[Robert Meyer]

I thought we'd never hear the end of it
when Uncle John (the miserable git)
told us all around the kitchen table
"I'm forced to rent your home to dear Aunt Mabel."
But John and Mabel, to be precise, are cousins,
living large off relatives. Their dozens

of kids, it seems, were brought up in a stable;
they all run wild, and as for dear Aunt Mabel,

we only call her "dear" to be ironic.
She holds just one thing dear: her gin and tonic.

She drinks because she feels the gnawing guilt
Of scamming ADC up to the hilt. And "John" ain't John

("Unc"? "Cuz"? The point is moot)--
he's Bruce. John's how he's known to prostitutes.

What John announced could not have been absurder.
It left us little choice but Mabel's murder.

We only needed plans to cover 'when'
having set a little trap up in the den.

A trail of limes that led to her Beefeaters.
We ‘d shoot her then we’d stab her then we’d beat her.

The Limies found her body in the moor, doc.
To find the criminal they hired Sherlock


[This message has been edited by Robert Meyer (edited June 30, 2004).]

[Clay Stockton]

I thought we'd never hear the end of it
when Uncle John (the miserable git)
told us all around the kitchen table
"I'm forced to rent your home to dear Aunt Mabel."
But John and Mabel, to be precise, are cousins,
living large off relatives. Their dozens
of kids, it seems, were brought up in a stable;
they all run wild, and as for dear Aunt Mabel,

we only call her "dear" to be ironic.
She holds just one thing dear: her gin and tonic.

She drinks because she feels the gnawing guilt
Of scamming ADC up to the hilt.

And "John" ain't John ("Unc"? "Cuz"? The point is moot)--
he's Bruce. John's how he's known to prostitutes.

What John announced could not have been absurder.
It left us little choice but Mabel's murder.

We only needed plans to cover 'when'
having set a little trap up in the den.

A trail of limes that led to her Beefeaters.
We ‘d shoot her then we’d stab her then we’d beat her.

The Limies found her body in the moor, doc.
To find the criminal they hired Sherlock
Jones, private dick, late of LAPD,
but sacked for lepidopterology:
The net he cast to snare a porno ring
Was more butterfly than drag--a feeble sting.




[This message has been edited by Clay Stockton (edited June 30, 2004).]

[Rose Kelleher]

I thought we'd never hear the end of it
when Uncle John (the miserable git)
told us all around the kitchen table
"I'm forced to rent your home to dear Aunt Mabel."
But John and Mabel, to be precise, are cousins,
living large off relatives. Their dozens
of kids, it seems, were brought up in a stable;
they all run wild, and as for dear Aunt Mabel,
we only call her "dear" to be ironic.
She holds just one thing dear: her gin and tonic.
She drinks because she feels the gnawing guilt
Of scamming ADC up to the hilt.
And "John" ain't John ("Unc"? "Cuz"? The point is moot)--
he's Bruce. John's how he's known to prostitutes.
What John announced could not have been absurder.
It left us little choice but Mabel's murder.
We only needed plans to cover 'when'
having set a little trap up in the den.
A trail of limes that led to her Beefeaters.
We ‘d shoot her then we’d stab her then we’d beat her.
The Limies found her body in the moor, doc.
To find the criminal they hired Sherlock
Jones, private dick, late of LAPD,
but sacked for lepidopterology:
The net he cast to snare a porno ring
Was more butterfly than drag--a feeble sting.
Not only were his tactics ineffective,
he badly needed surgery (elective);
he asked to be called Cyrano, but no,
his buddies dubbed poor Jones "Pinocchio."

[Robert Swagman]

I thought we'd never hear the end of it
when Uncle John (the miserable git)
told us all around the kitchen table
"I'm forced to rent your home to dear Aunt Mabel."
But John and Mabel, to be precise, are cousins,
living large off relatives. Their dozens
of kids, it seems, were brought up in a stable;
they all run wild, and as for dear Aunt Mabel,
we only call her "dear" to be ironic.
She holds just one thing dear: her gin and tonic.
She drinks because she feels the gnawing guilt
Of scamming ADC up to the hilt.
And "John" ain't John ("Unc"? "Cuz"? The point is moot)--
he's Bruce. John's how he's known to prostitutes.
What John announced could not have been absurder.
It left us little choice but Mabel's murder.
We only needed plans to cover 'when'
having set a little trap up in the den.
A trail of limes that led to her Beefeaters.
We ‘d shoot her then we’d stab her then we’d beat her.
The Limies found her body in the moor, doc.
To find the criminal they hired Sherlock
Jones, private dick, late of LAPD,
but sacked for lepidopterology:
The net he cast to snare a porno ring
Was more butterfly than drag--a feeble sting.
Not only were his tactics ineffective,
he badly needed surgery (elective);
he asked to be called Cyrano, but no,
his buddies dubbed poor Jones "Pinocchio."
He stuck his probiscus into every aspect
of the case, and soon we all were suspect;


