901

A honeymoon couple are lying in bed, just about to consummate their marriage, when the new bride remarks to her husband, "I've a confession to make... I'm not a virgin."

"That's no big thing in this day and age," replies the husband.

The bride continues, "I'm not an expert on men, far from it; I've only ever been with one guy."

"Ok, that's fine. Who was the guy?"

"Tiger Woods."

"What - Tiger the top pro golfer?"

"Yes."

"Well, he's rich and famous. I can sort of understand why you slept with him."

The couple then make passionate love. When they're finished, the husband gets out of bed and picks up the phone.

"Who are you ringing?" enquires the wife.

The husband retorts, "I'm hungry, I was just going to call room service and order snacks."

"Tiger wouldn't do that."

"No? What would Tiger do?"

"He'd come right back to bed and do it a second time."

The husband puts down the receiver and returns to bed to make love for a second time.

When they finish, he gets up and returns to the phone. "Now who are you calling?" she frowns.

The husband replies, "I'm still rather peckish so I was going to call room service to order something to eat."

"Tiger wouldn't do that."

"No? What would Tiger do?"

"He'd come back to bed and do it a third time."

The guy replaces the phone and goes back to bed to make love once more. When they finish, he's totally drained, but he drags himself back to the phone and starts redialling.

The wife asks, "Are you calling room service?"

"No! I'm calling Tiger to find out what the par is for this darned hole!"

Diamond D's brothel began work on an expansion of the building to make more room for its growing business. By way of a response, the local Baptist Church immediately staged an emotive campaign to halt the work, with obsessive morning, afternoon, and evening prayer sessions at the church.

However, the work on Diamond D's made progress at a good rate right up to the week before the grand reopening was due, when lightning struck the cathouse and burned it to the ground! After the strike, the church folks were very smug in their outlook, boasting about faith in God, and 'The power of prayer' to resolve a bad situation.

But last week Dolly 'Jugs' Diamond, the owner and madame, sued the church, the preacher, and the whole congregation on the grounds that they were "ultimately responsible for the demise of the building and the whole business through direct or indirect Divine actions or means."

In its reply to the court, the church vehemently denied any responsibility for, or connection to, the building's demise.

The hawkish old judge read through the plaintiff's complaint and the defendant's reply, and at the opening hearing he commented somewhat testily, "Okay; I don't know quite how I am going to decide this damned case, but it seems from these two submissions that we now have a whorehouse owner who devoutly believes in the power of prayer, and a whole church congregation that thinks it is all a load of bullshit!"

902

A SUBALTERN'S LOVE SONG
A poem by John Betjeman

Miss J. Hunter Dunn, Miss J. Hunter Dunn,
Furnish'd and burnish'd by Aldershot sun,
What strenuous singles we played after tea,
We in the tournament - you against me!

Love-thirty, love-forty, oh! weakness of joy,
The speed of a swallow, the grace of a boy,
With carefullest carelessness, gaily you won,
I am weak from your loveliness, Joan Hunter Dunn.

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
How mad I am, sad I am, glad that you won,
The warm-handled racket is back in its press,
But my shock-headed victor, she loves me no less.

Her father's euonymus shines as we walk,
And swing past the summer-house, buried in talk,
And cool the verandah that welcomes us in
To the six-o'clock news and a lime-juice and gin.

The scent of the conifers, sound of the bath,
The view from my bedroom of moss-dappled path,
As I struggle with double-end evening tie,
For we dance at the Golf Club, my victor and I.

On the floor of her bedroom lie blazer and shorts,
And the cream-coloured walls are be-trophied with sports,
And westering, questioning settles the sun,
On your low-leaded window, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.

The Hillman is waiting, the light's in the hall,
The pictures of Egypt are bright on the wall,
My sweet, I am standing beside the oak stair
And there on the landing's the light on your hair.

By roads "not adopted", by woodlanded ways,
She drove to the club in the late summer haze,
Into nine-o'clock Camberley, heavy with bells
And mushroomy, pine-woody, evergreen smells.

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
I can hear from the car park the dance has begun,
Oh! Surrey twilight! importunate band!
Oh! strongly adorable tennis-girl's hand!

Around us are Rovers and Austins afar,
Above us the intimate roof of the car,
And here on my right is the girl of my choice,
With the tilt of her nose and the chime of her voice.

