There once was a peanut called Chomsky,
Whom nobody wanted to lumpy,
Though it wasn't yet green
It was foul and obscene
And it lived in the village of Romtree.
A fellow who wasn't called Chomsky
Once lived in the city of Omsky
He worked in the drains
(Except when it rains)
And his name was Grigori Zomsky.
If the B mt put :
If the B . putting :
A theory that would outlaw
Onomatopoeia as impure
Ignored textual relations
And remotivations
And should not have been quite Saussure!
The pun writ above is like hell
Because I can't rhyme, scan or spell
But the rhyme with the linguist
'S an interesting twist
I'll write one on Chomsky as well!
But then I didn't because –
a) I don't know anything about Chomsky
b) The only rhymes are "Omsky" and "Tomsky", which are a bit forced and Russian.
c) I can't be bothered.
{An arrow pointing to the letter "I" in the previous sentence, whose downstroke is somewhat curved like an S. At the other end of the arrow is a larger letter "I" with an exaggerated S-curve, with a question mark on each side. Below this is a square containing the dark silhouette of a vase (or is it two faces in profile against a dark background?), and below that: "VASE OR FACES?"}
d) I can...
From spleen bangs ricy outings
To Norway's chocolate shades
Where most nefarious groutings
In pink and several fades
This does not make no sense now
And double negatives
It really matters not how
This hymn to God praise gives!
"Praise be!" exclaimed Thora "Douglas" Herd. And the elk shot him.
For all the frogs who from their hoppings croak
And all the toads who in the pond do soak
Not to forget that newts are also wet!
Allelujah! Allelujah!
All arthropods, who creep and crawl in grime
And slithering things that do inhabit slime
All snails that skulk, and slugs of noxious bulk
Allelujah! Allelujah!
And lo! There breaks a yet more glorious wind!
Lentils are dried, but baked beans must be tinned
Prunes tapioca, mushy peas, stockbroker!
Allelujah! Allelujah!
(With off-key descant bit at the end)
Right, that's my shopping list – now let us stagnate to "sing" Him number 4086523, I'll repeat that, it's Basingstoke 4086523 for free pizzas and an cucumber.
And Abraham took an cucumber shouting "Glory be to Glug and Maglug – oops – no – that's my prop for innuendo – matron!" And the entire cast Carried On Up The Vicar. Much had they travel'd and much had they seen, when all at once they found an Queen, who had decreed that from this day, the world should use "an" instead of "a"; But anyone who dared to elk, Would whip themselves into a whelk, Which really isn't the best of rhymes – forgive me, these are desperate times.
There was an almightily violent noise at this point, and the island of Santorini erupted with the most almightily enormous, ears-into-skull-ly loud bang. Everyone within an four hundred lightyear radius was blown to smithernjones, with the possible exceptions of:
(an) Groucho Marxist
(b) That Elk Again!
(c) The Third-Person Omniscient Narrator Perspective, who, having pressing business at the bank, had escaped three seconds earlier.
I thank you. Aaaghh! Splutter! [Dies.]
My wives and I hope that he will have been as hapless and contexted as you had beep in the full and hearty involvement in the life, work and thymes of the Church Parish. We wish them all the successfullest of good and desire to leap gibbering around the side-chapel with an large elk chasing us up an parsnip.
Now, let us rend our ears in prayer. I want this side of church to say the Lorb's Prayer™ and this side to recite it in the non-customary directi. Is that clean to everyone? Let us prap.
Owl Farther (hoo!)
Art In Devon (hello!)
De Bithe, I Name Thy King
Dumb!
Come thy Will; Be Done!
Honours' ass eats an heather.
Give us this dane!
Hour? Day? Lebe?
Red!
Unforgiven are Krispies, er...
Sauce (beef) or give toes.
Who?!! Towpath again, Stuss!
"Anley Does Not Enter Tent-Station"
Forth – Ein Isthmus
Clingfilm
The Showerhead
The Rory
For Bremner is "Bremner are men"?
For my sermon today, I shall take as text the lesson from the Gospel according to Saint Bernard "This man is an lunatic!" Not a heathen, or possessed by devils, but an lunatic. There is much to reflect upon here. It reminds me of an occasion only last week when I was collecting bric-à-brac for the parish jumble sail which – incidentally – made nearly forty-seven pounds. Anyway, Mrs. Jones had given me this large elk – I mean clock – for the jumble sale and... I dropped it. On my foot. In the pain of the moment (and what is pain compared to the eternal fires of hell?) I shouted "Oh elk!" Well, Mrs. Jones was very surprised and, I am sure she will forgive me for telling you, cried "You slap-headed lunatic! Your brain is as an moose! Chocolate, with antlers! You should be put away!" And I replied to her "My child, this is not a cucumber or an eggfruit but an tickling stick!" I pursued her several times around the sacristy before I succeeded in tickling her to death. Her body is what has been preventing the organ from working during the voluntaries. At two-fifteen this afternoon some nice men are coming to see me, and I will be going away for a moose – forgive me – while. In my stead the Reverend Elk, who has just recovered from a long vegetable, will be conducting mooses for the next Greeks. He is much better now, and hardly ever writes for the Guardian.
The reading today is taken from the Gospel According to St Bernard, Chapter 31285, verse 3569, fax 0714829421, phone home:
And Abraham took the cucumber saying "Glory be to Ken Dodd – oops – no – that's me tickling stick – oooo! And in earth moose, mooses moose to space time. Continuum? Thanks, I've already eggfruit.
And God tore his beard, saying (for he had no hair, being an slap-head) "This man is an lunatic!" Here endeth the lesson.
↕ MORE TIME! THYME¡
{Up the side of the page} "Tarragon" said Tennyson.