forgot to change IDs after razzing Dee - sorry

Jerry



[This message has been edited by Robert Swagman (edited June 30, 2004).]

[Marion Shore]

I thought we'd never hear the end of it
when Uncle John (the miserable git)
told us all around the kitchen table
"I'm forced to rent your home to dear Aunt Mabel."
But John and Mabel, to be precise, are cousins,
living large off relatives. Their dozens
of kids, it seems, were brought up in a stable;
they all run wild, and as for dear Aunt Mabel,
we only call her "dear" to be ironic.
She holds just one thing dear: her gin and tonic.
She drinks because she feels the gnawing guilt
Of scamming ADC up to the hilt.
And "John" ain't John ("Unc"? "Cuz"? The point is moot)--
he's Bruce. John's how he's known to prostitutes.
What John announced could not have been absurder.
It left us little choice but Mabel's murder.
We only needed plans to cover 'when'
having set a little trap up in the den.
A trail of limes that led to her Beefeaters.
We'd shoot her then we'd stab her then we'd beat her.
The Limies found her body in the moor, doc.
To find the criminal they hired Sherlock
Jones, private dick, late of LAPD,
but sacked for lepidopterology:
The net he cast to snare a porno ring
Was more butterfly than drag--a feeble sting.
Not only were his tactics ineffective,
he badly needed surgery (elective);
he asked to be called Cyrano, but no,
his buddies dubbed poor Jones "Pinocchio."
He stuck his probiscus into every aspect
of the case, and soon we all were suspect;
Still we weren't frightened by this twit--
It was the perfect crime--now, wasn't it?

[Jerry Glenn Hartwig]

Still WE weren't FRIGHTened BY this TWIT--


IP, Marion?????

[Marion Shore]

Sorry, Jerry--

I seem to be the only one in the English-speaking world who gives "weren't" two syllables.

I would have scanned it:

Still WE WereN'T FRIGHTened BY this TWIT.

Does this work better?

I thought we'd never hear the end of it
when Uncle John (the miserable git)
told us all around the kitchen table
"I'm forced to rent your home to dear Aunt Mabel."
But John and Mabel, to be precise, are cousins,
living large off relatives. Their dozens
of kids, it seems, were brought up in a stable;
they all run wild, and as for dear Aunt Mabel,
we only call her "dear" to be ironic.
She holds just one thing dear: her gin and tonic.
She drinks because she feels the gnawing guilt
Of scamming ADC up to the hilt.
And "John" ain't John ("Unc"? "Cuz"? The point is moot)--
he's Bruce. John's how he's known to prostitutes.
What John announced could not have been absurder.
It left us little choice but Mabel's murder.
We only needed plans to cover 'when'
having set a little trap up in the den.
A trail of limes that led to her Beefeaters.
We'd shoot her then we'd stab her then we'd beat her.
The Limies found her body in the moor, doc.
To find the criminal they hired Sherlock
Jones, private dick, late of LAPD,
but sacked for lepidopterology:
The net he cast to snare a porno ring
Was more butterfly than drag--a feeble sting.
Not only were his tactics ineffective,
he badly needed surgery (elective);
he asked to be called Cyrano, but no,
his buddies dubbed poor Jones "Pinocchio."
He stuck his probiscus into every aspect
of the case, and soon we all were suspect;
Still we were not too frightened by this twit--
It was the perfect crime--now, wasn't it?

