The fisherman stood on the pier,
said,"What the hell am I doing here?"
"The fish taste just shitty,
The weather ain't pretty,
And I spent all my money on beer."
© Swampetta (SWAMPETTA@aol.com)










      











A swamp is not a bog,
A bog is not a frog,
A mouse is not a louse.
But write it in your log,
A hog will forever be a hog.

© Marilyn J. (Ibem28@aol.com)












Leopard print boxers worn by Jeff Green.
The funniest thing we’ve ever seen.
After the fires
At Mrs. McGuire’s,
That’s all he wore, when he left the scene.
© Paul (AHikingDude@aol.com)










They sat in the orchestra every night,
He on the far left, she way off to the right.
Miss Glockenspiel played her instrument with zeal.
To Floyd Flugelhorn, her talent did appeal.

One night, on her empty seat he left a note,
Asking her if an hour she might devote
To having a drink with him in a café
Around the corner from the place where they play.

Glenda Glockenspiel smiled at young Floyd so sweet,
Sitting across the orchestra in his seat.
She nodded her head. His heart lurched, for this meant
That she would join him, and later off they went.

They had drinks and also a wonderful meal,
All the while he listened to her glockenspiel.
And when they both woke up the following morn,
He smiled to find her holding his flugelhorn.
© RickMack (jotoma@bellsouth.net)








I never would have dreamed of wearing leopard print,
Much too sexy and tawdry I thought,
By my teenage granddaughter teased and taunted,
Said I had to get rid of the granny undies,
So off I went to Victoria's Secret,
And bought leopard print.
They don't call me Granny Frannie anymore!
© Frannie (Frannie516@aol.com)













The lunar eclipse darkened the night
All the cannibals ran off in fright
He leaped from the pot
Before it got hot
Just as the moon came back into sight.
© RickMack (jotoma@bellsouth.net)











Bonjour, Bon-Ami,
Will you help me up today?
Mr. Clean came and got my Tilex
And left me nothing with which to play.
I cried and slid easy off my chair,
But can't find my toys anywhere,
Bon Ami, will you please play with me?
© Dreamer (Twi1lite)










Finding the ladder in the larder,
That has become quite a bit harder.
I doubt that even the Mad Hatter
In the larder can find the ladder.
Somewhere behind the tubs of butter
You can hear the curses that I utter.
The lost feeling makes me shudder
(Somehow fit in the words ‘ship’s rudder’) :)
Completely lost among the litter
I shall not become too bitter
A paraphraser or reworder
Nevertheless, they’ll call it murder
Murder by litter near the ladder in the larder
In death’s throes I shudder as I utter ‘butter’ in the litter near the ladder
in the larder all the harder.
© Paul (AHikingDude@aol.com)










There once was a silkworm named Marva
Whom from her cocoon burst as larva
Then, as a moth
She spun some cloth
That was made into shirts in Java
© RickMack (jotoma@bellsouth.net)








Oh, Brother!


Of two brothers, one was a monk,
Living a life of seclusion.
The other a Chippendale hunk,
With fair maidens in profusion.

The cloistered choice was appealing
To the one of religious bent.
The other never seen kneeling,
Nor were any prayers Heaven sent.

The monk was true to his calling,
Days devoted to sacrifice.
His brother’s ways were appalling,
Familiar with every vice.

The monk seemed always contented,
Quite willing to be celibate.
His brother thought him demented,
Never having known him to date.

As fate would have it, they both died
On the twenty-seventh of May,
And for the monk, nobody cried,
But for his soul, friars did pray.

And as for his sinful sibling,
Who lived life to the nth degree,
Theologists are still quibbling
About which they would rather be.
© RickMack (jotoma@bellsouth.net)








Our young hero sat at his desk,
On his radio was heard Humoresque.
The version by Dvorak was groovy
(Not the old Bette Crawford movie.)

Sitting at the very next desk
Was a lady best called Rubenesque.
She started dancing and threw out her back
Listening to the music of Dvorak.
© Paul (AHikingDude@aol.com)








"What is that funny looking creature?"
"Oh, that is my pet peeve."
"What kind of animal is he?"
"Peeve."
"Yes I know, you named him Peeve, but what is he?"
"He is a peeve."
"But what is his name then?"
"Peeve."
"Oh for heavens sake! Your pet peeve is named Peeve?"
"Yep!"
"Why ever did you name a peeve, Peeve?"
"Cause it peeves people just like you."
"Get out of here. I think you are my pet peeve."
© Sharon (Sunyskys43@aol.com)















The background comes from a photograph Paul (AHikingDude@aol.com) took of a pudding rock.

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