Hey you all! Sorry I went AWOL on ya, but put the blame on AT&T and/or Excite (bad cess to both of 'em!!) -- But, I'm back online now, so here are your Silver B.L.O.B.s that I know you've been pining for . . .
To Amos, who's supposedly 'resting' with his delicate condition, for:
Half the town, out like a light
Lying around in the early night
Bleeding from all them rock-concert delights
In Pashan Pud!
To (slightly confused) Clifton, who went from pud to pun to pud, for summing up things so nicely with this verse:
Now I'm layin' in a hospital bed
'Bout fifty-seven stitches in my freakin' head
The nurse said " go now, the festival's done"
It's a cause for celebration down in 'Ol Pashun Pud
To Jack the Sailor, for his very athletic take on the pud situation, for:
And won't let up, until sun goes down, or nat least until you cry
Cause they know, its all in fun unless you lose an eye
Don't be a louse, there's no glass house anywhere on their road
So pick up the rock and be a jock and throw at their heads instead.
AND for righteously rocking us all with:
When our rocks strike Five, six or Seven
We'll be sending them to Heaven
We're gonna rock 'em in the clock today
Were gonna make them sorry rockers pay
We're gonna rock them in the clock today.
To MMario, for proving that when it comes to puds, size doesn't matter, with:
Toss a rock for the goddess's blessing!
Make sure it is solid, not mud.
The size doesn't matter,
If blood's gonna splatter
At our rock throwing contest in Pashann Pud!
To derrymacash, a chara chóir, for the wonderful poetry of:
Ah, but Ravi dear the law will hear.
Our screams will rend the sky.
For Pashan Pud is in our blood
We'll never let it die.
Each honest man can join our band
You need not stand alone
And loud and high we'll raise our cry
The casting of the stone.
AND another B.L.O.B. for this rousing party cry (and it ain't 'Play Freebird!'):
When struck on the napper, I near came a cropper
But I had a whopper balled up in me fist.
I spied the oul' shite, who near put out me lights
As he threw out of spite and never yet missed.
My aim it was true and I needn't tell you
The air it turned blue as he roared and he raged.
Then he screamed out in pain as I lamped him again
And he lashed out in vain like an animal caged.
And here's a couple S.B.L.O.B.s for mousethief -- the first one for this verse, and high praise for the 'oddest/goddess' rhyme (but I loved the 'meanie/weenie' thing, too!):
Yes they'll stone you on their yearly holiday
They'll stone you in the good, old-fashioned way
They'll stone you though their custom is the oddest
They'll stone you in the name of their goddess
But I would not feel so all alone
Everybody there gets stoned!
And the second one for this very organic verse:
Now an Indian lass who set racing my blood
Said, "won't you come home and see my 'passion pud'?"
I followed that lass, as any single man might
Whilst chomping desire like a cow chews its cud
To Deda, for a very cockle-warming take on the Puddlians' foolish feis:
So the stones keep on flying
But nobody's dying
At the end of the day they all get to go home
So they'll throw stones and wait till
This system turns fatal
And then they'll regroup and trade pillows for stones
Trade pillows for sto-ones,
Trade pillows for sto-ones
Someday the whole world will trade pillows for stones.