A Joke Told By FoxyJ's Mom That Melyngoch Will Appreciate

An aging Indian* finding himself incapable of physically expressing his love for his wife visited the medicine man.

"Yes, I can help you," said the medicine man. And then he proceeded to administer his medicines and chant his chants. When he was done, he gave the man the following instructions: "When you need things to work, simply say, 'One two three.' And then when you're ready to be done, say, 'One two three four,' and you'll be done."

So the man went home to his wife, gave her a big kiss, and cheerfully said, "One two three!"

His wife frowned and asked, "What's the one two three for?"

Moral of the story: Never end a sentence with a preposition, lest you end up with a dangling participle.



*I'm not sure why it needs to be an Indian, but she got this joke from Star Valley, Wyoming, so perhaps that explains it.

The Law and the Prophets

Now, a cat, she may look at a kingdom,
a bird in the bush is worth two,
the prophet is jangling his keychain
and making up morals for you.

For all that is gold is not bitter,
and violets so rarely are blue,
the queens and the muses will prattle
to stitch up his stories for you.

For a purse is an ear in a sow's eye,
under skies where her late children flew,
in this world the elves only wear orange,
and he metes out his morals to you.

To yourself do, as you do to others,
free your soul from the tyrant of "true,"
aristocracy bounded by rhombus
is the gift of his verses to you.

The penny that's spared is still burning,
the frying pan damns up the flue.
The cipher, the psalmist, the husband,
are the cast of his fable to you.

For the rabbits are chaste—in their households,
walls of glass need a rock to pass through,
and Jove and the weeds on the hillock
is the scope of his story to you.

Oh, a cat still may look on a kingdom,
and the song of the caged bird is grim.
And someday, if ever he falters,
you'll sing back your stories to him.

FOB February 15

Master Fob’s shortened story, a young man in a car,
who wondered if gayness his mission would mar.
Sir Jupiter told of creatures from not-distant star
discussing how humans make food beyond par.
Tolkien Boy wrote of men in a strange wedded bliss
who wondered if fatherhood compared to this.
While Weed, who worried he might be remiss
nevertheless had good cause FOB to miss.

Extremely Short Poems, in Which FOB Names Are Coupled With Rhyming Epithets, the Significance of Which Is Both Deep and Obscure

Master Fob:
a purple daub.

Thmazing Theric:
a pagan cleric.

Jeph:
a treble clef.

Tolkien Boy:
dark green bok choy.

Queen Zippergut:
a quonset hut.

The Marchioness:
Elizabethan dress.

Weed:
a mustard seed.

Melyngoch:
a raven flock.

editorgirl:
an ancient pearl.

Sir Jupiter:
a coat of fur.

Straight Happily Married Friend of Gay Boyfriend Chick:
an ice pick.

Edgy Killer Bunny:
a stack of money.

Petra:
the Metra.