Donald Trump announced today that the Canada Goose (Branta canadensis) will from now on be called the America Goose (Goosaurus Americanus). He says that Canada has been stealing American birds for too long and now it’s payback time!
Wait…..this just in….Donald has now banned the use of Latin to name animals, plants and flowers. He says “For too long , we have kowtowed to the Romans, but no more, from now on the only empire is the American Empire!”
If you’re reading this message I recommend you join TOT, Turn Off Trump. You’ll find that both your mental health and your relationship with the truth will vastly improve (clinical studies have shown).
If you’re reading this message I recommend you join TOT, Turn Off Trump. You’ll find that both your mental health and your relationship with the truth will vastly improve (clinical studies have shown).
Proud purveyors of country music to the English public, English country music, that is: no wide open prairies no dogies that git along no bucking broncs no honky tonks no pick-up trucks; the occasional encounter with a fox, a badger, a stoat…. perhaps, but that’s as wild as it gets.
Why, you must all recall, “Round Here, All the Cows are Called Daisy”, the Hedgerows’ greatest hit, written by Mr. Ramble himself or Bert, as his friends call him. Bert collects all the royalties and the Hedgerows seem to be okay with that except for Eric, the bass player (why is it always the bass player?). “What’s up with him?” Bert often asks, “All he has to do is stand there hitting C”.
Bert’s not a man for rules, he has one rule and one rule only – no cheating songs, just not his style, he’s a happily married man. There are rumors though, sightings of Bert hanging around the backdoor of the rectory while Vicar Derek is conducting a service; glances exchanged with Derek’s wife, Cynthia, while passing in the street. Just rumors, his friends say, what could he do in the forty minutes it takes Derek to complete the service and shake hands at the door. Au contraire, Bert’s detractors say Plenty of time, Bert’s detractors say
for a man who has mastered the art of the three minute song.
The end of the world has come and gone but you remain standing on the eighteenth tee feeling the gravitational pull of the Planet Odd there’s no smoke without mirrors, you remark and looking down you notice that you’re still wearing a green polo shirt your favorite plaid shorts and your faded white golf shoes. Golf is the only sport that requires blandness of its heroes you think and then you think …where is this shit coming from and shouldn’t that be “demands blandness”? There’s a low hum, you look up, a large flying saucer hovers over the trees to the left of the fairway on top of the saucer is a giant inverted tea cup complete with handle a door opens in the side of the cup and you’re sucked up, through the door and into a room that looks remarkably like the original Star Trek control room. A guy who looks like Leonard Nimoy walks over and says:
“How’s it going? We’re from the Planet Odd or to be more formal, Earth 2. You see, the Creator royally fucked up his first attempt so we are the newer model, the second attempt. Still a few things to work out, but we’re not doing badly at all. We have created some illusions to make you feel at home, but first things first , amigo. Can I call you amigo?” You nod. “First things first, amigo, let’s get rid of those plaid shorts!”
This poem was inspired by a challenge from Brendan over at the now defunct Desperate Poets :
“Here’s the challenge: Start with two oracles. You can follow my lead and use The Aenead as one source if you have a copy, but any classic text will do — the Bible, Shakespeare, a volume of your favorite poet or one on Native American myth, whatever. Open the book blind and let your finger fall where it may on the page and write down whatever lines you struck on. Or deal a Tarot card or iChing hexagram. If you don’t have any such tools at home, there’s a random Tarot card generator at https://randomtarotcard.com/. You can try an AI version of the Delphic oracle at < https://delphi.allenai.org/> and there’s an I Ching hexagram generator at https://www.eclecticenergies.com/iching/virtualcoins.
Next, cast a more self-referential oracle from something you created, a poem or journal or dream. Source a few lines in the same accidental manner.”
So I went to my book shelf , picked a book – “Daddy, Daddy” by Paul Durcan, opened a page and let my finger fall on the two lines that start the poem above. I then went to “Notes” on my IPhone which is where I record random lines, sayings, thoughts and found “the gravitaional pull of Planet Odd” and “there’s no smoke without mirrors” and I took it from there. Lots of fun, thanks Brendan!
