“Is it sus that Merriam-Webster just added pumpkin spice? … [Merriam-Webster’s] editors aren’t the only ones trying to keep up with the ever-changing English language.” —NPR
It isn’t sus, but may be janky,
All this verbal hanky-panky,
Adding pumpkin spice and plushie,
Rendering the language mushy.
So say dumbphonecranks like me,
Still dialing “O” semantically.
“Goalkeeper sent off in FA Cup qualifier for urinating in hedge” —The Guardian
Position Number One’s where goalies play In soccer. Here you needn’t sweat too much, Defending, if the action’s far away, Down by the goal of your opponents. Such Long hours of doing little make you bored. Intent on killing time, you rehydrate, Not noticing how fast your water gourd Gets drained until your urge to urinate Makes this no piddling matter, though it is, And forces you to find a hedge at which To point away from thorns and have a whiz The ref can’t see, until opponents snitch, Ejecting you from play—the man in goal Red-carded doing Number One, your role!
Proud post-war Britons never would have thought
that decades of decline would strangle us.
Our herniated nation needs support—
but will the right prosthesis be … a Truss?
“King Charles III reportedly considered changing his regnal name to distance himself from Charles I & II” —Fox News
Can any Charles enjoy a happy reign?
Do the first two show how the third must fare?
At his ripe age, not many years remain
to lose his head, or die without an heir.
“Sharks are ‘walking’ on land to… escape warming in the Pacific Ocean” —Daily Mail
I saw Jaws at the mall as a kid.
It was scary; I ran home and hid.
So I don’t care to see
A shark walk, no sirree—
Captain Quint, do that thing you once did!
“A centuries-old cactus survived everything; then summer rains came.” —The Washington Post
Long have I stood here in old Arizona:
Nobody knows the mirages I’ve seen,
Holding my fingers up high like a loner,
Roping the sunlight and working it green.
Never the heat nor the dryness could hurt me:
Proudly I bore it when others would fry;
Now comes the rain and my tissues desert me;
Broken at last in my spurs I must lie.
Ages I’ve known, though your estimates vary;
Mourn for me now where I made my last stand;
Oh bury me deep in what’s left of the prairie;
Wave your farewell to a faithful Old Hand.
“[Researchers] report that some macaques frequently rub or tap stones around their genitals… . In other words, the monkeys appear to engage in ‘a form of self-directed, tool-assisted masturbation’ …” —The New York Times
The macaques have been getting their rocks off,
Using tools to help bring their macoques off. Monkey biology Thrives on geology.
Rubbing stones on their zones knocks their socks off.
“[Joseph Henney’s] emotional support animal is an alligator. They sleep in the same bed… and when Henney takes him to the farmers market, WallyGator gives hugs to shoppers— as long as they are okay with being that close to a 70-pound, 5½-foot reptile with a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth.“ —The Washington Post
How doth this crocodilian, Who hugs but never bites,
Get followed by a million On social media sites!
How amiably he seems to grin, How well controls his jaws,
And folds each Philadelphian in His gently greeting claws!