FILPORT, ALberta CPNews. May 30 2005.

Bjorn L. Johannsson, drank a quart of shellac whilst his co-workers
cheered him on instantly killing him.
The local coroner, Dr. Elmer VanDooderen said: "That shellac killed him
before he hit the ground. Co-workers said he rolled his eyes, spun
around on one heel and hit the floor....what a finish!"

Robatoy wrote:
FILPORT, ALberta CPNews. May 30 2005.

Bjorn L. Johannsson, drank a quart of shellac whilst his co-workers
cheered him on instantly killing him.
The local coroner, Dr. Elmer VanDooderen said: "That shellac killed him
before he hit the ground. Co-workers said he rolled his eyes, spun
around on one heel and hit the floor....what a finish!"

Natural selection at work.

In article ,
Robatoy wrote:

what a finish!

Badum-bump..

g

--
~ Stay Calm... Be Brave... Wait for the Signs ~
------------------------------------------------------
One site: http://www.balderstone.ca
The other site, with ww linkshttp://www.woodenwabbits.com

Robatoy says...

FILPORT, ALberta CPNews. May 30 2005.

Bjorn L. Johannsson, drank a quart of shellac whilst his co-workers
cheered him on instantly killing him.
The local coroner, Dr. Elmer VanDooderen said: "That shellac killed him
before he hit the ground. Co-workers said he rolled his eyes, spun
around on one heel and hit the floor....what a finish!"

The original is an old chestnut that goes:

Down the street the funeral goes,
As sobs and wails diminish.
He died from drinking shellac,
But at least he had a lovely finish.

In article ,
Hax Planx wrote:

Robatoy says...

FILPORT, ALberta CPNews. May 30 2005.

Bjorn L. Johannsson, drank a quart of shellac whilst his co-workers
cheered him on instantly killing him.
The local coroner, Dr. Elmer VanDooderen said: "That shellac killed him
before he hit the ground. Co-workers said he rolled his eyes, spun
around on one heel and hit the floor....what a finish!"

The original is an old chestnut that goes:

Down the street the funeral goes,
As sobs and wails diminish.
He died from drinking shellac,
But at least he had a lovely finish.

That's a keeper. Thanks for that.

One of my favourites:

What a wonderful bird is the pelican
his beak can hold more food than his belly can
He can put in his beak
enough food for a week
and I don't know how the hell he can.

On Wed, 08 Jun 2005 22:21:18 -0400, Robatoy
wrote:

Down the street the funeral goes,
As sobs and wails diminish.
He died from drinking shellac,
But at least he had a lovely finish.

That's a keeper. Thanks for that.

One of my favourites:

What a wonderful bird is the pelican
his beak can hold more food than his belly can
He can put in his beak
enough food for a week
and I don't know how the hell he can.

There was an old lady from Clyde
Who ate some bad apples ...and died.
The apples fermented
Inside the lamented
And made cider inside 'er inside.

Robatoy wrote:
In article ,
Hax Planx wrote:


Robatoy says...


FILPORT, ALberta CPNews. May 30 2005.

Bjorn L. Johannsson, drank a quart of shellac whilst his co-workers
cheered him on instantly killing him.
The local coroner, Dr. Elmer VanDooderen said: "That shellac killed him
before he hit the ground. Co-workers said he rolled his eyes, spun
around on one heel and hit the floor....what a finish!"

The original is an old chestnut that goes:

Down the street the funeral goes,
As sobs and wails diminish.
He died from drinking shellac,
But at least he had a lovely finish.


That's a keeper. Thanks for that.

One of my favourites:

What a wonderful bird is the pelican
his beak can hold more food than his belly can
He can put in his beak
enough food for a week
and I don't know how the hell he can.

My favorites:

Little willy in the best of sashes,
Fell in the fire and burned to ashes.
Now although the room grows chilly
Nobody likes to poke up willy.

Alas for little willy
We'll never see willy no more
For what he thought was H2O
Was H2SO4

Little willy, from the mirror
sucked the mercury all off,
thinking in his childish error
it would cure the whooping cough.
Said the doctor to his mother,
when he finally came around;
Twas a chilly day for willy
when the mercury went down.

And finally;

Little willy pushed sister Nell
into the family water well.
Alas, alas, the fall it kilt her
and now we have to buy a filter.


You don't have to tell me that I have a morbid sense of humor.

