960s-era photo below is of some guys, ostensibly in a Rock and/or Roll band. The two young men on the left and right sides of the picture are holding Epiphone brand, Casino model, electric guitars. These, like many archtop hollow-body and semi-hollow body electric guitars, have f-holes. (No text was included with the photo to indicate whether the would-be guitarists [and bass player, with an f-hole-free Hofner violin bass] ever learned to turn their instruments to an approximate 90-degrees/horizontal position so as to play them properly. But, sadly, given their apparent lack of understanding a most basic and fundamental aspect of musicianship [i.e., holding an instrument in a playable position], it is doubtful that this wannabe band ever found any success in attaining their youthful dreams and aspirations of fame and fortune as musical artists. […Sigh…] But so it goes. A kind and caring person might have spared them soul-crushing disappointment early-on by simply whispering a few words of wisdom, something like, "Let it be.")
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/19/17 - #2
A recent discovery from an ocean abyss off the coast of Australia
Is Sipuncula, or "peanut worm," the sight of which ought not fail t'
Remind you of a human penis. Why, I bet Lorena formerly-Bobbitt
Would end one's life with a knife, take it for a drive, 'n' then lob it!
The muse for today's second doggerel verse was the photo and linked article posted with this tweet: "This is an animal, not a penis." — Gizmodo (@Gizmodo on Twitter)
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/19/17 - #3
I just read this fascinating factoid tweet, "A duck's quack doesn't echo, and no one knows why."
I say, "Slap a reverb VST plug-in on the DAW's quack track, then adjust between Wet and Dry.
One of Life's baffling mysteries is the spelling anomaly
That, every time I see it, I say to myself, "Man, oh, man!
Why in the world would there be a misdirecting silent-E
In the state of Washington city place name of Spokane?"
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/21/17
Though it may sound gross or even nuts,
Condoms once were made from pig guts.
No, really! It's a historical fact, not fiction .
And it makes me wonder whether friction
Caused during the act of hot love-makin'
Made lovers ask, "Do you smell bacon?"
Having read the Wikipedia "Mojo" pronunciation guide,
I am puzzled, such that now it is my considered belief
The "/ˈmoʊdʒoʊ/" looks so much like "moo-joo" that I’d
Imagine the noun should be a reference to Kosher beef.
We use paper when we blow our noses.
We use paper when we wipe our butts*.
The often-overlooked good news:
The facial and toilet tissue we use
Is NOT the kind to cause us paper cuts.
*Of course, this generalization is not meant to include those who still use the butt-wiping method dating back to Ancient Rome, in which a shared sponge-on-the-end-of-a-stick was available for use by all depositors in unpartitioned multi-seated public toilet facilities. Nor is the second line of today's verse intended to be representative of those who use the old Americana corncob method of heinie hygiene, wiping with two red corncobs (one after the other, not two at a time, fer chrissake), and then wiping with a white corncob to see if the job is done to satisfaction or if, instead, more red corncobs are called for. To the aforementioned and to any other offended paperless ass-wipers, heartfelt apologies from the management and staff here at Brother Dave's Doggerel Sweatshop And Second-Hand Hubcap Emporium LLC. Sorry!
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/24/17
Once upon a time, rather than appreciate our general tendency
To be intelligent and creative, people would run away screamin',
To hide, or to get pitchforks and torches to purge our sinistrality,
Because every left-handed person was believed to be a demon.
When the old priest began performing ancient exorcism rituals,
The demons he sought to cast out soon discovered a fatal flaw.
So the possessed had no choice when they said with her voice,
"Well, hell no, we won’t go! Possession’s nine-tenths of the law."
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/24/17 - #2
The Fibonacci Sequence underlies the natural structure of many things. These
Range from some microscopic single-celled plants and animals to entire galaxies.
But what I once saw as elegance and beauty in Nature, now makes me a grump,
After seeing a photo with the Fibonacci Spiral superimposed on Trump's fat rump.
Curving out of the asshole of an asshole: A Fibonacci Spiral on Trump's fat rump.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/25/17 - #1
I was born a blond and remained one until I was ten, then my hair turned brown.
The first stray gray hairs came 'round when I was twenty. And now there's white.
It's the same color-transition pattern Dad had, so I have no reason to put it down.
Better that over time than be like folks so frightened their hair whitens overnight.
(Of course, with male-pattern balding and a buzz-cut, there's not much hair there.)
