Will Ingrams: Festive Advice
Christmas bumps off the year,
Always comes round too fast,
But wring out some Good Cheer,
Or you’ll just look tight-arsed!
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Alexander Pepple: The Submitter
Who made these dolts editors for this rag?
My stuff so trumps the dross they print, I gag.
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Damian Balassone: On Meeting A Quiet Author
When you stop to think it through,
it’s really quite ironic
that a man who’s known for words
is so goddam laconic.
See News
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Jerome Betts: Body Language
(On noticing someone on a train with
a collection by an old acquaintance.)
Hand up to mouth you sat and read
Like one whose salad hides a weevil.
Or was it just a sign that said
“Of this book I can speak no evil’?.
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Max Gutmann: In An Airport Waiting Area:
Stuck waiting with these strangers, I’m discouraged by the way
The folks who talk the loudest always have the least to say.
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Peggy Verrall: Takeover Bid.
She likes a pillow, does my cat,
And there is nothing wrong in that
Except that where she lays her head
Is on MY pillow, on MY bed!
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James Penha: The Portrait of Durian Gay
My
husband loves
durian more than
me—I mean . . . than I do. He
wants the fruit to fall in his arms. Not me.
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Eileen Ivey Sirota: Love Among The Superannuated
The highs and lows of teenage love woes
don’t speak to the couple who can’t touch their toes.
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Michael Swan: Not Ready To Leave
Too bad for heaven.
Too good for hell.
I think I'll stay, then,
might as well.
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Tony Peyser: Low Self Esteem In A
Hollywood Dive Bar For Failed Actors.
This snockered regular
Said to me after a pause,
“Do you have any idea
Who I never was?”
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Alexander Pepple: The Mogul
The chairman, although one God-awful cook,
had done the firm’s books like a seasoned crook.
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Chris Bullard: From Killer Bees To Murder Hornets
Every day,
some former curse
gets replaced
with something worse
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David Galef: Cephalopod Love
Male blue-ringed octopuses were found to
recognize females they’d already mated
with by their sense of touch, a sign of how
sensitive their limbs are.
- From NY Times photo caption 30. 08 22
My dear, it’s been an ocean’s age
Since we last bonked, and my mouth puckers.
My tentacles are truly touched.
It’s how I recognized your suckers.