--
Robert Allison
Rimshot, Inc.
Georgetown, TX

There was an old lady from Clyde
Who ate some bad apples ...and died.
The apples fermented
Inside the lamented
And made cider inside 'er inside.

Which reminds me of one of my favorites:

There once was a fellow named Clyde
who tripped in the outhouse and died.
His brother came after
and slipped on a rafter
And new they're interred side by side.

(I wasn't sure whether to write that last line as I did or the alternate
way:
"And now they're in turd side by side."
Of course, that's what makes it such a great one.)

Lee


--
To e-mail, replace "bucketofspam" with "dleegordon"

In article ,
Robatoy wrote:
In article ,
Hax Planx wrote:

Robatoy says...

FILPORT, ALberta CPNews. May 30 2005.

Bjorn L. Johannsson, drank a quart of shellac whilst his co-workers
cheered him on instantly killing him.
The local coroner, Dr. Elmer VanDooderen said: "That shellac killed him
before he hit the ground. Co-workers said he rolled his eyes, spun
around on one heel and hit the floor....what a finish!"

The original is an old chestnut that goes:

Down the street the funeral goes,
As sobs and wails diminish.
He died from drinking shellac,
But at least he had a lovely finish.

That's a keeper. Thanks for that.

One of my favourites:

What a wonderful bird is the pelican
his beak can hold more food than his belly can
He can put in his beak
enough food for a week
and I don't know how the hell he can.

*sigh*

Poetry lesson time.

This is frequently attributed to Ogden Nash. Incorrectly.
(although it is very much in his style)

The actual author is Dixon Lanier Merritt, written in 1910

The "traditional" form:

A wonderful bird is the pelican,
His beak will hold more than his belican.
He can take in his beak
Food enough for a week,
Damned if I see how the helican.

common minor variations:
substituting the technically accurate 'bill' for 'beak', in line 2.
substituting 'know' for 'see' in the last line
substituting "Durned", or "Darned" in the last line

There are many other corruptions, but they violate the basic form of the
Limerick -- lines 1, 2, and 5 must have 3 groups of matched syllables.
and lines 3 and 4 must have 2 groups of matced syllables.

A wonderful / bird is the / pelican,
His beak will hold / more than his / belican.
He can take / in his beak
Food enough / for a week,
Damned if I / see how the / helican.

Robatoy wrote:

In article ,
Hax Planx wrote:

Robatoy says...

FILPORT, ALberta CPNews. May 30 2005.

Bjorn L. Johannsson, drank a quart of shellac whilst his co-workers
cheered him on instantly killing him.
The local coroner, Dr. Elmer VanDooderen said: "That shellac killed
him before he hit the ground. Co-workers said he rolled his eyes,
spun around on one heel and hit the floor....what a finish!"

The original is an old chestnut that goes:

Down the street the funeral goes,
As sobs and wails diminish.
He died from drinking shellac,
But at least he had a lovely finish.

That's a keeper. Thanks for that.

One of my favourites:

What a wonderful bird is the pelican
his beak can hold more food than his belly can
He can put in his beak
enough food for a week
and I don't know how the hell he can.

See the happy moron,
He doesn't give a damn.
How I wish I were a moron.
My God, perhaps I am!

"Robert Allison" wrote in message
news:dEOpe.11199$nr3.2278@trnddc02...

Little willy, from the mirror
sucked the mercury all off,
thinking in his childish error
it would cure the whooping cough.
Said the doctor to his mother,
when he finally came around;
Twas a chilly day for willy
when the mercury went down.

And finally;

Little willy pushed sister Nell
into the family water well.
Alas, alas, the fall it kilt her
and now we have to buy a filter.


Reminds me of an incident almost thirty years ago which happened in the
marshalling yards in Roseville. Couple of gents were taking their sun and
lunch atop a tank car when one, lifting the hatch to see what was inside,
dropped his sandwich.

Had to discard the entire car of mercury.


More than 11 ppb of tunafish.

In article dEOpe.11199$nr3.2278@trnddc02, wrote:

Little willy in the best of sashes,
Fell in the fire and burned to ashes.
Now although the room grows chilly
Nobody likes to poke up willy.
[snip]

Glad to see there's someone else here who enjoys Little Willy jokes. Here's
another:

[warning - this is gross, even by Little Willy standards]

..
..
..
..