I wrote and posted a quatrain of verse on Facebook as a "Comment" commemorating a couple's fortieth wedding anniversary. Even though the words are much too sentimental, even embarrassingly so, I thought I might still risk exposing my vulnerable soft-'n'-gooey center by re-posting the verse here because 1.) I really am just a hopeless romantic, so I might as well own that in a public forum, and 2.) Maybe some agent for Hallmark will read my rhyme and, after wiping away the stream of free-flowing tears inspired by the pathos that infuses my work, he or she will seek me out and offer me a fortune for these few words that delve so deeply, yet tenderly, into the human condition, to share the verse with all the (greeting-card-buying) world.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/25/17 - #2
It is truly impressive, of course,
Whenever the groom and bride
Can go 40 years without divorce
Or, better still, without homicide.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/26/17 - #1
I am not known to be unctuous, ingratiating, effusive, or fawning, okay?
If after our next encounter, you think to yourself as I am walking away,
"Well, he seemed to be uncharacteristically cloying. Was it all pretend?"
I'd likely had a sugar-free soda and was, thereby, artificially sweetened.
After every Coca-Cola Vanilla Zero® I consume, I cannot help but think,
"My color of skin and shape I'm in, ‘You are what you eat …and drink!'"
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 06/26/17 - #2
Once upon a time for a game of tug-o'-war, ancient Norse mythology recalls
That trickster god, Loki, tied rope to a goat and the other end to his scrotum.
While such an act required little brains at all, it undeniably took some balls,
Literally. Balls so big, metaphorically, he'd need a wheelbarrow to tote 'em.
Or, if the act stretched his sack, never to snap back …an ox cart to tote 'em.
When reading song lyrics, classical poetry, or other verse,
Does this unconventional gimmick augment or diminish it:
Lines build for an obvious rhyme, then, for better or worse,
The writer, for whatever reason, chooses not to finish …?
Or, how about other examples in otherwise rhyming verse
Wherein words in an idiom become a source of confusion,
Do you feel a sudden undeniable urge to applaud or curse,
When anticipated rhyme is diverted from its foregone end?
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 07/01/17 - #1
Ed once was so thoroughly, incredibly, embarrassingly empty-headed.
Seeking even a minimal framework of knowledge never was his quest.
"Was empty-headed? So, now he's learning?" you ask. No, instead Ed
Found a pair of swallows had entered through his ears and built a nest.
These American Cliff Swallows ought to be in Capistrano, fer chrissake.
While Ed has noticed there are far less skeeters and gnats that pester,
The incessant chirp-chirp-chirping of hungry hatchlings keeps Ed awake.
If Ed had even half a brain, he'd look forward to being an empty-nester.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 07/01/17 - #2
Well, someone crunched the numbers and when the crunching was done,
The odds of your ever having been born were four-hundred-trillion to one!
Your odds are far better for winning the lotto AND Oprah giving you a car.
Four-hundred-trillion to one verges on impossible! And yet, here you are!
A Confession: While today's second installment of doggerel may be derivative, based on a quatrain of verse I wrote a month-and-a-half ago, I think I like today's version better than the original:Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 05/18/17.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 07/02/17
I stayed awake into the wee hours, watching English-dubbed Japanese anime movies.
I went to bed 'round a quarter-to-five.
I turned off the TV, turned off the light, lay down, turned on my side, closed my eyes,
And thought, "It's good to still be alive."
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 07/03/17
I just now watched "Kubo And The Two Strings" for the second time,
And I'd forgotten how the Moon King had stolen one of Kubo's eyes
When the boy was only a baby. Besides "Yuck!" ‘n' "What the fuck!?"
I thought how I recently read "human infant eyes are nearly full-size."
NOTE: What really blew my mind, though, was, after thinking to myself more than once that the computer animation was amazing in how the animators brought so much subtlety and nuance to facial expressions at times, then early in the end credits a time-lapse clip reveals that the film was created using real-world 3D articulated models and traditional stop-motion animation techniques. Whoa!Kubo And The Two Strings righfully earned its two Oscar nominations.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 07/07/17
"Bird seed" is a misnomer, so you cannot trust those words.
Plant and water all you will, still you will not grow any birds.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 07/08/17 - #1
Whenever people say they will be with you "in a jiffy"
After you've called out so seductively and beckoned,
Expect their commitment to literal jiffy-ness to be iffy.
A jiffy, as a unit of time, is one hundredth of a second.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 07/08/17 - #2
When I awoke this morning, I had the voice of TV actor Jack Webb in my head.
