A post

The weekend is almost here. Time to chill and fudge way out of writing a proper post.

This evening, my mom found a funny "poem" on an aged newspaper clipping tucked inside one of the books mom and dad bought at the library book sale last month. We had a good laugh reading it. I searched for it online and of course, the Great Google located a soft copy for me. Here it is, for your reading pleasure. And oh, this "poem" is specially dedicated to cheer Rads up :-).

When God passed out brains,
I thought he said trains,
And I missed mine.

When God passed out looks,
I thought he said books
And didn't want any.

When God passed out ears,
I thought he said beers
And asked for two long ones.

When God passed out legs,
I thought he said kegs
And asked for two fat ones.

When God passed out noses,
I thought he said roses
And asked for a big red one.

When God passed out heads,
I thought He said beds
And asked for a big soft one.

When God passed out hips,
I thought he said lips
And asked for two large round ones.

God am I a mess.

***

TGIAF* folks!

* Thank God its almost Friday.

p.s. couldn't find the name of the original author of poem.

Should I be blogging?

Just dug out this poem I came across a while ago. Made me think again as to what exactly drives me to blog... Enjoy :-)!

The Misanthrope
(Oronte and Alceste are friends who are in love with the same girl - which perhaps explains Alceste's rather cruel review)

ORONTE
...
In short, I am your servant. And now, dear friend,
Since you have such fine judgement, I intend
To please you, if I can, with a small sonnet
I wrote not long ago. Please comment on it,
And tell me whether I ought to publish it.

ALCESTE:
Sir, these are delicate matters; we all desire
To be told that we've the true poetic fire.
But once, to one whose name I shall not mention,
I said, regarding some verse of his invention,
That gentlemen should rigorously control
That itch to write which often afflicts the soul;
That one should curb the heady inclination
To publicize one's little avocation;
And that in showing off one's works of art
One often plays a very clownish part.
...
You're under no necessity to compose;
Why you should wish to publish, heaven knows.
There's no excuse for printing tedious rot
Unless one writes for bread, as you do not.
Resist temptation, then, I beg of you;
Conceal your pastimes from the public view.

-- Moliere