*******Squaring the Circle of Our Rad Trad Catholic Girardian Conserberalism******* all 4 1 & 1 4 all
In abject contrition duly vow to send my $9.95 per month to pay for my eco-sin indulgences to Iowahawk. And if you believe that, you can join me on Athos's "9-day Celebrity-Grave Tour" that begins at Graceland and ends at Anna Nicole Smiths' grave in the Bahamas. Only $2,995!
Applying the two-fer rule and speaking of humour: Two Limericks by Ronald Knox:Exchange and MartAn Anglican curate in wantOf a second-hand portable fontWill exchange for the sameA photo (with frame)Of the Bishop-Elect of Vermont.The Modernist's PrayerO God, forasmuch as without TheeWe are not enabled to doubt Thee,Help us all by Thy graceTo convince the whole raceIt knows nothing whatever about Thee.Transcribed from The Oxford Book of Comic Verse, edited by John Gross.
I like the second one! The first one seems like an arcane, "had to be there" kind of in joke!Like the following!That Massketeer Anglophile AthHas taken an odd sort of pathWith his wry verse by KnoxAnd his Campbell plaid socks,But at least there's no Sylvia Plath!
To be sure you will have your little joke at my expense, Porthos. I would never stoop so low. Or rather, give me a moment to cook one up. However, I thought of Ernest Angley once and wrote:A faith-healer once grew most volatileFor his flock found he had no hair follicleHe flew straight out the doorWhen his toup hit the floorBut his flock found the whole thing most jollicle!Is that scapegoating?
No, not really. I tried to do one about myself, but it's really hard to find words that rhyme with Porthos. My dad taught me a a huge number of limericks when I was a lad, but they are unrepeatable in polite company.
This just in. Aramis' latest email to you/us bounced, Ath, so I tried to forward it. Did it work?
I got it, and replied. Thanks, Porthos! When I was at Duke, the Rev. Bob Young (Meth.) was the Chaplain to the University and was renowned for his melodious, deep voice in the pulpit at Duke Chapel. I wrote the following on an achingly boring and sleepy Sunday afternoon staffing the Div. School Library front desk:There once was a prominent preacherWhose voice was his dominant featureIn Fall when it came timeHe'd pray before game timeAnd sit free in his favorite bleacherAh, the blessed days of expending cerebral energy on doggerel - past glory and all that.But, let's see: trouble rhyming with 'Porthos', eh? Okay, just a try. There once was a teacher named PorthosWhose garden lay outside his doorpostHe saw left over rocks,Strained carrying them blocksNow his borders are neat in the foremostNot elegant and a bit strained, but it'll do.
Good going! I gave up on Porthos at the end of the line and was trying to do something with Mahler:Poor Porthos, who posts with his Mahlerin an effort to make himself talleror use pallor, or squalor, or valor or something like that . . .As you can see, didn't get very far with that.The kind of limericks my dad taught me were like,There once was a _________ from _______Who ______ ___________ __________ _____Well, ___ ______ ______ _____ ____And ______ ______ ______ ______ ____So _______ _________ _________ ________ _______ !You get the picture!
Yes, of course. My limerick that shall not be named had 'Nantucket' mentioned. Nuff said.
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