It was a classic "Dragnet" Detective Sergeant Joe Friday voice-over, but instead
Of police blotter details of some "This is the city" L.A. crime, what he had to say
Was from a song: "It was the third of June, another sleepy, dusty Delta day…."
If I'd stayed in bed and gone back to sleep,… But I didn't and learned my lesson
That, when one does not finish his dream, the likely conclusion is up for guessin'.
So, I guessed Friday was on a fishing trip in Mississippi when, as he later testified,
"I witnessed Billie Joe McAllister fall from Tallahatchie Bridge, an apparent suicide."
Sergeant Friday would have learned that one Roberta Lee "Bobbie Gentry" Streeter
Was recently seen on the bridge with the decedent, so he'd schedule to meet her.
She and Billie Joe had thrown something off the bridge, but what, she would not say.
A charge of littering likely would not stick, so Joe left the chick and flew back to L.A.
Jack Webb's introductory voice-over told us, "The story you are about to see is true.
Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent." This closing must do:
"Ms. Bobbie Gentry made a hit song from some tragic Southern Gothic upheavals,
Taking top spot on the Billboard album charts from Sgt. Pepper's by The Beatles."
Imagining how my waking dream should have ended, by informed reconstruction,
Hands with an iron stamp and hammer would coin "A Mark VII Limited Production."
* The last line in the first verse of today's doggerel quotes the opening line from the song "Ode To Billie Joe," a #1 hit single in July, 1967, written and recorded by Bobbie Gentry (aka Roberta Lee Streeter).
The following are from the "Dragnet" radio-series-turned-TV-series, that starred Jack Webb, actor/writer/producer/director: The character Sergeant Detective Joe Friday, the phrase "This is the city," and the introductory narrative "The story you are about to see is true. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent." And that is, as Sergeant Friday might himself say, "Just the facts, ma'am, just the facts."
PS: In doing the little bit of research for these end credits, I see that it was half-a-century-ago this month when Ms. Gentry's recording of "Ode To Billie Joe" was released. How 'bout that!? Where does the time go? I mean, for you and me, of course. For Billie Joe McAllister, time is irrelevant, bless his heart.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 07/10/17
So, you know how our collective awareness of some well- known celebrity or politico fades
From general public consciousness, radio, TV, Internet, newspapers, tabloids, and trades.
And then, perhaps after several years have passed, you read or you hear something said
About a forgotten celeb doing this or that, and you think, "I thought he (or she) was dead!"
Well, I've been experiencing a similar sort of surprise — foggy at first, now getting clearer.
But instead of some celebrity, the "I thought he…" occurs to me when I look in the mirror.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 07/11/17 - #1
The Blaxxon-Bleen starship captain can barely manage to suppress
His excitement to be leaving Earth orbit and for warpdrive to kick in.
Yes, he's eager to report his diplomatic mission to be a big success
And, even more so, to report that humans taste like Blaxxon chicken.
A lost-in-a-daydream gaze glazes over his six greedy beady black eyes,
Imagining wealth as CEO of a galactic Blaxxon Fried Human® franchise.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 07/11/17 - #2
I just saw a tweet from the official account of the Merriam-Webster dictionary folk.
It says the current top five lookups are: "collusion, treason, collude, quid pro quo"
And one I didn't know, "kakistocracy," which I'd guess to be a punchline to a joke.
I looked that one up. It's "government by the worst people." And now you, too, know.
My guessing "kakistocracy" is a punchline? 'Stead of laugh, you might wanna cuss,
'Cause there's a joke in there somewhere, but it is not funny and that joke is on us.
PS: That "government by the worst people" definition provided by the online version of Merriam-Webster is rather pithy. This Wikipedia definition is a little more qualified: "A kakistocracy (English pronunciation: /kækɪsˈtɑkɹəsi/) is a state or country run by the worst, least qualified, or most unscrupulous citizens. The word was coined as early as 1600s."
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 07/13/17
Regarding onomatopoeia, you might expect to see more consistency than you really do.
Animal sounds, in particular, ought to transcend translation barriers. But still, a cat's mew
Varies among various languages. There's miav, miauw, miau, miaou and, yes, miyau too,
Plus nyan nyan, nyaa nyaa, mjan mjan, and miyav. Cats only meow in English and Urdu.
PS: For catcalls and other animal emissions in the aural spectrum as interprested by various human languages, check out this Animal Sounds spreadsheet.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 07/15/17
The ice cream truck just drove by again, with its eight-bit chiptune speakers blaring
A too-cheery version of a song in the public domain and, thus, free for the sharing.
