901

THE GOLFING NUN

A nun walked into Mother Superior's office and plunked down into a chair. She let out a heavy sigh.

'What troubles you, Sister Cecelia?' asked the Mother Superior... 'I thought this was the day you spent with your family.'

'It is,' sighed the Sister. 'And I went to play golf with my brother. We try to play golf as often as we can. You know I was quite a talented golfer before I devoted my life to Jesus.'

'I seem to recall that,' the Mother Superior concurred. 'So, I take it your day of joyous recreation was not relaxing?'

'Joyous? Far from it,' groaned the Sister. 'In fact, I even took the Lord's name in vain today!'

'Goodness me!' gasped the Mother Superior. 'You must tell me all about it!'

'Well, we were on the eighth tee, and this hole is a monster, Mother... a five-hundred-and-forty-yard par-five, with a nasty dogleg left and a hidden green ... and I hit the drive of my life. I creamed it. The sweetest swing I ever made. And it's flying straight and true, right along the line I chose ... and it hits a bird in mid-flight!'

'Oh my!' commiserated the Mother. 'How unfortunate! But surely that did not make you blaspheme, Sister!'

'No, that wasn't it! While I'm still trying to fathom what had happened, a squirrel jumps out of the woods, grabs my ball and runs off down the fairway!'

'Oh, that could make me blaspheme!' sympathised the Mother.

'But I did not, Mother!' cried the Sister. 'And I was so proud of myself! And while I'm pondering whether it's a sign from God, a hawk swoops out of the sky, grabs the squirrel and flies off, with my ball still clutched in his paws!'

'So, that is when you cursed,' said the other with a knowing smile.

'No, that wasn't it either,' she cried, 'because, as the hawk was flying out of sight, the squirrel began to struggle and the hawk dropped him right there on the green, and the ball pinged out of his paws and rolled to about eighteen inches from the hole!'

Mother Superior sat back in her chair, folded her arms across her chest, fixed the Sister with a baleful stare and said ....

'You missed the fucking putt, didn't you?'

THE GOLFING ASSASSIN.

Two old friends were just about to tee off at their local golf course when a man carrying a golf bag called out to them, 'Do you mind if I join you? My partner didn't turn up.'

'Sure,' they said, 'You're very welcome.' So, with that, they started playing and they enjoyed the game, as well as the stranger's company.

Part way around the course, one of the friends asked the newcomer, 'What do you do for a living?'

'Well, I'm a... professional hit man. I carry out assassinations,' was the somewhat embarrassed reply.

'What? You are kidding, right?' they responded, flabbergasted.

'No, I'm not,' he said, delving into his golf bag, and pulling out an impressive sniper's rifle with a large telescopic sight. 'And to prove it, this is my equipment.'

'Wow, that's a beautiful telescopic sight,' whistled the other friend. 'Mind if I take a look? I think I might be able to spot my house from here.'

He picked up the rifle and looked westwards through the sight, towards the direction of his house.

'Yep, I can see my house all right. Wow, this sight's terrific! I can view right in through the windows. And there's my wife in the front bedroom...! I can see that she's stark naked... W'wait a minute,' he stuttered, 'that's my neighbour in there with her... Lord! He's undressed as well!' He turned to the hit man, 'Right,' he huffed, 'that's it! How much would you charge for a hit?'

'I'll do a standard flat rate for you - a thousand dollars, plus tax, every time I pull the trigger.'

'Will you liquidate both of them for me right now?'

'Ok,' he nodded, 'what are your requirements?'

'First, shoot my wife. She's always been a bigmouth, so take her square in the mouth. Then, that sex-mad neighbour who's supposed to be my friend - shoot his worthless dick off to teach him a lesson.'

The hit man nodded, 'I understand'. He lifted the rifle, composed himself, then started to take aim, standing perfectly still for a few minutes.

'Well? Are you going to do it or not?' asked the frustrated friend.

'Just be patient,' said the hit man calmly, 'I think I may be able to save you a grand here...'

902

SANDY
From 'Grease'.