Little Willy, with a shout
Gouged the baby's eyeballs out
Stomped on them to make them pop
Til Mother cried, "Now, William, stop!"

--
Regards,
Doug Miller (alphageek at milmac dot com)

Nobody ever left footprints in the sands of time by sitting on his butt.
And who wants to leave buttprints in the sands of time?

In article dEOpe.11199$nr3.2278@trnddc02,
Robert Allison wrote:

You don't have to tell me that I have a morbid sense of humor.

Not so much morbid as 'disturbed'. G

Robert Bonomi wrote:
[application of verbiage-icide]
There are many other corruptions, but they violate the basic form of the
Limerick -- lines 1, 2, and 5 must have 3 groups of matched syllables.
and lines 3 and 4 must have 2 groups of matced syllables.

A wonderful / bird is the / pelican,
His beak will hold / more than his / belican.
He can take / in his beak
Food enough / for a week,
Damned if I / see how the / helican.

There was a young bard from Japan
Whose limericks never would scan.
When told it was so
He said, "Yes I know,
But I make it a rule to always try to get as many words into the last
line of a limerick as I possibly can."

sweet,
jo4hn

The first "Willy" poem reminded me of this fine poem. Definitely
doesn't fit the limerick theme, and maybe too long for all to read, but
a classic from Robert Service:

The Cremation of Sam McGee

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only
knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a
spell;
Though he'd often say in his homely way that "he'd sooner live in
hell."

On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven
nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we
couldn't see;
It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.

And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the
snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and
toe,
He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I
guess;
And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request."

Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a
sort of moan:
"It's the cursed cold, and it's got right hold till I'm chilled
clean through to the bone.
Yet 'taint being dead--it's my awful dread of the icy grave that
pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last
remains."

A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly
pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in
Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried,
horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise
given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: "You may tax your
brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate those last
remains."

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern
code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed
that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies,
round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows-O God! how I loathed the
thing.

And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give
in;
And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a
grin.

Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the
"Alice May."
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen
chum;
Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum."

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared-such a blaze you
seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to
blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't
know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep
inside.
I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked;" . . . then the door
I opened wide.

And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace
roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: "Please close
that door.
It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and
storm-
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've
been warm."

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

If your going to be dumb...ya gotta be tough~!


"Hax Planx" wrote in message
.net...
Robatoy says...

FILPORT, ALberta CPNews. May 30 2005.

Bjorn L. Johannsson, drank a quart of shellac whilst his co-workers
cheered him on instantly killing him.
The local coroner, Dr. Elmer VanDooderen said: "That shellac killed him
before he hit the ground. Co-workers said he rolled his eyes, spun
around on one heel and hit the floor....what a finish!"

The original is an old chestnut that goes:

Down the street the funeral goes,
As sobs and wails diminish.
He died from drinking shellac,
But at least he had a lovely finish.

In article .com,
wrote:
The first "Willy" poem reminded me of this fine poem. Definitely
doesn't fit the limerick theme, and maybe too long for all to read, but
a classic from Robert Service:


Service is *good* stuff. "The Shooting of Dangerous Dan McGrew" is also
highly recommended.

In article et,
jo4hn wrote:
Robert Bonomi wrote:
[application of verbiage-icide]
There are many other corruptions, but they violate the basic form of the
Limerick -- lines 1, 2, and 5 must have 3 groups of matched syllables.
and lines 3 and 4 must have 2 groups of matced syllables.

A wonderful / bird is the / pelican,
His beak will hold / more than his / belican.
He can take / in his beak
Food enough / for a week,
Damned if I / see how the / helican.

There was a young bard from Japan
Whose limericks never would scan.
When told it was so
He said, "Yes I know,
But I make it a rule to always try to get as many words into the last
line of a limerick as I possibly can."


My two favorites:

"There was a sweet lass from Wat'loo,
whose limericks did end on line two."


"There was a young man from Verdun."

In article ,
Robatoy wrote:

FILPORT, ALberta CPNews. May 30 2005.

Bjorn L. Johannsson, drank a quart of shellac whilst his co-workers
cheered him on instantly killing him.
The local coroner, Dr. Elmer VanDooderen said: "That shellac killed him
before he hit the ground. Co-workers said he rolled his eyes, spun
around on one heel and hit the floor....what a finish!"