Do kids today recognize the tune of this particular Stephen Foster minstrel song?
If so, and even if they know the words, would it be socially-acceptable to sing along?
"Old Folks At Home," a.k.a. "Swanee River," was written right before the Civil War.
It's from a slave's POV, with fond memories of plantation life he's now nostalgic for.
I bend the bridge: "All de world am sad and dreary, eb'rywhere, or so it may seem.
Oh, darkeys, how my heart grows weary, gettin' ol' folks t' buy youngins ice cream!"
Nope, still not right. Romanticizing slavery only entertains the master/owner race.
And so it goes that minstrel shows were generally white men made-up in blackface.
"All up and down de whole creation, sadly I roam" implies the narrator is now free.
But "longin' for de old plantation ‘n' for de old folks at home" implies he'd rather not be.
Foster wrote several Great American Songbook evergreens. If they weren't all P.D.,
And if Foster were alive today, he would have brand-name fame and be financially free.
He'd rewrite any offending lyrics for his timeless, popular tunes. That's how I'd call it.
He wouldn't end up naked, alone, bleeding to death, with only three cents in his wallet.
And now I imagine hearing resurrected Stephen Foster singing:
"Oh! Susanna, I dream of Jeanie and my old KY home in my Beautiful Dreamer dream.
And I have a dream of a do-dah day when I'll collect royalties from vendors of ice cream."
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 07/16/17
Pronouncing Uranus as "Your Anus" makes astrophysicists glower.
They prefer the pronunciation "Urine Us," as in a "golden shower."
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 07/17/17 - #1
Two Lines Cut From The Very First Episode Of "Doctor Who" ("An Unearthly Child," November 23, 1963) Because They Were Deemed By BBC Programme Management To Be Too Depressing In The Aftermath Of The Assassination Of U.S. President Kennedy The Previous Day
THE DOCTOR (to granddaughter SUSAN):
"Okay, so 'Button, Button, Who's Got The Button?' is an old-fashion parlor game that future generations of children may never know.
It would be boring as a video game, and buttons will be replaced by auto-snapping snaps, hipper zippers, and self-sealing Velcro®."
NOTE: Today's doggerel was written after rereading the "cute as a button" idiom in a quatrain of verse that Facebook reminded me of having composed and posted three years ago today. Then, after I had written this new couplet, I thought, "What the hell is this? I mean, really, what the hell is this?" It needed some sort of context, preferably one in the past, projecting beyond our present and into the future. So, I imagined the doggerel to be lines of dialog stricken from an old TV show script. The original Doctor Who episode name and air date are real. That the episode aired the day following the death of JFK is real. But the claim that the couplet of verse is, what, closing in on fifty-four years old now, well, that is fake news. Bullshit, fake news, whatever. Hey, it's what I sometimes do. If ever I'm offered a lucrative position as a so-called "journalist" — either as on-air talent, or as a behind-the-scenes propaganda writer (I'm told I've a face that's perfect for radio.) — in the Fox News infotainment machine, you'll know why.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 07/17/17 - #2
I got totally messed up after snorting 'bout a quarter-kilo of cocoa.
Then, I went on to do several lines of pure granulated cane sugar.
Whoa! My mind was kinda like The Beatles …after John met Yoko:
A four-way split! 'N' holy shit, I sneezed a chocolate sugar booger!
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 07/19/17
Bob Marley shot the sheriff, ending Andy Taylor's life.
But Bob did not shoot the deputy, sparing Barney Fife.
During a thirty-second soundbite on the radio, a chef duplicated the verb "do" twice.
I can't quote him verbatim now, but an example is "We do do that for local cuisine."
Whoa! Why risk sounding like you're saying "doo- doo" when a single "do" will suffice?
Wash hands after doo-doo breaks, Chef. But say "doo-doo," then gargle Listerine®.
NOTE: Please, do NOT misconstrue today;s doggerel to be some sort of compensated endorsement of Listerine® and/or a blatant and crass case of product placement …at least not unless and until an agent of the McNeil Consumer Healthcare division of Johnson & Johnson offers me a boodle of under-the-table cash to whore myself out for, say, a very lucrative rebranding of our doggerel fabrication outlet to "Brother Dave Lister;s Listerine® Doggerel For The Day." In the immortal words of Col. B.D. Lister (b. April 17, 1864; d. October 29, 1929), our esteemed founder of Brother Dave;s Doggerel Sweatshop And Used Hubcap Emporium LLC: "Literary prostitution? Hell yes, we do do that! I mean, hey, it's only doggerel, fer chrissake."