(the Paul Durcan poem that provides the first two lines is called : The Martyrdom of Saint Sebastian.)
halibuns about Haliburton halibuns about halitosis halibuns about Halle Berry halibuns about Halley’s Comet
halibuns about Spiritus Mundi halibuns about Rosamund Pike halibuns about Solomon Grundy halibuns just for the fun of it
halibuns at Sun Dance halibuns in Halifax halibuns about halibut halibundance halibundance halibundance
But he never took a halibun to a pun fight.
The Poet’s Circle Holds a Haiku Evening
an evening of
syllable counts and cured meats
sheer haikuterie.
The title is obviously a variation of “jiggery-pokery” which apparently is probably an alteration of Scots joukery-pawkery, from jouk to dodge, cheat + pawk trick, wile.(Wikipedia) or it can mean just plain “trickery”
We regret to inform our readers that Charlotte Shallowtrench our Lifestyle, Health and Fitness correspondent is leaving Vapid Magazine to pursue other interests. When asked what those interests are, Charlotte replied that she was interested in getting paid, for a change.
You just can’t please some people.
But we are pleased to announce that Infrah Digfrey will be taking over Charlotte’s portfolio. In her first piece for Vapid, Infrah will attempt to answer the questions that a lot of our male readers have been asking :
“Can khaki shorts have too many pockets?”
“Tuck in that T shirt or not? “
Infrah is also working on a piece inspired by a revelation she had that Goya is an anagram of Yoga which got her thinking were there yoga classes in eighteenth century Spain where Francisco Goya could practice a little perro boca abajo or chien tête-en-bas as they say in France? This has sent Infrah down a rabbit hole of research that she has not emerged from in days.
like a lot of nouns
he had spent a bit of time
in declension centres
discussing cases
with case workers
it wasn’t that bad
he just wishes
they weren’t all
so accusative.
Hans was a sensitive guy he didn’t have the armory for solo polyamory he wanted to marry settle down maybe do a bit of farmery somewhere far away from the clamor, the goddamery of big city life
irritable vowel syndrome arrhythmia pain in the assonance acute enjambment inflammation of the lower case latinnittus typographical dysfunction fear of sonnets halibunions ghazalysis grammaroids rhymetism pantoumia pundruff and last but not least: celtic mysteria… the irrational fear on entering a room that someone is going to recite The Lake Isle of Inisfree in a plummy, orotund stage Irish accent.
This poem has been through a number of edits! Taking part in Open Link Night over at dverse.
Yes, Vapid Magazine is back after a long hiatus (I had to look that up). These are vapid times and when the going gets vapid, the vapid get going! Here are some of the highlights from Issue #21.
Is Bot-ulism the end of AI?
Our tech correspondent , Jordan Shallowbyte discusses reports from China about outbreaks of bot-ulism in the robot population. Apparently robot paralysis is rampant. Yes, those robots are in a spot of bot-her. Local scientists are trying to get to the bot-tom of it. They think it may be linked to the ingestion of raw data.
In other tech news, Jordan asks: Are you a victim of Alcorithms ? There are rumors that there are rogue algorithms out there behaving like they have had a few pints over the limit. Yes, if Beethoven starts turning up on your country playlist it may be the work of one of those darn Alcorithms.
In Arts and Entertainment, the indefatigable Georgina Shallowglass asks:
Is Paw Patrol sponsored by the Fossil Fuel Industry?
Think about it, says Georgina, have you ever seen those pups take public transport? Have you ever seen them on a bike? No. Why? Because they each have their own personal motorized vehicle.
Skye has a helicopter for chrissakes.
No vehicle too big no pup too small ! Those pups rev like a canine biker gang. Yep, it’s a cartoon with a big carbon paw print. But help is on the way, Georgina reports that Netflix now offers carbon credits. You can offset that paw print by watching Peppa Pig .
In other entertainment news, Georgina reviews a new French cartoon about a dog called Prenez Le Piss. Prenez leads us on a tour of the lamp posts of Paris, one lamp post per episode. Apparently it’s a leg-raising experience!
Fascinating stuff, Georgina!
