Fin.NegativeMode:
There once was a man from New Trier,
Who ate mostly Arby's and beer,
But now he's a lawyer;
Brief reading destroyer,
With short hair who looks so austere.
PositiveMode:
There once was a man from Penn State
Who used to eat cheese by the crate.
But now job-agonizing,
He'd best hear me advising,
Get to Vegas, before it's too late!
PositiveMode:
Though limericks sometimes amuse,
Some say they're ill fit to send news;
I agree that their use
Can be prone to abuse
But that said, what have you got to lose?
NegativeMode:
While you're certainly skilled with a rhyme,
Speaking through limericks just takes too much time.
We're both under the gun,
To get legal work done.
I can't stop; rhyming's just so sublime.
PositiveMode:
Hopefully someday there'll be
Somebody with a job just like me
Who sits and reads papers
To catch misdeeds and capers,
Because these limericks would be something to see.
Though it's important for me to add:
I hope, since I do like my job just a tad,
That when these are seen
The reason will have been
That the Supreme Court did something bad.
NegativeMode:
I was wary your rhyming had ended.
I'm relieved to see you just pretended,
That your rhyming was done,
This is second to none,
This conversation must be extended.
But before I continue my craft,
I need to hand in my next draft.
This court's primary dominion,
Is to craft fine opinions,
And that is my job on this staff.
PositiveMode:
The only complaint I would proffer
About limericks and the benefits they offer
Is that it gets tricky
To be quite as nit-picky
As the pontificating style I prefer.
NegativeMode:
Prefer clearly does not rhyme with "proffer".
Nor does it rhyme with the word "offer".
Those two words are tough,
To rhyme off the cuff,
The only one I could think of was "coffer".
While this conversation has made my whole year,
Now I must go disappear.
My work day is done.
No more rhyming or pun.
And these poems are making us queer.
PositiveMode:
I'll only converse in the form
That makes me feel fuzzy and warm.
Some call it a waste,
Or in slightly bad taste,
But limericks, for me, are the norm.
NegativeMode:
Fine, I'll speak to you only like this.
Using regular verse would be remiss.
But please give me your feelings,
On our Las Vegas dealings,
I know your opinion exists.
By the way, with each poem you send,
I laugh and I laugh with no end.
An Algonquin round table,
Of mentally unstable,
There's a reason why you are my friend.
PositiveMode:
Please understand my reluctance
To "reply all" about women who dance.
Yesterday in this office,
An email was forwarded amiss
And I don't want to take such a stance.
But now I'll weigh in with my views
On the party, and how we'll amuse
And have fun by the heap,
Without being too cheap,
But can it compete with a cruise?
NegativeMode:
What did you think of last night's OC?
I thought, and I think you'll agree;
That it was stupid indeed,
To start smoking weed,
In your bedroom where someone might see.
Why not smoke with a girl on the pier?
Where the chance of discovery is mere.
Also, Caitlyn is crazy, I'm
thinking that maybe,
It's time for her to just disappear.
Also, I can't stand that guy Johnny,
He's a worse actor than Giuliani.
Each time that he speaks,
I abhor his techniques.
I would rather listen to CDs by Yani.
PostiveMode:
Wow, that was quite a dissertation
On last night's broadcast by the Fox station.
I wholly agree,
On points one, two, and three;
Johnny ought take a permenant vacation.
NegativeMode:
As far as our Vegas hotel,
Everyone's thoughts thus far seem to gel.
We need poles for the strippers,
We'll all be big tippers,
Even chintzy has said "What the hell."
PostiveMode:
I'm impressed with your punctuational use.
In poetry some sometimes are loose.
As if in the Bahamas,
They take vacation from commas;
For such carelessness there's no excuse.
Noting that it's afternoon Friday,
Perhaps now we'll find fit to say
The things we are thinking
And plans about drinking
In a more casual, less limerical way?
NegativeMode:
With regards to emailing: agreed.
It's Friday, relax and take heed.
There are things to discuss,
Without rhyming and fuss,
In prose you may now proceed.
Once again, I find disappointment. Once again, I find no satisfaction. Once again, I find that whenever I ponder over the meanings and implications of NegativeMode's uneducated assertions, I feel little peace. For complete details, I refer you to my forthcoming book on the subject. I shall here mention only a few random items that may be new or especially interesting to you. For instance, NegativeMode refers to a variety of things using the word "anthropophysiography". Translating this bit of jargon into English isn't easy. Basically, it's saying that we should derive moral guidance from its glitzy, multi-culti, hip-hop, consumption-oriented prophecies, which we all know is patently absurd. At any rate, one of its favorite tricks is to create a problem and then to offer the solution. Naturally, it's always its solutions that grant it the freedom to jawbone aimlessly, never the original problem. NegativeMode's asseverations are a load of bunk. I use this delightfully pejorative term, "bunk" -- an alternative from the same page of my criminal-slang lexicon would serve just as well -- because in asserting that clever one-liners are a valid substitute for actual thinking, it demonstrates an astounding narrowness of vision.Jaded ranters generally contend that NegativeMode has no intention to make us too confused, demoralized, and disunited to put up an effective opposition to its utterances, but NegativeMode's often-quoted effusions belie this notion. NegativeMode does, occasionally, make a valid point. But when it says that an open party with unlimited access to alcohol can't possibly outgrow the host's ability to manage the crowd, that's where the facts end and the ludicrousness begins. One final point: NegativeMode brandishes the word "transubstantiationalist" as a kind of up-to-date jack-o'-lantern to scare children.
Do you want to know how you're going to die? Of course you do. Click here and the Death Psychic will tell you.
I just thought I'd pass along this warning. I haven't really seen Jeff in many movies recently, so this explains a lot. I'll try to put a more substantial post up later, but I just want all my readers to be safe, and not the least bit freaked out.
Um, I actually believe the Nazi and the Prostitute for some reason. Honestly, I don't know why, but I don't think they're lying. Seems reasonable enough to live in a container in the back yard, right?
-Wigmore and Jones tell a story very different from police, one of an unlikely friendship between a Swastika-tattooed ex-con and black prostitute living together in an adult version of a clubhouse.
-They used a 5-gallon bucket with a toilet seat screwed to the top to go to the bathroom. Sometimes, Wigmore read Jones books about Hitler, she said.
-In the evenings, they would eat Hungry-Man TV dinners with crispy apple cinnamon desserts, to Jones' delight, she said.
-"I told my wife, 'Honey, I got this chick in the container, right. She won't leave. Can you tell her to leave? Just get her out. Tell her I got locked up,' " Wigmore recalled.
-Citing his good looks, Wigmore said he did not have to kidnap women.