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 08/04/17
Whenever I see brand new factory-torn jeans, I never fail
To think I’d only want an extra rip if I had a prehensile tail.
Brother Dave's Doggerel For The Day, 08/06/17
THE BALLAD OF BLACK BART
He was born over in Norfolk, England in Eighteen-Twenty-Nine.
When his family moved to America, he was age two at the time.
Who knew that bright-eyed toddler who was jolly, kind, smart,
And known as Charlie Boles would one day become Black Bart?
Charlie was only age twenty when the California Gold Rush hit.
He rode three-thousand miles on horseback to claim a piece of it.
But when Charlie's fortune didn't pan out after two years or so,
He went back home, then went back West to give it another go.
A busted Forty-Niner in Eighteen-Fifty-Four, Charlie once more
Headed back to Upstate New York, near Lake Ontario's shore.
Still nine hundred miles from his home, though, to Charlie's joy,
He met and married Mary Johnson and sired four kids in Illinois.
In 'Sixty-Two for the Civil War, Brit-born Charlie joined as a Yankee,
Enlisting in the Hundred-Sixteenth Illinois Regiment, Company B.
Charlie Boles was a model soldier – a grunt, then sergeant, then LT:
Seriously wounded in Vicksburg; marched with Sherman to the sea.
War was won, May of 'Sixty-Five. Charlie was discharged in June.
Unlike his fallen comrades and foes, he returned home. But soon,
Wanderlust and glittering dreams of nuggets and gold dust beckoned.
Forget California, he'd strike it rich in Montana or Idaho, he reckoned.
August 'Seventy-One, four more years away from his kids and wife,
He wrote one last letter home, after which Mary assumed he lost his life.
Charlie had written of an altercation with some agents of Wells Fargo,
And he swore vengeance, but did not say how far he was willing to go.
From July of Eighteen-Seventy-Five to November of 'Eighty-Three
Was the span of Charlie's Wells Fargo stagecoach-robbing spree.
At least twenty-eight holdups to his nom de plume in the poetic art.
You see, he left original doggerel at some heists, signed "Black Bart."
"I've labored long and hard for bread,
For honor, and for riches,
But on my corns too long you've tread,
You fine-haired sons of bitches." — Black Bart, 1877
Black Bart became a romantic Wild West folk hero to fellow countrymen.
He was a gentleman bandit who was courteous and well-spoken when
He asked for the strongbox, pointing a shotgun though he never fired it.
As if demeanor and wit weren't enough for fans, doggerel also inspired it.
"Here I lay me down to sleep
To wait the coming morrow,
Perhaps success, perhaps defeat,
And everlasting sorrow.
Let come what will, I'll try it on,
My condition can't be worse;
And if there's money in that box
'Tis munny [sic?] in my purse." — Black Bart, 1878
Yes, twenty-eight holdups in Northern California and in Southern Oregon.
Though Wells Fargo detectives had tracked Charlie for years, only one
Robbery was prosecuted when he was caught, tried, sentenced, and sent in
To do four years of a six year stretch in a Johnny Cash-less San Quentin.
Charlie "Black Bart" Boles never returned to family in The Great Midwest.
His post-prison whereabouts were known for a while, but then it's guessed
He slipped away to do some more prospecting, or lived anonymously in NYC,
Or was paid by Wells Fargo and Company to further refrain from robbery.
It's the Twenty-First Century now. That Nineteenth Century bandit is gone.
From among this ballad's named entities, it's only Wells Fargo that lives on.
Stealing millions from customers, it's now Wells Fargo committing the crimes,
With fake accounts and unnecessary insurance, but never leaving any rhymes.
The scale of magnitude 'twixt Black Bart's holdups and Wells Fargo's crimes
Would likely boggle Charlie's mind. And at least Charlie left us some rhymes.
The two blocks of verse (with the shorter lines) are, as attributed, rhymes written by Charles "Black Bart" Boles. I added the bracketed-sic [sic?] after the word "munny" at first thinking it was a misspelling of the word "money." But then, I added the question mark because I thought that, rather than "munny" being misspelled, perhaps it could be a word with which I'm unfamiliar, maybe an allusion to some word or line of text from antiquity. I just had some doubt about a common word being carelessly misspelled when it had been spelled correctly in the preceding line with only four other words intervening. Now I'm hoping that Boles' "munny" was actually a clever reference or pun that I will yet find the meaning of and appreciate with relish in the near future.