Futility Closet » Humor

Lay of the Deserted Influenzaed

Greg Ross — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 18:57:20 +0000

Doe, doe!
I shall dever see her bore!
Dever bore our feet shall rove
The beadows as of yore!
Dever bore with byrtle boughs
Her tresses shall I twide–
Dever bore her bellow voice
Bake bellody with bide!
Dever shall we lidger bore,
Abid the flow’rs at dood,
Dever shall we gaze at dight
Upon the tedtder bood!
Ho, doe, doe!
Those berry tibes have flowd,
Ad I shall dever see her bore,
By beautiful! by owd!
Ho, doe, doe!
I shall dever see her bore,
She will forget be id a bonth,
(Bost probably before)–
She will forget the byrtle boughs,
The flow’rs we plucked at dood,
Our beetigs by the tedtder stars.
Our gazigs at the bood.
Ad I shall dever see agaid
The Lily and the Rose;
The dabask cheek! the sdowy brow!
The perfect bouth ad dose!
Ho, doe, doe!
Those berry tibes have flowd –
Ad I shall dever see her bore,
By beautiful! by owd!!

– Henry Cholmondeley-Pennell, Puck on Pegasus, 1868

All Aboard!

Greg Ross — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 11:14:07 +0000

Copenhagen was proud of its new driverless subway until commuters discovered this scene in front of the town hall in 2002.

Everything was fine — it was April Fools’ Day.

“Myopia”

Greg Ross — Sat, 17 Oct 2009 17:45:40 +0000

As down the street he took his stroll,
He cursed, for all he is a saint.
He saw a sign atop a pole,
As down the street he took a stroll,
And climbed it up (near-sighted soul),
So he could read–and read “FRESH PAINT,” …
As down the street he took a stroll,
He cursed, for all he is a saint.

– Wallace Rice

Eire Condition

Greg Ross — Tue, 06 Oct 2009 16:32:10 +0000

An Irishman, being ask’d if he understood French? Reply’d, Yes, Joy, I understand French perfectly well, provided it’s spoken in Irish.

– The Jester’s Magazine, February 1766

Testament

Greg Ross — Wed, 30 Sep 2009 16:03:47 +0000

Dorothy Parker named her pet canary Onan …

… “because he spills his seed upon the ground.”

Editorializing

Greg Ross — Tue, 14 Jul 2009 11:01:30 +0000

A marble-cutter, inscribing the words,–’Lord, she was thine’ upon a tombstone, found that he had not figured his spaces correctly and he reached the end of the stone one letter short. The epitaph therefore read:

‘Lord, she was thin.’

– Frederic William Unger, Epitaphs, 1904

Limerick

Greg Ross — Wed, 03 Jun 2009 11:29:52 +0000

There was an old lady from Slough
Who developed a terrible cough.
She drank half a pint
Of warm honey and mint,
But, sadly, she didn’t pull through.

(Thanks, Rikki.)

Rimshot

Greg Ross — Sun, 31 May 2009 11:01:16 +0000

‘As I was going over the bridge the other day,’ said an Irishman, ‘I met Pat Hewins. “Hewins,” says I, “how are you?”

“Pretty well, thank you, Donnelly,” says he.

“Donnelly,” says I, “that’s not my name.”

“Faith, then, no more is mine Hewins.”

‘So with that we looked at each other agin, an’ sure enough it was nayther of us.’

– Melville D. Landon, Wit and Humor of the Age, 1888

“On Jekyll Being Nearly Thrown Down by a Small Pig”

Greg Ross — Sun, 19 Apr 2009 18:43:17 +0000

As Jekyll walk’d out in his gown and his wig,
He happen’d to tread on a very small pig:
“Pig of science,” he said, “or else I’m mistaken,
For surely thou art an abridgment of Bacon.”

– Anonymous, collected in I.J. Reeve, The Wild Garland; or, Curiosities of Poetry, 1866

One Solution

Greg Ross — Tue, 07 Apr 2009 18:52:00 +0000

A humourous Countryman having bought a Barn in Partnership with a Neighbour of his, neglected to make the least Use of it, whilst the other had plentifully stored his Part with Corn and Hay. In a little Time the latter came to him, and conscientiously expostulated with him about laying out his Money so fruitlessly. Pray Neighbour, says he, ne’er trouble your Head; you may do what you will with your Part of the Barn, but I will set mine on Fire.

– The Jester’s Magazine, September 1766