Stranded at the drive-in
Branded a fool
What will they say Monday at school?

Sandy can't you see I'm in misery
We made a start now were apart
There's nothing left for me
Love has flown all alone
I sit and wonder why-yi-yi-yi
Why, you left me oh Sandy

Oh Sandy baby someday when high-yi school is done
Somehow, someway, our two worlds will be one
In heaven, forever and ever we will be
Oh please say you'll stay oh Sandy

(spoken)
Sandy my darling you hurt me real bad
You know it's true but baby you gotta believe me
When I say I'm helpless without you

Love has flown all alone
I sit, I wonder why-yi-yi-yi
Why, you left me oh Sandy

Sandy, Sandy, why-yi-yi-yi-yi
Oh Sandy

ANDY
By
Silly Fergie

Hounded by the media
Wounded by greed,
What shall I do? How to proceed?

Andy, stay with me, through this misery,
They've set me up, say I'm corrupt,
The wolves are after me.
I'm in debt, to the neck,
I sit and sob, wa-wa-wa-wa-wa,
Why? Why oh why? (sniff) Andy?

And, Andy, one day when all this mess has flown,
Somehow, someway, will you arrange a loan?
A million, maybe three should be enough for me-yi-yi-yi,
Yes, say you will. Ah, Andy.

(spoken sorrowfully)
Lordy, loyal Andy, you have to believe me,
I have been a very silly lass, yes a very silly ass
One's really learnt one's lesson. Don't throw one out!

I sit, I sob, no, no-wo-wo-wo,
Don't throw me out, (sniff) Andy.

Andy, Andy, yi-yi-yi-yi-yi.
Ah, Andy.

903

[I have anagrammed the following Dryden quote of 218 letters into 8 anagrams relating to Sherlock Holmes, making a total of 1744 letters.]

"Thy genius calls thee not to purchase fame.
In keen iambics, but mild anagram:
Leave writing plays, and choose for thy command
Some peaceful province in Acrostic Land.
Where thou mayest wings display and altars raise
And torture one poor word ten thousand ways." - Dryden

=

Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson are on a guys'
camping trip. Late one night, the men turn in. After a
wine induced sleep, Watson sits up abruptly, crying
dramatically, 'Oh, I can see such a myriad of stars!
I see a new canopy far above me.'
Holmes adds drily: 'And who moved our tent?'

=


Watching Watson come down the stairs, Holmes said
firmly: 'I deduce that you're wearing a Scandinavian
brand's classic fit underpants.' 'Remarkable!' gasped his
companion. 'And how can you tell?'
'Elementary, my dear chap,' Holmes replied.
'You've forgotten to put on any trousers.'

=


Sherlock Holmes dies and goes up to Heaven: now in
utter chaos. It appears Adam's missing, alarming God.
St Peter wants our eccentric Brit to try and find
him. 'But, a profound worry, can you actually identify
Adam in a crowded new place?'
'Elementary, he has no navel.' says Holmes.

=


Mr. Holmes, investigating a macabre murder, saw a rare
clue: a scrap of crumbly powder. 'Stoned to death',
he announced finally, eyeing the victim. 'A popular
narcotic drug, perhaps ?' asked his ally, Watson.
'No, STONED. Sandstone.' 'How can you identify it, Holmes?'
'Sedimentary, Watson.'

One warm afternoon, Dr. Watson, arriving at the
city's Baker St. chambers, paused, mystified and
concerned, to see his chum Holmes applying a gloss,
an unappealing, unusally acidic yellow, to the front
door. 'Whatever is it?' demanded a curious Watson.
'A lemon entry, my dear chap.'

=


Holmes and Doctor Watson view a monthly art sale, and
discover an uncommon painting of a splendid, mystery tree.
No craggy oak or wispy birch, but an unusually shaped
graphic tree, made up of fire and ice, cloud and earth.
'What is it? 'cries Watson.
'An Element tree.' says Holmes.

