Chances are one of these photos depicts a kerfuffle. Click on first photo to enlarge all and view as a slide series.
In Search of Kerfuffles
What, I must ask you, is a kerfuffle? Is it a soufflé or perhaps a ruffle? Is it that fuzz that hides under beds or those stubborn snarls at the back of our heads?
Perhaps they are tasty and come with whipped cream—
a dieter’s nightmare, a sweet tooth’s fine dream. Do kerfuffles have feathers and beaks on their noses to fly overhead and poop on our clotheses? Does one have to walk them or clean up their messes? I’m no closer to knowing, in spite of these guesses. Guess I’ll quit my job and pack up a duffle, set off in the world to find a kerfuffle. And when I discover it, I’ll bring it home and finally be able to finish this poem.
This may be the silliest poem I ever wrote. It is what happens when you discover an overlooked prompt at 3:42 in the morning!!!
Word from Your Mentors
When you are a bad boy, we are going to have to boo ya, and when you make no sense at all, we’re gonna ballyhoo ya. When you are confused, we will for sure be trying to clue ya in on what is happening, and then we’ll have to queue ya up for music lessons where we’ll one ya and we’ll two ya, making you so musical the girls will want to woo ya, and all the other boys in town will really want to sue ya ‘cuz all the girls that turn their heads only want to do ya! But never mind those other guys who hiss at and eschew ya. As you walk down the aisle, we will shout out hallelujah, for though the other guys may pine over your bride and rue ya, seeing you in wedded bliss, the rest of us say, “Hooyah!!!”
Ragtag gave a bonus prompt yesterday and since I find myself awake at 3:42 a.m. with nothing better to do, I guess I’ll play along. The word is Hooyah!
This tennis fact you might observe when a certain lady goes to serve: each man who passes tends to swerve to watch neither her skill nor verve, but her body’s line and curve–– (each one a visual hors d’oeuvre.)
They keep their thoughts well in reserve, for no observer has the nerve to risk the censure he might deserve in revealing himself as a perv. And thus can Mel and Chuck and Irv their conjugal harmonies conserve.
Are lady goblins goblets or tiny fobs called fobblets? A little blob a bloblet? An hors d’ oeuvre corn a coblet? A little daub a daublet? A short-lived job a joblet? A mob of tots a moblet? A jewel box knob a knoblet? A minor theft a robblet? A single tear a sobblet?
(Very sorry for this one. Blame it on the goblin prompt given by Forgottenman and the resultant mental processes that led to my having to research whether there were in fact also female goblins. The answer is still somewhat unresolved.)
They steal into town to pillage and croon, Invading on tiptoe, every third moon. With fiery red hair and warts on their noses, they cut all the tulips and pee on the roses. Venting belches that reek of porter and scallions, they chase all the ladies in randy battalions and press scaly lips on unwilling misses who scamper away to wipe off their kisses. But still the next morning, their sickly taste lingers on unlucky lips and unfortunate fingers of girls who’ve attempted to purge these advances that with lecherous hobgoblins pass for romances.
So all ye young maidens take heed of this warning.
Put off your wanderings until the morning!
Uriah Heep–an unctuous, cringing, overly-humble character from Charles Dickens was chosen by the British Telegraph as one of their favorite Dickens characters. I chose him as well for a meeting with another rather hard-to-take notable fictional figure way back at the beginning of my blog. Few people read that silly poem that chronicled the meeting between Heep and Rocky Balboa.HEREis a link if you’d like to take a peek back at it.
Image 1 of 3
A portrait of Uriah Heep by Frederick Barnard (1846-1896), which was used to illustrate David Copperfield by Charles Dickens.Photo: Alamy
“I think we may be family,” was whispered in his ear, but he couldn’t see who said it, though he looked both far and near. Again that small voice spoke to him. “We share a family name, although as the biggest, you possess most of the fame.”
Thus did the massive elephant notice for the first time the tiniest of animals who’d finished its long climb from the dirt so far below up to his mighty ear. From foot to knee to shoulder, it had climbed in spite of fear
that one great flinch might cast it from the air down to the ground. Yet still it journeyed upwards, driven to expound on how great an irony, surely it must be, that this small “ant” and the eleph”ant” must be family!