Looking at the purported deceased's name, I'm just going to remark:
"Norway! They don't serve shellac in a Lapp joint."

On Thu, 09 Jun 2005 18:09:12 -0000, Robert Bonomi wrote:
In article ,
Robatoy wrote:

FILPORT, ALberta CPNews. May 30 2005.

Bjorn L. Johannsson, drank a quart of shellac whilst his co-workers
cheered him on instantly killing him.
The local coroner, Dr. Elmer VanDooderen said: "That shellac killed him
before he hit the ground. Co-workers said he rolled his eyes, spun
around on one heel and hit the floor....what a finish!"

Looking at the purported deceased's name, I'm just going to remark:
"Norway! They don't serve shellac in a Lapp joint."

They would if it was a Dutch Treat...

In article ,
(Robert Bonomi) wrote:


Looking at the purported deceased's name, I'm just going to remark:
"Norway! They don't serve shellac in a Lapp joint."

Ouch!

Robatoy wrote:

In article dEOpe.11199$nr3.2278@trnddc02,
Robert Allison wrote:


You don't have to tell me that I have a morbid sense of humor.


Not so much morbid as 'disturbed'. G

And can you blame me? All of these were included in a
childrens book that I got back when I was a little kid in the
50s. I think the book was called "A Childs book of Fun". I
will have to see if I still have it. It was great. BTW, my
favorite poem from that book is this one:

I'd sure like to holler
As fruit juice I swaller.
Why do you come so soon?
You wake me up at 6 o'clock
When I could sleep til noon.

I still feel that way.

--
Robert Allison
Rimshot, Inc.
Georgetown, TX

"Robatoy" wrote in message
...
In article ,
(Robert Bonomi) wrote:


Looking at the purported deceased's name, I'm just going to remark:
"Norway! They don't serve shellac in a Lapp joint."

Ouch!

C'mon, they said he was Finnish.....

In article , "George"
wrote:

"Robatoy" wrote in message
...
In article ,
(Robert Bonomi) wrote:


Looking at the purported deceased's name, I'm just going to remark:
"Norway! They don't serve shellac in a Lapp joint."

Ouch!

C'mon, they said he was Finnish.....

They rushed him to a hospital in a Fjord.

In article , George wrote:

"Robatoy" wrote in message
...
In article ,
(Robert Bonomi) wrote:


Looking at the purported deceased's name, I'm just going to remark:
"Norway! They don't serve shellac in a Lapp joint."

Ouch!

C'mon, they said he was Finnish.....

He must have been multi-national, then. The report indicated he did a
little Dansk before collapsing.

I however remain convinced that the locale must have been a particular town
on the Atlantic coast, north of the Arctic Circle. Events proved that that
drink _Bode_'d ill for him.


Now, if a certain corunate gentleman, with horns and tail, had put in an
appearance, and dragged the body down through the floor, the I'd agree
to _Helsinki_. *groan*

In article ,
Robatoy wrote:
In article , "George"
wrote:

"Robatoy" wrote in message
...
In article ,
(Robert Bonomi) wrote:


Looking at the purported deceased's name, I'm just going to remark:
"Norway! They don't serve shellac in a Lapp joint."

Ouch!

C'mon, they said he was Finnish.....

They rushed him to a hospital in a Fjord.

Rumor mill has it that he was celebrating his just-accomplished legal name
change.

Unfortunately, the effects were so immediate that he barely had any chance
to rue the day he was "Bjorn".

In article ,
(Robert Bonomi) wrote:

In article ,
Robatoy wrote:
In article , "George"
wrote:

"Robatoy" wrote in message
...
In article ,
(Robert Bonomi) wrote:


Looking at the purported deceased's name, I'm just going to remark:
"Norway! They don't serve shellac in a Lapp joint."

Ouch!

C'mon, they said he was Finnish.....

They rushed him to a hospital in a Fjord.

Rumor mill has it that he was celebrating his just-accomplished legal name
change.

Unfortunately, the effects were so immediate that he barely had any chance
to rue the day he was "Bjorn".

Have you no mercy?

"jo4hn" wrote in message
nk.net...
Robert Bonomi wrote:
[application of verbiage-icide]
There are many other corruptions, but they violate the basic form of the
Limerick -- lines 1, 2, and 5 must have 3 groups of matched syllables.
and lines 3 and 4 must have 2 groups of matced syllables.