=


Our Holmes and accomplice are abroad, engaged on a
commission, a mystery. Why would copious letters of
an uncommon, cursed ABC tree, disappear rapidly in
Spring, say, and why the twelfth and thirteenth and
fourteenth, survive? 'Any logical idea?' asks Watson.
'It's an LMN tree.'

=


Holmes and Watson are leading an important investigation.
Dutch elms are dying, many in one day. Unhappy Britons
fear a macabre killer. A scourge could cut down further
pitiful trees. How to prove this disease can access wood
and town?
'Elm entry, my dear chap.' says Holmes.

904

Hotel California
by The Eagles

On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair
Warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air
Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light
My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim
I had to stop for the night

There she stood in the doorway;
I heard the mission bell
And I was thinking to myself,
"This could be heaven or this could be hell"
Then she lit up a candle and she showed me the way
There were voices down the corridor,
I thought I heard them say...

Welcome to the hotel California
Such a lovely place
Such a lovely face
Plenty of room at the hotel California
Any time of year, you can find it here

Her mind is Tiffany-twisted, she got the Mercedes bends
She got a lot of pretty, pretty boys, she calls friends
How they dance in the courtyard, sweet summer sweat.
Some dance to remember, some dance to forget

So I called up the captain,
"Please bring me my wine"
He said, "we haven't had that spirit here since nineteen sixty nine"
And still those voices are calling from far away,
Wake you up in the middle of the night
Just to hear them say...

Welcome to the hotel California
Such a lovely place
Such a lovely face
They livin' it up at the hotel California
What a nice surprise, bring your alibis

Mirrors on the ceiling,
The pink champagne on ice
And she said "we are all just prisoners here, of our own device"
And in the master's chambers,
They gathered for the feast
They stab it with their steely knives,
But they just can't kill the beast

Last thing I remember, I was
Running for the door
I had to find the passage back
To the place I was before
"Relax," said the night man,
"We are programmed to receive.
You can check out any time you like,
But you can never leave!"

Cleavage Academic
by Mike Torr

On my thirtieth birthday, rhythmic noise in my car
Warm water to wet me, fat dying cigar
Now atop the cathedral sat a Rajah so fine
I whistled sheepishly and turfed my ride
I had to try the divine

There she filthily chuckled
I saw the horrid hair
And I was fretting to myself
Do I lower the chin or just stare?
Then she pulled out a mincer and she dragged me away
There were bookshelves on this honeymoon
I saw the titles say...

Welcome to the cleavage academic
Such a streamlined rack
Such a hefty snack
Plenty of thrill in the cleavage academic
Any time of night, you can reignite

Her love is bitterly splintered, she got the poisonous beaux
She got a lot of idle willing youths, she calls slow
How they heave in the outhouse, vile summer pain
Some heave bits of pancake, some empty their brain

So I called in the bellhop
"May I please scope the bar?"
He said, "We haven't oiled an inn rant here since profit arrived from afar"
And still those titles prolong the indefinite day
In the library I scan the shelf
Just to see them say...

Welcome to the cleavage academic
Such a streamlined rack
Such a hefty snack
Good lying tonight on the cleavage academic
What a mock perfume, for a bride or groom

Hellfire for the foxhound
The lettering is mute
And she said, "We are all impertinent here, and we're pissed as a newt"
And in the hopscotch howling
They imply the cocoon
They yodel with their foreign friends
But they fail to hold a tune

Last thing I remember, I was sprinting manfully
I had to stretch the stubbornness
To defer the agony
"Hoorah!" said the housewives
"We are insane but agree.
You can whimper as you twitch your bowels
But you can never pee..."

905

BEYOND THE SEA
by Bobby Darin

Somewhere beyond the sea
Somewhere waiting for me
My lover stands on golden sands
And watches the ships that go sailin'

Somewhere beyond the sea
She's there watching for me
If I could fly like birds on high
Then straight to her arms I'd go sailin'

It's far beyond the stars
It's near beyond the moon
I know beyond a doubt
My heart will lead me there soon

We'll meet beyond the shore
We'll kiss just as before
Happy we'll be beyond the sea
And never again I'll go sailin'

I know beyond a doubt
My heart will lead me there soon
We'll meet beyond the shore
We'll kiss just as before
Happy we'll be beyond the sea
And never again I'll go sailin'

No more sailin'
So long sailin'
Bye bye sailin'...
Move on out captain.