And lastly , Charlotte Shallowtrench, our Health and Fitness correspondent and self-styled Influencer Under the Influence discusses the OH Wellness movement. Apparently more and more people are waking up in the morning, looking in the mirror and saying: “Oh well, fuck all I can do about that” and just getting on with their day.
Also Charlotte asks: Are yoga teachers getting too preachy? Give me Downward Dog,she says, and less of that Downward Dogma!
Vapid Magazine: Home of all things Vapid!
For Vapid Magazine submission guidelines click here.
The other day I came across the word ‘runcible’ as in ‘runcible spoon’.
The word was invented by Edward Lear as in ‘The Owl and the Pussycat’.
There is something risible about the word ‘runcible’ as in ‘laughter provoking’ which is different than ‘laughable’, ‘laughable’ has connotations of contempt as in ‘derisible’ meaning ‘worthy of derision’, ‘derisible’ is almost an anagram of ‘desirable’ but back to ‘runcible’, there is a great bounce, a great versatility to the word:
he walked out the morning after humming a runcible tune
he had a runcible air about him an odour that lingered long after he had left the room.
Luke 18:25 : “it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God”
Donald Trump enters The Kingdom of Heaven
This is how I’m going to do it, folks, I’ll build a giant needle, the biggest, shiniest, pointiest needle that you have ever seen. This needle will be so pointy, folks. Then I’ll get a camel from Egypt or somewhere like that. Get the irony , me buying a camel. See, I can do irony I can be so ironic. I’ll mount that camel using my gold escalator, and ride it right through the eye of the needle into the kingdom of heaven and when I get there, folks, when I get there I’m going to make some changes. Those angels……. Sitting around on clouds playing harps for eternity? Give me a break! Eternity is a long time, folks, eternity is the longest time…. anyway, where was I..right those angels are gone, history, outta there who needs them? Then I’ll sit down with God the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. well maybe not the Holy Ghost, what is he anyway…a dove? A ghost? That’s it folks no more Holy Ghost. Gone, history, outta there. Who needs him? Another thing, folks who’s actually in charge? Is it the Father or the Son? Has to be the Father, can’t let your children run things. So I’ll sit down with God the Father, folks and together we’ll make Heaven great again!
Your cell phone rings but you’re not listening because you left it in The Fox and Vixen behind the cistern in the last stall on the left next to the condom machine and now it’s 4 am your wife sleeps soundly beside you, in the corner of the room your hangover squats sorting a tray of instruments.
It all began with a few beers, some Christmas Cheer so how did it get from there to here?
Slowly you remember or think you remember….
Did you really poke your boss in the chest and tell him that you know better that you know best?
Did you really down three shots of scotch grab Mark from marketing by the shoulders and proclaim “I love you bro” over and over ‘till he begged you to stop to let go?
And why, why, why did you call that shy Dutch girl from accounting “sad-eyed lady of the lowlands” again, over and over?
You groan inwardly you groan outwardly
and just when you think it could not get worse your hangover stands up and crosses the room carrying what appears to be a small mallet Zooooosh, he enters your head and proceeds to knock on the inside of your skull with that same mallet all the time chanting this manic mantra “deck the halls with human folly Fa la la la la, la la la la”.
Four hours later your wife is shaking you Up you get, she chimes It’s time to do some Christmas shopping! Joe Fresh opens at 9!
This poem turns up every Christmas, taking part in Christmas Blues over at Desperate Poets.
His parents called him “Jebedie” short for “Jebediah” he was never sure why, “Jeb” suited him fine.
Jeb, the Lonesome Cowpoke the stubble on his chin could sand a fence post smooth although he was never quite sure about “cowpoke” there was an inference there that he didn’t like he would never get so lonesome that he would… you know what I mean.
But sometimes in his sleeping bag by the dying embers of a campfire listening to the lizards chatting in their lizard tongues and staring at the cacti looking psychotic in the light of the desert moon he would feel a tad lonesome
but then he’d think of Jean the buxom proprietress of The Lost Pants Saloon and the joke they always shared when he arrived stale from the trail “Hi Jean”, he’d say “Hygiene”, she’d reply, “you got a nerve go take a bath you smell like a coyote’s scrotum” and Jeb would laugh and head for the bath at the same time wondering how she knew what a coyote’s …. but then he’d think “don’t go there” long before that phrase became popular.
