There’s this guy in midtown Antwerp, who sez he can come over to your place regarding all that stuff that needs to be done.
I sit alone in my lonely room, my blood running colder with each tick of my forlorn clock. I gaze out of my dim window onto the dreary landscape and think, “Jeeze, I’m having someone ELSE’S poem.” (It is held by some that Elizabeth Barrett Browning believed she was really Tina Turner trapped in a shoddy nineteenth century body.)
Why put all your eggs
in a basket?
A young boy went to an attorney with a problem, and after mentioning one possible approach he believed pertinent to his cause, the attorney injected, “Now that’s hard to prove,” and when he noted an alternative argument, he’s told again that, “That, too, is hard to prove,” and the lad sez, “So, mister lawyer man, it’s ALL hard to prove? Is that it?” “Yeah kid, that’s about the size of it.”
After being roundly rebuked, one City chap shouted back to his attackers, “At least a horse’s ass doesn’t have to look at itself.” No one seems to have known just what he meant.