A wonderful / bird is the / pelican,
His beak will hold / more than his / belican.
He can take / in his beak
Food enough / for a week,
Damned if I / see how the / helican.

There was a young bard from Japan
Whose limericks never would scan.
When told it was so
He said, "Yes I know,
But I make it a rule to always try to get as many words into the last line
of a limerick as I possibly can."

I can't believe it! I only have a handful of these rhymes in my head, stuck
there by some buddies in junior high school all those years ago. I have
never heard them since, yet you guys got all of them. Except this one,
which is maybe a bit of a stretch from the others, but somebody here might
share my sense of humour:

I beat my head against the wall,
My eyes turn 'round and 'round.
I smash my brains until I fall
And lie there on the ground.


It often comes to mind when I'm trying to program this blasted computer...

- Owen -

"Robatoy" wrote in message
...
In article ,
(Robert Bonomi) wrote:

In article ,
Robatoy wrote:
In article , "George"
wrote:

"Robatoy" wrote in message
...
In article ,
(Robert Bonomi) wrote:


Looking at the purported deceased's name, I'm just going to
remark:
"Norway! They don't serve shellac in a Lapp joint."

Ouch!

C'mon, they said he was Finnish.....

They rushed him to a hospital in a Fjord.

Rumor mill has it that he was celebrating his just-accomplished legal
name
change.

Unfortunately, the effects were so immediate that he barely had any
chance
to rue the day he was "Bjorn".

Have you no mercy?

He bought the shellac at the BORG?

In article ,
"George" wrote:


He bought the shellac at the BORG?

You mean... the one where Bjorn used to buy it?...Bjorn's Borg?

He was a bit of a sorry sod. No self esteem. Always singing " Bjorn to
lose..."

All I need to do is get that song out of my head.... the best way to get
rid of a song from your head, is to replace it with another.. lemme
think.... YES! The Flintstones theme...the B-52 version...

On Fri, 10 Jun 2005 08:45:20 -0400, Robatoy wrote:
In article ,
"George" wrote:


He bought the shellac at the BORG?

You mean... the one where Bjorn used to buy it?...Bjorn's Borg?

He was a bit of a sorry sod. No self esteem. Always singing " Bjorn to
lose..."

He then bought a motorcycle and switched to "Bjorn to be wild"...

On Thu, 09 Jun 2005 23:12:11 -0000, Robert Bonomi wrote:
In article , George wrote:

"Robatoy" wrote in message
...
In article ,
(Robert Bonomi) wrote:


Looking at the purported deceased's name, I'm just going to remark:
"Norway! They don't serve shellac in a Lapp joint."

Ouch!

C'mon, they said he was Finnish.....

He must have been multi-national, then. The report indicated he did a
little Dansk before collapsing.

And his girlfriend had a little Swede in her, if you know what I mean.

I however remain convinced that the locale must have been a particular town
on the Atlantic coast, north of the Arctic Circle. Events proved that that
drink _Bode_'d ill for him.

Mjosa the summers, he'd go boating on a large lake in Norway.

Now, if a certain corunate gentleman, with horns and tail, had put in an
appearance, and dragged the body down through the floor, the I'd agree
to _Helsinki_. *groan*

You've got a Thing about this Nordic stuff, haven't you.

In article ,
Dave Hinz wrote:

On Fri, 10 Jun 2005 08:45:20 -0400, Robatoy wrote:
In article ,
"George" wrote:


He bought the shellac at the BORG?

You mean... the one where Bjorn used to buy it?...Bjorn's Borg?

He was a bit of a sorry sod. No self esteem. Always singing " Bjorn to
lose..."

He then bought a motorcycle and switched to "Bjorn to be wild"...

But alas, he left Norway and went back to his his native land as he was
"Bjorn in The USA!" where he became a woodworker (we're back on topic
now) and learned to use waterbjorn poly...

In article ,
Dave Hinz wrote:
On Thu, 09 Jun 2005 23:12:11 -0000, Robert Bonomi
wrote:

Now, if a certain corunate gentleman, with horns and tail, had put in an
appearance, and dragged the body down through the floor, the I'd agree
to _Helsinki_. *groan*

You've got a Thing about this Nordic stuff, haven't you.

