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Who found herself judged by a jury.
For the chicken she stole
They plucked her best mole,
Which made her react with great fury.
Who once gave his sister a burka.
But she said, “Don’t you know?
Now my wares will not show.
So how you expect me to worka?”
With her soup had a problem to solve:
To get it to thicken
She pilfered a chicken.
But, sadly, it didn’t dissolve.
Very disappointed, people, come on!
Bittersweet ballads of Europe’s great losers.
They dance, and they sing.
Wear the gaudiest bling.
As tragic – on cue – as hard Irish boozers.
(I'm also what's known as a 'sensitive soul', Thresher. It is a wonder we can get out of bed most mornings.)
As I was going to Rom
I met a man with seven homes
And every home had seven goats
And every goat had seven kids
Men, goats, kids…
How many were going to jail?
enevada behaved like a Gypsy.
Bare feet in a whirl,
Her necklace a-twirl,
She danced all the way to Poughkeepsie!
But here's another:
There was a fine man from Soroca
Whose taste ran to the barraco.
He embroidered his smocks.
Wore sandals with socks,
And sang for young boys from Morocco.
...where she met these really cool Vasar girls who told her all about Wicca and deep ecology.
But quickly announced, "no problem!"
It was so exciting,
Indeed, quite inviting.
"Though of the two styles, I'll take femme."
There was a student from Vassar
Who studied Romani from afar.
She read Colum's Zoli
Downed shots of iced Stoli
And now prefers Orban to Yasser.
To meet Oakes, but she thought it strange,
that he kept asking her,
“Are you really quite sure,
that those children of yours are free-range?”
Desired a name with more style.
He thought about "saur",
"Ivorous", and "vore",
Before happily settling on "phile".
Who, nervous, emitted just croaks.
They looked at each other,
Rolled their eyes, said “Brother!
We’re gay girls; we've need of no blokes.”
Was caught doing you know to who.
She said, "it's not fair,
That you are down there!"
So chivalrously, he withdrew.
For Carno, it couldn't get worse.
So he dressed as a girl,
And gave it a whirl.
Like Crying Game--but in reverse.
Travelled to the hills by the sea.
Oakesspalding was there,
And he gave them a scare
Munching haunch of a free range gypsy.
in the Personals said “My main likes,
Are those gay Vassar girls,
With their shiny blonde curls,
But you better not label them, um...Sapphic.”
She said, "Gosh, I'm a bit disconcerted.
Indeed, I feel slightly perverted.
But at any rate,
Though it's our first date,
I do declare I am converted!"
But I can't take all the credit. It's the shoggoth RNA.
Said, "Here are three things that are true:
There is so a God!
On Fridays, eat cod!
I'd rather have one flag than two!
But please do not be so excessive.
That Vassar girls fall,
Is your wit--that's all.
The shoggoth gene's always recessive.
I'm afraid, my dear brother Oakes,
in light of these sophomoric jokes,
by Vatican Council:
(whose patience is less than an ounce fill)
your piety is decreed a hoax.
Then I'd better use ironic quote marks:
You're a Jacobite "Papist."
However, we live in modern times. Some concessions must be made. And while Vatican II was certainly no endorsement of velcro, it did begin the dialogue within the Church that allowed for many practicing Catholics to take part - in their own fashion - in loosening of footwear societal norms that began in earnest in the decades to come.
Whether that was a good or bad thing remains to be seen.
All this stuff about the Stuarts, the Electress of Hanover (why does that sound sexy to me?), etc., is ultimately irrelevant, since I am reconfiguring this Republic as the First Galactic Empire!
Until then, the important point is that members of the true faith can get along fine with hell-bound sinners.
Note: Enter the search
Jacobian, Catholic, Charles
into Google and the first result is “Efficient computation of forward kinematics and Jacobian matrix of...”
(although rumor has it, there's still a small chance of Purgatory for one of us. Oakes has called dibbs, but I'm not completely out yet...)
It's true. Even the "efficient computation of forward kinematics" makes me feel a bit...warm. I actually like my kinematics to be a bit forward. The whole "demure" thing is so tiresome.
Who hadn't read Room with a View.
Quoth he "it's not lit,
Unless there's a tit,
Or better, unless there are two!"
Whose imaginative quotient was very.
She loved Spock and Sulu,
Lovecraft and Cthulhu.
A lady she was (and quite merry!)
(It seems so to me)
Is that if you meet
That fabled third teat,
It's likely as not to be wee.