After his bath Jeb would repair (he liked those old timey words) Jeb would repair to Jean’s four poster bed where later in the evening just before nodding off she would turn to him and say “that was to Jebedie for” and they would both laugh while downstairs in the empty saloon the ghost of Ed the piano player killed in a gambling dispute cross fire would scrape back the piano stool and the sound of his ghostly tinkling would echo through the upstairs bedrooms lulling the lonesome and the not so lonesome cowpokes to sleep and dreams of cattle drives, beef jerky and coffee pots on open fires.
This poem first appeared as a response to the prompt GHOST TALES FROM AN IMAGINARY WESTERN over at the now sadly defunct Desperate Poets
The end of the world has come and gone but you remain standing on the eighteenth tee feeling the gravitational pull of the Planet Odd there’s no smoke without mirrors, you remark and looking down you notice that you’re still wearing a green polo shirt your favorite plaid shorts and your faded white golf shoes. Golf is the only sport that requires blandness of its heroes you think and then you think …where is this shit coming from and shouldn’t that be “demands blandness”? There’s a low hum, you look up, a large flying saucer hovers over the trees to the left of the fairway on top of the saucer is a giant inverted tea cup complete with handle a door opens in the side of the cup and you’re sucked up, through the door and into a room that looks remarkably like the original Star Trek control room. A guy who looks like Leonard Nimoy walks over and says:
“How’s it going? We’re from the Planet Odd or to be more formal, Earth 2. You see, the Creator royally fucked up his first attempt so we are the newer model, the second attempt. Still a few things to work out, but we’re not doing badly at all. We have created some illusions to make you feel at home, but first things first , amigo. Can I call you amigo?” You nod. “First things first, amigo, let’s get rid of those plaid shorts!”
This poem was inspired by a challenge from Brendan over at Desperate Poets :
“Here’s the challenge: Start with two oracles. You can follow my lead and use The Aenead as one source if you have a copy, but any classic text will do — the Bible, Shakespeare, a volume of your favorite poet or one on Native American myth, whatever. Open the book blind and let your finger fall where it may on the page and write down whatever lines you struck on. Or deal a Tarot card or iChing hexagram. If you don’t have any such tools at home, there’s a random Tarot card generator at https://randomtarotcard.com/. You can try an AI version of the Delphic oracle at < https://delphi.allenai.org/> and there’s an I Ching hexagram generator at https://www.eclecticenergies.com/iching/virtualcoins.
Next, cast a more self-referential oracle from something you created, a poem or journal or dream. Source a few lines in the same accidental manner.”
So I went to my book shelf , picked a book – “Daddy, Daddy” by Paul Durcan, opened a page and let my finger fall on the two lines that start the poem above. I then went to “Notes” on my IPhone which is where I record random lines, sayings, thoughts and found “the gravitaional pull of Planet Odd” and “there’s no smoke without mirrors” and I took it from there. Lots of fun, thanks Brendan!
(the Paul Durcan poem that provides the first two lines is called : The Martyrdom of Saint Sebastian.)
What a weekend that was truly a Marvel all the usual suspects were there and they were all into the sauce from the get go, Ricky the Rhyme King did his rap routine Simile Sal sang: Nothing Compares to U Assonance the Loud and Consonance the Cool hooked up again can’t keep those two apart and the bands The Meta Four and The Alliteration Alliance laid down a solid groove, and let’s not forget the families: the Sonnets – lovely people, very iambic the Villanelles – again lovely people but don’t get stuck in conversation with them they can be a tad repetitive the Lai’s , the Sestinas, the Rubai’s all knocking back the vino the Ghazals had visa problems and couldn’t make it but the Haiku’s and the Tanka’s came all the way from Japan (you don’t have to bow all the time, guys) and the Epics were there too it took five buses to fit them all in, but they made it. The highlight of the weekend of course was the Bad Pun Competition: For Better or for Verse and the winner for the tenth year in a row was, yes, Logan King of the Limericks. A great weekend indeed, all verse no chapter, some sore heads of course and some poetry in motion in the washrooms but well worth it.