KILLIN' THE SEA
by Wayward Hayward

Somewhere out in the sea,
Somewhere so grubbily,
A Brit man knows the crude oil flows
And watches the rig that go drillin'

Somewhere out in the sea
He's there so shabbily.
The babbling snob is on the job
Where straight to the sea they are spillin'

Someday beyond a bay,
Yes, someone's dabbed in grime.
Oh, anybody's dead
Poisoned by offensive slime!

The dirt seeps on the shore,
A muck we all abhor!
We hope they'd all be locked in jail
So never again they'd go drillin'

The nonsense of money
Defines one nasty man of greed.
A bane from East to West,
A mess we all detest.
We all want them soon behind bars
And never again they'll go spillin'

No more drillin'
So long spillin'
Bye bye killin'...
Move out, Tony, die!

906

My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But, ah, my foes, and, oh, my friends --
It gives a lovely light.

-- Edna St. Vincent Millay

The Night Owl

My husband distantly dreaming,
This mind that's overactive
Finds all the syllables teeming;
By noon, not fully active!

907

DISTANT SHORES
By Chad and Jeremy

Sweet soft summer nights
Dancing shadows in the distant lights
You came for me to follow
And we kissed on distant shores

Long quiet hours of play
Sounds of tomorrow from yesterday
Love came for me to follow
And we kissed on distant shores

The careful glance of children playing
Raindrops fall as if they're saying
Quiet thoughts of you caressed by time

The breeze of summer's gone
Whispered memories as nights grow long
You came for me to follow
And we kissed on distant shores.

TAINTED SHORES
by Goner Louie Shiannah and Flo Riddah

Off a mad man's firm!
Condemned, infected, why let us squirm?
Oil slicks for men to wallow?
Then protect unspotted shores!

They destroy our home,
Detested enemy of sea and foam.
Oil slicks from screwy fellows
As we await on sandy shores.

Now many shifts that we are losing;
That monstrous rig of BP oozing.
Mad thoughts of us covered by grime!

Clogged, then ghastly grease!
Gruesome offenses, just quit it please!
Oil slicks of dirty sorrow
So we are damned on dying shores.

908

Blue Bayou
by Roy Orbison and Joe Melson

I feel so bad I got a worried mind
I'm so lonesome all the time
Since I left my baby behind
On Blue Bayou

Saving nickels saving dimes
Working til the sun don't shine
Looking forward to happier times
On Blue Bayou

I'm going back someday
Come what may
To Blue Bayou
Where the folks are fine
And the world is mine
On Blue Bayou
Where those fishing boats
With their sails afloat
If I could only see
That familiar sunrise
Through sleepy eyes
How happy I'd be

Gonna see my baby again
Gonna be with some of my friends
Maybe I'll feel better again
On Blue Bayou

Saving nickles saving dimes
Working til the sun don't shine
Looking forward to happier times
On Blue Bayou

I'm going back someday
Come what may
To Blue Bayou
Where the folks are fine
And the world is mine
On Blue Bayou
Where those fishing boats
With their sails afloat
If I could only see
That familiar sunrise
Through sleepy eyes
How happy I'd be

Oh that boy of mine
By my side
The silver moon
And the evening tide
Oh some sweet day
Gonna take away
This hurting inside
Well I'll never be blue
My dreams come true
On Blue Bayou

Black Bayou
A Eulogy

I'm woebegone; I'm unneeded
Oh, I remember boyhood times
Before oil unimpeded
Bore a Black Bayou

My obsession with fishing
Ah, the minnows swimming
Before the ebony dimming
Of Black Bayou

Oh, if help is underway
Why every new delay
In Black Bayou
There's shiny gummy slime
With solid lumps of grime
In Black Bayou
Where boats no longer float
Dead fish bodies bloat
With no guarantee
Only further lies
No reassuring replies
To save the sea