[Clay Stockton]

I thought we'd never hear the end of it
when Uncle John (the miserable git)
told us all around the kitchen table
"I'm forced to rent your home to dear Aunt Mabel."
But John and Mabel, to be precise, are cousins,
living large off relatives. Their dozens
of kids, it seems, were brought up in a stable;
they all run wild, and as for dear Aunt Mabel,
we only call her "dear" to be ironic.
She holds just one thing dear: her gin and tonic.
She drinks because she feels the gnawing guilt
Of scamming ADC up to the hilt.
And "John" ain't John ("Unc"? "Cuz"? The point is moot)--
he's Bruce. John's how he's known to prostitutes.
What John announced could not have been absurder.
It left us little choice but Mabel's murder.
We only needed plans to cover 'when'
having set a little trap up in the den.
A trail of limes that led to her Beefeaters.
We'd shoot her then we'd stab her then we'd beat her.
The Limies found her body in the moor, doc.
To find the criminal they hired Sherlock
Jones, private dick, late of LAPD,
but sacked for lepidopterology:
The net he cast to snare a porno ring
Was more butterfly than drag--a feeble sting.
Not only were his tactics ineffective,
he badly needed surgery (elective);
he asked to be called Cyrano, but no,
his buddies dubbed poor Jones "Pinocchio."
He stuck his probiscus into every aspect
of the case, and soon we all were suspect;
Still we weren't frightened by this twit--
It was the perfect crime--now, wasn't it?

Headless! Jones could not sniff out her head,
Nose or no, for when dropped, it sank like lead


P.S. I took the liberty of restoring Marion's original line, which scans as IP--just headless.

[Donna English]

I thought we'd never hear the end of it
when Uncle John (the miserable git)
told us all around the kitchen table
"I'm forced to rent your home to dear Aunt Mabel."
But John and Mabel, to be precise, are cousins,
living large off relatives. Their dozens
of kids, it seems, were brought up in a stable;
they all run wild, and as for dear Aunt Mabel,
we only call her "dear" to be ironic.
She holds just one thing dear: her gin and tonic.
She drinks because she feels the gnawing guilt
Of scamming ADC up to the hilt.
And "John" ain't John ("Unc"? "Cuz"? The point is moot)--
he's Bruce. John's how he's known to prostitutes.
What John announced could not have been absurder.
It left us little choice but Mabel's murder.
We only needed plans to cover 'when'
having set a little trap up in the den.
A trail of limes that led to her Beefeaters.
We'd shoot her then we'd stab her then we'd beat her.
The Limies found her body in the moor, doc.
To find the criminal they hired Sherlock
Jones, private dick, late of LAPD,
but sacked for lepidopterology:
The net he cast to snare a porno ring
Was more butterfly than drag--a feeble sting.
Not only were his tactics ineffective,
he badly needed surgery (elective);
he asked to be called Cyrano, but no,
his buddies dubbed poor Jones "Pinocchio."
He stuck his probiscus into every aspect
of the case, and soon we all were suspect;
Still we weren't frightened by this twit--
It was the perfect crime--now, wasn't it?
Headless! Jones could not sniff out her head,
Nose or no, for when dropped, it sank like lead

Into the pool of family excrement
beneath the outhouse. That will mask the scent

[Renate]

I thought we'd never hear the end of it
when Uncle John (the miserable git)
told us all around the kitchen table
"I'm forced to rent your home to dear Aunt Mabel."
But John and Mabel, to be precise, are cousins,
living large off relatives. Their dozens
of kids, it seems, were brought up in a stable;
they all run wild, and as for dear Aunt Mabel,
we only call her "dear" to be ironic.
She holds just one thing dear: her gin and tonic.
She drinks because she feels the gnawing guilt
Of scamming ADC up to the hilt.
And "John" ain't John ("Unc"? "Cuz"? The point is moot)--
he's Bruce. John's how he's known to prostitutes.
What John announced could not have been absurder.
It left us little choice but Mabel's murder.
We only needed plans to cover 'when'
having set a little trap up in the den.
A trail of limes that led to her Beefeaters.
We'd shoot her then we'd stab her then we'd beat her.
The Limies found her body in the moor, doc.
To find the criminal they hired Sherlock
Jones, private dick, late of LAPD,
but sacked for lepidopterology:
The net he cast to snare a porno ring
Was more butterfly than drag--a feeble sting.
Not only were his tactics ineffective,
he badly needed surgery (elective);
he asked to be called Cyrano, but no,
his buddies dubbed poor Jones "Pinocchio."
He stuck his probiscus into every aspect
of the case, and soon we all were suspect;
Still we weren't frightened by this twit--
It was the perfect crime--now, wasn't it?
Headless! Jones could not sniff out her head,
Nose or no, for when dropped, it sank like lead
Into the pool of family excrement
beneath the outhouse. That will mask the scent.
We didn't realise forensic tests
would uncover all our outhouse guests.