And the scent of her wrap, and the words never said,
And the ominous, ominous dancing ahead.
We sat in the car park till twenty to one
And now I'm engaged to Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.

A SUB-STANDARD LOVE SONG
by A Deluded Clown

Jessica Ennis, Jessica Ennis!
Never mind badminton, rowing or tennis,
The fastest of shots, or the beach volleyball,
The women's heptathlon's the toughest of all!

Look at her run, see that strength and that grace!
Her grim dedication, her heavenly face!
Leaping the long-jump, launching a spear,
She straddles the hurdles without any fear.

Jessica Ennis, Jessica Ennis!
Never mind badminton, rowing or tennis,
The moment she stands with that shot in her hand,
She carries the dreams of her trusty homeland.

Ah, bubbly Jessie, adorned with gold!
Her velvet-skinned beauty's one sight to behold,
When she's in action, that six-pack's damned stunning!
So tell me, gentle Jess... am I in the running?

Though you're the Track Queen and have medals galore,
I believe, Jess, I can offer you more;
I could take you to tea-dances, seniors' parties,
Demonstrate how to use 'Anagram Artist'.

Show you that wondrous Anagram Forum,
Teach you the rules and the posting decorum,
(The adrenaline surge of Olympic elation
Could never match that of your first Nomination!)

Jessica Ennis, Jessica Ennis!
Never mind badminton, rowing or tennis;
Let's run away now on a wild, whirlwind spree,
(I know a nice hotel in Margate-on-Sea).

We'll laze by the bay and skip on the sea-front,
(I'll show you my Fosbury Flop if you want!)
Hand-in-hand on the pebbles we'd eat candyfloss,
Then home on the ten-twenty train to King's Cross.

We'd live on our love and watch trash DVDs,
While we savoured our Horlicks and warm herbal tea,
I'd name you 'diddums', you'd name me 'dumdums',
And our new lives would never be drab or humdrum.

And we'd gaze at the stars through the window for hours,
Walk hand-in-hand through bright meadows of flowers,
Dine on lush strawberry tarts at lunch-time
Share glasses of neat, home-made rhubarb wine.

But Jess, you're the Face of the London Olympics,
And I know that to you I'm no more than a pin-prick;
Should you feel there's no chance for my bid you might plump,
Just don't tell the wife, or I'm for the high-jump!

903

'This be the Verse,' by Philip Larkin, the poet/genius.

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.

Ode: Any Happy Family's anthem.

They build you up, your mam and dad
It's what they're for, and so they do
Hand on, frankly, the sins they had
But add some treasure just for you.

They were built up, okay, in turn
By inane types in cloaks and gloves
Though they offended, much too stern
They then attempt to pass on love.

You may inherit small sad faults
That deepen like a coastal shelf
But now there's a chance to exult
To raise fine kids with heart yourself!

904

Last jarring calls from the unjustified Whitechapel Murderer. Tons of message clues.

"From hell
Mr. Lusk
Sir
I send you half the
Kidne I took from one women
prasarved it for you tother piece
I fried and ate it was very nise. I
may send you the bloody knife that
took it out if you only wate a whil
longer.
signed
Catch me when you Can
Mishter Lusk."

Just for your fuel I saved this
And it is a special treat
Can't do it by myself
Killed the whore for you to eat
Take my hawkish offering
Heed my words carefully
Enjoy this one last morsel
Rethink catching me
I'm not an average man
Predominately I shook
Policemen's unfruitful work
Ensures end of more girlhoods
Ruined without white clues.

905

[This crossword celebrates an important international event and includes nine thematic entries highlighted in blue.
The letters in the completed crossword grid are an anagram of both the "ACROSS" and "DOWN" clues which are anagrams of each other.]

ACROSS 1. Once-big union 3. Torrential cloudburst 7. Sir 12. Is woeful (3,2,4) 13. Pool's Michael 15. Seizure ill due to thiamine poverty 16. Corps 19. Either 20. Bold act 21. Blame 23. People's games shone! (3,6,8) 26. Regardless (2,5,2) 28. Beef 30. ___/DC 32. Copper-tin alloy 33. Privy; loo 35. Tinman's need 36. Oscar ___ 39. Ph.D. 40. Ripped 41. JAM's Usain

DOWN 1. We 2. Argent 4. Broad topic (4,5) 5. Rumor (9,2,6) 6. From 8. Bliss 9. Cruelty 10. Lustrous metal 11. Opposite of aromatic 14. Impression 17. Hole in nose 18. Nubile-bodied blond high jumper Ennis 22. Lazily 24. Eastern 25. Did hover 27. Decanter; cup 29. All ___ ! 31. Phony 34. Top-place disc 37. Pa's gal 38. I love Reese's Pieces

906

Fred got a new rifle and thought he'd try it out.

