Another Beatles' Pages ... a/k/a ... A John Lennon Poem

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THE FAT BUDGIE

I have a little budgie
He is my very pal
I take him walks in Britain
I hope I always shall.

I call my budgie Jeffrey
My grandads name's the same
I call him after grandad
Who had a feathered brain.

Some people don't like budgies
The little yellow brats
They eat them up for breakfast
Or give them to their cats.

My uncle ate a budgie
It was so fat and fair.
I cried and called him Ronnie
He didn't seem to care

Although his name was Arthur
It didn't mean a thing.
He went into a petshop
And ate up everything.

The doctors looked inside him,
To see what they could do,
But he had been too greedy
He died just like a zoo.

My Jeffrey chirps and twitters
When I walk into the room,
I make him scrambled egg on toast
And feed him with a spoon.

He sings like other budgies
But only when in trim
But most of all on Sunday
Thats when I plug him in.

He flies about the room sometimes
And sits upon my bed
And if he's really happy
He does it on my head.

He's on a diet now you know 
From eating far too much
They say if he gets fatter
He'll have to wear a crutch.

It would be funny wouldn't it

A budgie on a stick
Imagine all the people
Laughing till they're sick.

So that's my budgie Jeffrey
Fat and yellow too
I love him more than daddie
And I'm only thirty two.

John Lennon

The next Beatles' page is  here.

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Jackson Pollock Visits Abbey Road

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Jackson Pollock  is the  Egg Man
who scrambled his colors on  the canvas
but John Lennon is the  Walrus.

The next Beatles' page is  here.  

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...And For Best Quotes, This Oscar Will Be Awarded To...YOU!

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Oscar Wilde

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Pre-Order Your Copy NOW...

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     yadda yadda...Big Pharma  

to sell drug  

 called Expensia  

 yadda yadda....which has  
contraindication  

 yadda yadda...of empty feeling  
in pockets  

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COMMENTS:

Nanker Phulge writes:
Big Pharma wants nothing more than to help us!
The medicine it gives us  helps alleviate existing pain 
and is even more helpful in creating new pain.
 
Bolda Darsh  writes:
Too much yadda yadda
and not enough happy happy.
 
Nessy Talga writes:
Whenever my mother had more
than five ingredients in a dinner dish,
she called it yadda yadda.
 
Sigmun the F writes:
Nessy, do you come here often?
 
N. Talga writes:
Sigmund, if you have enough money,
I’ll give you whatever answer you want.
 
S. the F writes:
Let me count my nickels and dimes
and then get back to you.

 
Anonymous writes:
My name is Michael and
I am an alcoholic.

Anonymoose writes:
Michael, do you come here often?

 

Do Woppy writes:
Pharmer John,
I’m in love with your daughter.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LKVLAiyDIzw

Wop Woppy writes:
Before the Premiers,
the composers Don & Dewey
were in love with the Pharmer’s daughter.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=40bStlJyqsg

LowRents Oliveo writes:
Mr. and Mr. Woppy, please no more
youTube links or we will have to pay
royalties to Mr. Don and Mr. Dewey.

You have just read  the First Chapter
of the  CarPeos ©First Novel©
...
To Be Continued

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Face the Facts, Gentlemen (Comic Relief #940)

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Harry Bliss

His name rhymes with Kiss
and members of my gender
must always remember
when to wear the 
Kiss Face 

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The 52nd Bullet: Everything Else

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Money talks.
Everything else just makes noise.  

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 Footnote

THE 52nd BULLET  is the copyrighted property of  LCSoL.
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About That Shark...

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You don't have to 

out-swim the shark,

you only have to out-swim

the guy you're scuba diving with.

from
Billions
Episode 1
  

SHOWTIME 

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"To Paint" Could Have Been "To Paint Or To Write"

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An amateur is someone who supports himself 

with outside jobs which enable him to paint.

A professional is someone whose wife works

to enable him to paint.

Ben Shahn 

His Wiki is  here.

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The Problem With Some Books...

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You occasionally encounter
the difficult chapter

Werner Pfeiffer
The Difficult Chapter

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From A Very Early Age, I Loved Books But Didn't Know That...

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You had to read them

I found it sufficient
to just hold them,
to feel them,
to grope them...

And then,
in high school,
we had to read 
War And Peace

I impressed my teacher
by finishing it within
one half-hour.

All I did was read
the number on each page.

But I read the first word
of  every page
of  Jane Eyre

It was a Surrealist masterpiece



However,
Dostoevski's

Minnie Marx

THE DOUBLE...

was the first story 
I read en toto

Fyodor was 
funnier than 
anyone will
ever know

And my idols became
Miene Schonberg
and the man she married in 1884: 
Samuel "Frenchie" Marx

For each and every one
of their children,
the  bedtime story
read to them was
THE DOUBLE

The one who became Groucho
memorized the entire story.

          

This is

the only

known picture

of the entire Marx family

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This Is Not...This Is (TIN/TI #21)

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⬆ 

THIS IS NOT 
A Jackson Pollock Painting 

      THIS IS 
A Jackson Pollock Painting

   ⬇⬇  

 

The first image is what you see
when 95% of a 28 inch snowfall melts.

The  Pollock painting is entitled
One: Number 31, 1950 

The first image was photographed by Mrs. CarPeo.

The next page in this series is  here.

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True in the Year 0066 and Equally True In The Year 2016

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Where cash alone is king

what good are laws

Where no man can ever 

win his cause

The cynics, though

they put the times to shame

Will now and then, for pennies,

throw the game

While law's official guardians

sell her dear 

The judge presiding 

as the auctioneer.

Petronius

Satyrica
(≈ 66 AD)

Translated by
J.P. Sullivan

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Footnotes
Inspired by a character from this book,
Scott Fitzgerald wrote a novel called   Trimalchio
but his wife Zelda suggested a different title.

The novel was re-written
with major alterations  and re-titled
The Great Gatsby.

The next Fitzgerald page is  here.

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Prime Root Of February Has Two Composite Calendar Cousins

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  Today is February 1
 

 

also known as 2/1

and 

2/1 = 4/2

but 4/2 

is also known as April 2

and 

2/1 = 8/4

but  8/4

is also known as August 4

Welcome to Calendar Algebra

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Actual Size Is 0.26" x 0.2" x 0.09" (And It Weighs Fifteen Ounces)

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Small sculptures 

and Big ideas  are 

on exhibit 

at Postmasters 

in New York City 

Ryder Ripps
Rare Pepe, Or
Why Post Internet Art is Stupid
2015
 

© Artdaily.org

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A Poem In Transit

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This bus has bad breath. Poor thing.
We are, after all, sitting in its esophagus.
Give it mints from Philadelphia or Denver.
Is it Spanish flew, which blew in. Babies?

Is it flu from dishabille disabled bile?
 The Christmas decorations linger, fewer now,
 replaced by red Valentines, except if the door
 itself is red. Perhaps, then, hidden hearts.
 

Pretty things, it is pleasant in Pleasantville.

Flat, girls travel in threes making shapes of

Christmas trees by leaning in, laughing.

A pack of Archies form a running team

On the street surface. All is pleasant

in Pleasantville. On the surface. 

Eggs in the wings.

Mrs. CarPeo

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Footnote

A POEM IN TRANSIT

is the copyrighted Property of LCSoL.

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