As the gentleman in Port Vijarta with the hair-lip said, strapping those
shaped pieces of wood to his feet:

"Ski, Senor"

I am glad to see you used Service's exact word "moil" instead of the
*******ized "toil".
Most limericks are also written in iambic pentameter....
Yes, I teach Englsih in Anguish
wrote in message
oups.com...
The first "Willy" poem reminded me of this fine poem. Definitely
doesn't fit the limerick theme, and maybe too long for all to read, but
a classic from Robert Service:

The Cremation of Sam McGee

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only
knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a
spell;
Though he'd often say in his homely way that "he'd sooner live in
hell."

On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven
nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we
couldn't see;
It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.

And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the
snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and
toe,
He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I
guess;
And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request."

Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a
sort of moan:
"It's the cursed cold, and it's got right hold till I'm chilled
clean through to the bone.
Yet 'taint being dead--it's my awful dread of the icy grave that
pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last
remains."

A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly
pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in
Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried,
horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise
given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: "You may tax your
brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate those last
remains."

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern
code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed
that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies,
round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows-O God! how I loathed the
thing.

And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give
in;
And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a
grin.

Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the
"Alice May."
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen
chum;
Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum."

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared-such a blaze you
seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to
blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't
know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep
inside.
I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked;" . . . then the door
I opened wide.

And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace
roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: "Please close
that door.
It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and
storm-
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've
been warm."

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

There was a young miss in Peru
Who filled herself up with glue.....
Oh, never mind...Family Channel.
"Owen Lawrence" wrote in message
...
"jo4hn" wrote in message
nk.net...
Robert Bonomi wrote:
[application of verbiage-icide]
There are many other corruptions, but they violate the basic form of the
Limerick -- lines 1, 2, and 5 must have 3 groups of matched syllables.
and lines 3 and 4 must have 2 groups of matced syllables.

A wonderful / bird is the / pelican,
His beak will hold / more than his / belican.
He can take / in his beak
Food enough / for a week,
Damned if I / see how the / helican.

There was a young bard from Japan
Whose limericks never would scan.
When told it was so
He said, "Yes I know,
But I make it a rule to always try to get as many words into the last
line of a limerick as I possibly can."

I can't believe it! I only have a handful of these rhymes in my head,
stuck there by some buddies in junior high school all those years ago. I
have never heard them since, yet you guys got all of them. Except this
one, which is maybe a bit of a stretch from the others, but somebody here
might share my sense of humour:

I beat my head against the wall,
My eyes turn 'round and 'round.
I smash my brains until I fall
And lie there on the ground.


It often comes to mind when I'm trying to program this blasted computer...

- Owen -

This raised quite a Scanda in his home country.
"Robert Bonomi" wrote in message
...
In article ,
Dave Hinz wrote:
On Thu, 09 Jun 2005 23:12:11 -0000, Robert Bonomi
wrote:

Now, if a certain corunate gentleman, with horns and tail, had put in an
appearance, and dragged the body down through the floor, the I'd agree
to _Helsinki_. *groan*

You've got a Thing about this Nordic stuff, haven't you.

As the gentleman in Port Vijarta with the hair-lip said, strapping those
shaped pieces of wood to his feet:

"Ski, Senor"

In article ,
Robatoy wrote:
In article ,
(Robert Bonomi) wrote:

In article ,
Robatoy wrote:
In article , "George"
wrote:

"Robatoy" wrote in message
...
In article ,
(Robert Bonomi) wrote:


Looking at the purported deceased's name, I'm just going to remark:
"Norway! They don't serve shellac in a Lapp joint."

Ouch!

C'mon, they said he was Finnish.....

They rushed him to a hospital in a Fjord.

Rumor mill has it that he was celebrating his just-accomplished legal name
change.

Unfortunately, the effects were so immediate that he barely had any chance
to rue the day he was "Bjorn".

Have you no mercy?

Of course not. I *don't* speak French.
Never figured out what a "bow coop" was for, either.

Robert Bonomi wrote:
Service is *good* stuff. "The Shooting of Dangerous Dan McGrew" is also
highly recommended.

Aw Hell, it's all good. Had a prof who told me it was doggerell, told
him he was an idiot. We never did get along too well, come to think of
it.

Dave in Fairfax

In article ,
(Robert Bonomi) wrote:

Never figured out what a "bow coop" was for, either.

Easy. That's where they teach chickens to respectfully greet chickens
from Japan.