He went up to Alaska, spotted a black bear and shot it. Soon he felt a tap on his shoulder, and he turned to see this huge brown bear standing there glaring at him.

"Killing that harmless little chap was a mistake, asshole." the bear told him, seething. "He happened to be my first cousin, you selfish scheming bastard. And now I'm going to give you two choices. Either I maul you or we screw."

Frightened and helpless, Fred glumly decided to accept the second choice. So the indignant bear had his way with Fred. Though he felt sore for weeks, thankfully he soon healed and swore he'd repay that bear, by God!.

Then he went on another trip northwest up to Alaska and found the brown bear and shot it. He felt another tap on his shoulder. This time a huge Kodiak bear was standing by him, hopping mad.

"That was a mistake, sir." the bear said crossly. "That bear happened to have been my kinfolk, you sickening worthless assassin! You've got two choices: Either I maul you to death or we have rough sex."

Again, Fred considered it a better choice to cooperate with the bear than get mauled. So the horny beast had his way with him. Though this time he spent months healing.

Now Fred was completely incensed, so he headed to Alaska and managed to track down the Kodiak bear and shot it. He felt sweet revenge, but then moments later, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

He turned around to find a giant polar bear standing there.

The polar bear scowled at him and said, "Admit it Fred, you don't really come here for the hunting, do you?

A wealthy man decided to travel on an African safari, taking his dear dachshund along.

One day, the dachshund starts chasing after butterflies and discovers that he's lost. Walking about, he sees a leopard heading in his direction with the obvious view of having him for lunch.

The dachshund thinks, "Boy, I bet I'm in big trouble now!" But he sees some bones in the dirt close by, and begins to eat the bones with his back to the leopard.

The leopard is about to leap, and the dachshund exclaims loudly, "Boy, that was a delicious leopard. I wonder if there're any more around here?"

Hearing this, the leopard halts his attack mid-stride, and slinks away into a tree. "Whew," says the leopard. "That was really too close. That dog nearly had me."

Meanwhile, a monkey who'd been watching the whole scene from a nearby tree, figures he can put this knowledge to good use and trade it for protection from the leopard. So he goes off after the leopard.

But the dog sees him heading away after the leopard, and figures that something must be up.

The monkey hurries to meet up with the leopard, and strikes a deal with the cat. The leopard is furious, "Here monkey, hop on my back and see what's going to happen to that smart aleck dog."

Now the dog sees the irate leopard coming ahead with the monkey, but instead of running, he sits down with his back turned to his attackers, pretending that he hasn't seen them yet.

Right when they get near enough to hear, the dog loudly shouts, "Well, where's that blasted monkey? I sent him off half an hour ago to bring me another leopard!"

907

[James McIntyre's poem ODE ON THE MAMMOTH CHEESE is anagrammed into another poem about Kunik Cheese, a semi-aged, triple cream wheel cheese made from 25% Jersey cow cream and 75% goat's milk produced at Nettle Meadow Goat Farm in Thurman, New York. The anagram contains the acrostic U.S. NATIONAL GOAT CHEESE MONTH which is being celebrated this August in the United States of America.]

ODE ON THE MAMMOTH CHEESE
James McIntyre

We have seen the Queen of cheese,
Laying quietly at your ease,
Gently fanned by evening breeze --
Thy fair form no flies dare seize.

All gaily dressed soon you'll go
To the great Provincial Show,
To be admired by many a beau
In the city of Toronto.

Cows numerous as a swarm of bees --
Or as the leaves upon the trees --
It did require to make thee please,
And stand unrivalled Queen of Cheese.

May you not receive a scar as
We have heard that Mr. Harris
Intends to send you off as far as
The great World's show at Paris.

Of the youth -- beware of these --
For some of them might rudely squeeze
And bite your cheek; then songs or glees
We could not sing o' Queen of Cheese.

We'rt thou suspended from baloon,
You'd cast a shade, even at noon;
Folks would think it was the moon
About to fall and crush them soon.

