From Jack to Olivia:
“Dear Olivia: So many images have captured my mind that I wish I were a poet. I would weave the music of our love through the images that have made it real. I would speak of the great loves of history — for we are one of those. The world will know this in years to come.
From the indomitable Christie Blatchford at the National Post:
I am quite prepared to acknowledge that this may be one of my many failings... but if a man had ever written that to me, I would have thrown up on my shoes.
h/t tj230
Wow, did CB ever tear Jack's second choice squeeze a new Dundass.
ReplyDeleteAnd the poetry continues......
ReplyDeleteSo I went for a rub and tug,
Which put a smile upon my mug........
The world it knows,
ReplyDeleteJack wrote in prose,
and sampled the seedy city's wares.
He took off his pantsu
And enjoyed a "shiatsu"
But still loved his wife beyond compares!
A commie went sampling some Chinatown fares
ReplyDeleteBumpety, Bumpety bump.
With his wife left behind him at home in her chair
Lumpety, Lumpety, Lump.
A copper cried "Freeze!"
And they both turned around;
Bumpety, bumpety, bump!
With the teen on her knees,
And the commie's pants down;
Lumpety, lumpety, lump!
The mischievous copper
Was writing away;
Bumpety, bumpety, bump!
And vowed he would serve them
On Election Day;
Lumpety, lumpety, lump!
Montreal. Toronto. Metropolises of passion and vice.
ReplyDeletePinko Jack thought a massage might be nice!
But the cops found him rawhide,
A sweet Asian girl objectified,
For she was nae server of noodles 'n rice.
The leftards said "he has a fine intellectual head"
A gift to a country that should be socially led.
But the trouble wi' glib talk
If ye canna control yer caulk
Is ye're still mocked when ye're long since dead.
Rub a dub dub
ReplyDeleteThree tugs on his pud
And who do you think he be?
The Butcher? The Baker? The Candlestick maker?
Or Jack with a little tug-gee?