I point to stinky stagnation
The offensive fermentation
Behind brownish vegetation
Of Black Bayou

I see only haughty egotism
No remedial optimism
With indefinite doom
To Black Bayou

Oh, if help is underway
Why every new delay
In Black Bayou
There's shiny gummy slime
With solid lumps of grime
In Black Bayou
Where boats no longer float
Dead fish bodies bloat
With no guarantee
Only further lies
No reassuring replies
To save the sea

Oh the flammable brine
Won't subside
Lashing the lagoon
And shores nationwide
Eye the gales on the way
Aiming to someday
Push all the oil inside
It may never again be blue
So I'll just say adieu
To Black Bayou

909

[An old army song anagrammed into a modern version, with a 2nd-letters acrostic specifying the current length of the war in Iraq]

Our 'prentice Tom may now refuse
To wipe his scoundrel Master's shoes,
For now he's free to sing and play
Over the hills and far away.

Over the hills and o'er the Main,
To Flanders, Portugal and Spain,
The queen commands and we'll obey
Over the hills and far away.

We all shall lead more happy lives
By getting rid of brats and wives
That scold and brawl both night and day -
Over the hills and far away.

Over the hills and o'er the Main,
To Flanders, Portugal and Spain,
The queen commands and we'll obey
Over the hills and far away.

Courage, boys, 'tis one to ten,
But we return all gentlemen.
All gentlemen as well as they,
Over the hills and far away.

Over the hills and o'er the Main,
To Flanders, Portugal and Spain,
The queen commands and we'll obey
Over the hills and far away.

The Infantry Song from the Iraq war

As the morning rays unveil the plains,
We travel on Iraq's terrain.
Avoiding death is now our chore
Because we are all men of war.

On the route-march, one and all,
By Basra, Hit and Tell Harmal,
We hope the heavy stride and roar
May drive off any sign of war.

Around a mosque, the squad convenes,
Assigning roles to all thirteen;
Patrols in teams of two or four
Enhance the deadly dread of war.

Advancing gravely, one and all,
Atop the hills and cliffs so tall,
The decent members of the corps
Pray only to the gods of war.

Deep in the valley, shots speed by;
We grab our guns and bullets fly.
Amid the flames here, men implore
To finally end the lengthy war...

And we shall land then, one and all,
At Memphis, Denver and St. Paul;
The wives shall hug us by the door
As we'll all bid farewell to war.

910

[A poem segment anagrammed into a sonnet about the birth of an idea, in which the poem's body is shaped like a pregnant belly and "carries" another relevant poem (by Emily Dickinson)]

The Anne Bradstreet poem "The Author to her Book" (the first verses):

Thou ill-formed offspring of my feeble brain,
Who after birth did'st by my side remain,
Till snatcht from thence by friends, less wise than true,
Who thee abroad exposed to public view,
Made thee in rags, halting to th' press to trudge,
Where errors were not lessened (all may judge).
At thy return my blushing was not small,
My rambling brat (in print) should mother call.
©­I cast thee by as one unfit for light,
Thy visage was so irksome in my sight,
Yet being mine own, at length affection would
Thy blemishes amend, if so I could.

[The relevant constraints: The sonnet is not only shaped like a pregnant belly in a monospaced font, it also "carries" the entire Emily Dickinson poem that inspired it, which in itself is about the birth of a word:]

Newborn of a Sleepy Poet

My memory reshuffles things at night.
They frolic, keenly resurrected there;
Few former hours all convene in flight,
To form all complex dreams and gossamer.
Then, from this turbulent cerebral storm
One muted, subtle thought is freshly born
But if I fail to give this shape and form,
This thing without a word is dead by morn!
What's mightier, when it is said and done?
Not shaky swords, some say; it is the pen.
The scant gleam? I say it just had begun:
When scribbled, it begins to live again.
My lettered baby born that day will be
The poem written here for all to see.

["A word is dead
When it is said,
Some say.
I say it just
Begins to live
That day."]