UPSTATE, NORTHEAST OF NEW YORK

See the farmhouse, oh, in Thurman
Now demanded by many a fan.
Ambrosia for any foolhardy man;
The farmyard where it all began.

I discovered real Kunik Cheese
Of no equal, as everyone agrees.
Nibbling on endless quantities
As I quaff some good wine, please.

Let's do hop over to Nettle Meadow,
Get all your welcome friends to go
Over to where the goats grow
And tell the chichi foodies so!

To go consummate one god's request,
Cheese at its, oh, very toothful best!
Here one ends the absolute quest;
Eat an enormous wheel with zest.

Ecstasy now he'd surely guarantee;
Stuff that's crafted quite like brie.
Each chef's a toothsome devotee;
Munch one, too, and you'll see!

Oh, so yummy and fabulous in size,
Now everyone affords and buys.
The tasty Jersey cream he'd prize
Heaven he had in a creamy surprise!

908

Desiderata - by Max Ehrmann

Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant, they too have their story. Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism. Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love, for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is perennial as the grass.

Take kindly to the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

Deteriorata - (Sorry, 'National Lampoon', this is a weirder version)

Go silently amid the noise and rubbish, and remember what comfort there is in owning a piece thereof.

Avoid quiet and passive persons, unless you are in need of more sleep. Rotate your tires. Speak reverently of those in business with greater authority than yourself, and listen to their beliefs, even though they be sorry bastards. Verify which behinds to kiss, and when.

Understand two wrongs never make a right, but three do. If possible, put people on hold. Be comforted that in the face of all unfairness and disillusionment, and despite the changing fortunes of time, there is always a future in vinyl blinds.

Remember The Alamo. Strive to bend, fold, spindle, and mutilate every day. Fortify yourself. If you need help, call in the soldiers.

Exercise caution in your daily affairs, especially with those persons closest to you - that ninny on your left, for instance.

Be assured that a stroll in the ocean of souls shall scarcely get your feet wet. Fall not in love; it will stick to your face. Surrender all shiny things of youth: birds, fish, clean air, lady bugs, sassafras. Let not the sands of time near your eyes.

Hire sissyish people who are subduable, and for good sex, call Trixy. Take heart in the deepening gloom, and that your dog is finally having enough cheese.

Reflect that whatever fortune may be your lot, it could be worse in Syria.

You are naive sheep, a burden to the universe. You have no right to be here, and whether you can hear it or not, the entire universe is laughing behind your back.

Therefore, make peace with god, whatever you label him to be - life's energy source, furious tyrant, or cosmic muffin.

With all its hopes, dreams, promises, and urban renewal, this world continues to deteriorate.

Yes, just give up!

909

[As a tribute to the London Olympics that started in July, Amy Levy's poem 'London in July' is anagrammed into 5 poems about 5 of the most decorated Olympic athletes of all time, each from a different sport and continent (and as a point of interest, each poem also uses a different animal metaphor).
As an extra twist, The anagrams also contain a visual Olympic tribute, detailed below.]

London in July by Amy Levy

What ails my senses thus to cheat?
What is it ails the place,
That all the people in the street
Should wear one woman's face?

The London trees are dusty-brown
Beneath the summer sky;
My love, she dwells in London town,
Nor leaves it in July.

O various and intricate maze,
Wide waste of square and street;
Where, missing through unnumbered days,
We twain at last may meet!

And who cries out on crowd and mart?
Who prates of stream and sea?
The summer in the city's heart -
That is enough for me.

=

Australia: Swimmer Ian Thorpe

What winning strokes and awesome thrusts!
The crowd that gazes at the pool
Enjoys your flawless moves, I trust:
Olympic myths are valid jewels.
Dynamic rhythm, now enhanced
By smoothly-running aqua-limbs,
May hand you one insane advance:
Today, you'd rule the wildest swims.
We tend to hear old fantasies
Of 'dolphin men' that seem untrue,
Of men that tour the Seven Seas,
Or tried to tame the ocean-blue -
But when we see this water trail,
We learn these are not children's tales.

=

Europe: Beam champion Nadia Comaneci

That lucent wonder, quick and small,
She'd stun the world at just fourteen
And show us all in Montreal
The most mature routine we've seen.
With twirls and cartwheels done with ease,
That sunny gymnast came to win;
Alert, yet airy as a breeze,
She may be truly blessed within.
The joy of her young art invites
A drowsy memory most fond,
With shiny, yellow summer light
And swans that are in love on ponds:
The sweetest one that floated there
Had poise as marvelous as hers.

