Salome prepared a dance solo for her pop
She did the twist, the Macarena, and the bunny hop
She danced all night, and when she was through
She asked, “How ‘bout it, pops? How did I do?”
“That was dynamite, baby!” was Herod’s reply
“And for a prize, I’ll get you anything money can buy!”
“A pony!” cried the girl, “I’ll name him Clover!”
But right about then, her mom beckoned her over
“You don’t want a pony,” she began to say
“They’re tacky and kitschy! They are très passé.
Only girls without taste get ponies, my dear.
They entirely went out of fashion last year.”
Salome looked up with a tear in her eye
“Ok, Mom…So what should I have Daddy buy?”
“Well darling, if you want to be très chic
A severed head is what you’ll seek
Vogue recommends saints with flowing curls
But, they’re only for the most popular girls.”
So Salome told her dad she wanted a head
Her dad gulped and asked, “Not a Barbie instead?”
But his daughter repeated what he had just heard
And he wasn’t a man to go back on his word
The next morning, Salome took the head to school
And showed it to cheerleaders, whom she knew were cool
But the cheerleaders shrieked, “Blech! That’s vile!”
Which made the girl question her mom’s sense of style
Martin is just six years old
A clever boy, or so I’m told
Who visits every month or so
His octogenarian Grandpa Moe
Grandpa Moe, for being ancient
Is lucid, agile, kind, and patient
But he's kept inside a nursing home
For his post-barracuda stress syndrome
A lovely nurse named Mrs. Voom
Takes Martin to his grandpa’s room
His room is on the seventh floor
And Martin rushes in the door
He quickly darts across the rug
And gives his Grandpa Moe a hug
“How are you Grandpa?!” Martin cries
His Grandpa smiles and then replies,
“Barracudas chasing chickens!
Barracudas reading Dickens!
Barracudas eating apples!
Barracudas painting chapels!
Barracudas fighting kittens!
Barracudas wearing mittens!
Barracudas pouring coffee!
Barracudas pulling toffee!
Barracudas sewing dresses!
Barracudas making messes!
Barracudas chugging brandy!
Barracudas stealing candy!
Barracudas hunting ferrets!
Barracudas planting carrots!
Barracudas smooching slugs!
Barracudas pushing drugs!
Barracudas wash a dish!
Barracudas play Go Fish!
Barracudas eat bok choy!
I’m fine, and how are you, my boy?”
There once was a snob named Sir Clyde
Who was shopping for paintings, and cried,
“Ah, this portrait’s divine!
It will have to be mine!”
“That’s a mirror,” the salesman replied.
If there’s one things that makes Betty sour
It’s a downpour that lasts for an hour
She takes great pains
To stay in when it rains
And to pass the time, takes a long shower
There once was a fellow named Todd
Who won a new truck and thanked God
But when he fell off the truck
He blamed bad luck
Something tells me his logic is odd
There once was a fellow named Dale
Who liked his women tall, quiet and pale
In the mall he smooched a dame
But security came
And said, “The mannequin’s not for sale!”
When I was just ten, and laid up with flu
My granny would tell me a story or two
About fairy queens and garden imps
And the fearful gobblers, who gobbled wimps
She told of little Timmy McLord
Afraid to jump off the diving board
From under the water came a gobbler claw
And that was last of him they ever saw
She told of cowardly Lacy Flyder
Who ran away crying at the sight of a spider
A gobbler spotted her for his lunch
And the last they heard was an awful crunch
She told of timid Imogene Cladow
Who bolted in fear at the sight of her shadow
A gobbler snuck up, just as quiet as a flea
And another shadow she’d never see
She told of paranoid Lester Bean
Who wouldn’t touch things that were not wiped clean
But a gobbler showed up without leaving a trace
And now Lester’s in a much dirtier place
She told of a third-grade boy named Mike
Who was much too nervous to ride his bike
Then a gobbler came like a bat out of hell
Poor Mike was gone, and his bike as well
Then granny would say, “Now listen, son.
Don’t be a wimp. Try new things and have fun.
Life requires a go-get-it attitude
‘Cause without it, you’ll end up as wimp-gobbler-food.”
How does one judge a rodent?
By its tail, or ears or paws?
By whether or not it spreads disease?
By the size of its teeth or claws?
You may judge by any of these
But I will beg to differ
For I propose we judge by its nose
And this mole’s got one hell of a sniffer
If its proboscis was up for auction
It would garner the highest bid
For instead of two measly little holes
It’s got an olfactory miniature squid
And with this nasal celestial body
You could scuba without fear
For it even works under water
And can smell when a shark is near
Sure the mole may be homely and blind as a bat
And spend its life gobbling up worms
But the question that clinches its glory is this:
Do YOU have a nose that squirms?