=

America: Runner Carl Lewis

No man will thwart the Jaguar's will
Whenever he devotes that might
To win the prey by sitting still,
Quite soundly, ready for that bite.
Those sweaty arms may not seem sound,
Those steady jaws may not seem mean;
The aches may bud, yet he is bound
To sit here anyway, unseen.
The mind's so razor-sharp and deep
That when those moments come at last,
Our virile cat would make that leap
No soul would flee, however fast...
And when their race is run and done,
All 'winners' must consist of one.

=

Africa: Marathoner Haile Gebrselassie

He'd run upwind just after dawn
Across green miles to come to class -
It's how he would attain the brawn,
But never ever too much mass.
So now, the solid swifter man
Remains quite sinewy, yet lean;
That wiz - as only his type can -
Breathes smoothly, totally serene.
He'd wend his way and play it smart,
And, on one mostly steady trend,
That runner who stays young at heart
Would have momentum in the end:
Just like wild antelopes must roam,
He'd view the course, then feel at home.

=

Asia: Diver Guo Jingjing

Our mannered woman won the prize
With water stunts quite smooth and clear
That multiplied before my eyes -
The most unreal display that year.
She'd match one osprey's levity,
As someone that surveys the sky:
That shrewd and scrawny entity
That I can seldom see fly by;
When Autumn's sun would wane near me -
That warm scene in those mellow tones -
One bird would fall into the sea
To snare some wealth of trouts, alone...
But medals are her wealth instead -
With China's crimson overhead.

These poems also employ different colors to depict each athlete. This is no coincidence: When these colors are applied to the Y's in each poem in a monospaced font, 5 strategically-placed rings appear:

Australia: Swimmer Ian Thorpe

What winning strokes and awesome thrusts!
The crowd that gazes at the pool
Enjoys your flawless moves, I trust:
Olympic myths are valid jewels.
Dynamic rhythm, now enhanced
By smoothly-running aqua-limbs,
May hand you one insane advance:
Today, you'd rule the wildest swims.
We tend to hear old fantasies
Of 'dolphin men' that seem untrue,
Of men that tour the Seven Seas,
Or tried to tame the ocean-blue -
But when we see this water trail,
We learn these are not children's tales.

=

Europe: Beam champion Nadia Comaneci

That lucent wonder, quick and small,
She'd stun the world at just fourteen
And show us all in Montreal
The most mature routine we've seen.
With twirls and cartwheels done with ease,
That sunny gymnast came to win;
Alert, yet airy as a breeze,
She may be truly blessed within.
The joy of her young art invites
A drowsy memory most fond,
With shiny, yellow summer light
And swans that are in love on ponds:
The sweetest one that floated there
Had poise as marvelous as hers.

=

America: Runner Carl Lewis

No man will thwart the Jaguar's will
Whenever he devotes that might
To win the prey by sitting still,
Quite soundly, ready for that bite.
Those sweaty arms may not seem sound,
Those steady jaws may not seem mean;
The aches may bud, yet he is bound
To sit here anyway, unseen.
The mind's so razor-sharp and deep
That when those moments come at last,
Our virile cat would make that leap
No soul would flee, however fast...
And when their race is run and done,
All 'winners' must consist of one.

=

Africa: Marathoner Haile Gebrselassie

He'd run upwind just after dawn
Across green miles to come to class -
It's how he would attain the brawn,
But never ever too much mass.
So now, the solid swifter man
Remains quite sinewy, yet lean;
That wiz - as only his type can -
Breathes smoothly, totally serene.
He'd wend his way and play it smart,
And, on one mostly steady trend,
That runner who stays young at heart
Would have momentum in the end:
Just like wild antelopes must roam,
He'd view the course, then feel at home.

=

Asia: Diver Guo Jingjing

Our mannered woman won the prize
With water stunts quite smooth and clear
That multiplied before my eyes -
The most unreal display that year.
She'd match one osprey's levity,
As someone that surveys the sky:
That shrewd and scrawny entity
That I can seldom see fly by;
When Autumn's sun would wane near me -
That warm scene in those mellow tones -
One bird would fall into the sea
To snare some wealth of trouts, alone...
But medals are her wealth instead -
With China's crimson overhead.

And when the poems are superimposed, they form this: