What's Big and Green and Riant?

Omigod, Elmer Dresslar, Jr., has died. The voice of the Jolly Green Giant. The obit does not mention whether he was any kin in real life to Little Sprout. As it happens, an old Jolson song, And Then He'd Row, Row, Row has been running through my head (without parodic result, I might add), and the following occurred to me:

And when he'd "Ho! Ho! Ho!"
About his veggies,
We'd say, "No! No! No!"
And give 'im wedgies;
Then we'd knock him off his pins,
Kick him in the shins--
We'd knock him down
And rough him up
And wish that he were twins.

That's writing as fast as I can type, that is. And what it means I haven't the least idea. No copyright notice this issue; steal the sucker, for all I care.

Happiness Is A Warm Gun

One shortcoming of many Popular Standards is that their eroticism was implicit. Those of an older generation might not consider their subtlety in this regard to be a shortcoming, but we of the rock-deafened generations find latent sexuality quaint and sometimes even incomprehensible. What's wanted to correct this shortcoming is a Don Quixote who can tilt at doubles entendres. And that's where I, your boutique song parodist, come in.

(My, that's an awful lot of lingo to justify a ribald parody.)

Yesterday sparked an idea for a parody of Warren's Shuffle Off to Buffalo, which, let's face it, presents certain features of erotic interest. By sheer coincidence—caused, perhaps, by lack of lyrical skill on my part—, singing the following requires a certain nimbleness of tongue:

When an avid cunnilinctor
Goes to penetrate your sphincter
And you feel that glow—
Oh—oh—oh—
Off 'll go your trigger,
Triggering a bigger O.

First, his tongue 'll do the Hora
On your labia minora;
Then, he'll go real slow—
Oh—oh—oh—
Off 'll go your trigger,
Triggering a bigger O.

Your jus d'amour he'll stoop to savor,
As you ascend the stratosphere.
If he says, "Return the favor,"
Say, "We'll discuss that later, dear."

If you picture every climax
As a scene in Super IMAX
With the sound turned low—
Oh—oh—oh—
Off 'll go your trigger,
Triggering a bigger—
Don't
Stop,
F'godsake, don't stop—
Triggering a bigger O.

Lyric © 2005 Nathaniel DesH. Petrikov

Evening is Nye

What with this, that and the other, it's been some time since I glanced at the obits. This morning, I find a report in The Nyok Times that veteran comic Louis Nye has bought it, at the ripe old age of 92.

The obit does not adequately explain Mr. Nye's appeal, to my mind. Perhaps his persona did look down his nose at the audience; but he wouldn't have got anywhere with that attitude, if it hadn't been for the sorrowful eyes, the poignant eyebrows, and the vulnerable mouth, than all of which there were none than-whicher. You got the feeling that Louis Nye was doing what many citizens along Broadway were doing at the time, which was the best he could, as Damon Runyon put it. A career that included playing a mountain-top guru in a TV spot (could it have been in a Lay's potato chip commercial? Mr. Nye was always more memorable than the product) only served to reinforce this impression.

A Completely Imaginary Parody

I was sauntering about Manhattan on Saturday, when the germ of an idea for a parody of Gershwin's Embraceable You popped into the noggin, thanks to a word in season from the incomparable Miss Sallie Parker. (Ta, Miss P.)

My indifferent public knows what a stickler I am about rhyme, but a gag occurred to me that was so obviously the goods--fitted Gershwin's little musical burp to a T, and was as funny as hell--, that I decided that here, at last, was a good reason to break a rule. So good is the gag, that I fear that it may represent some subconscious memory; surely, someone, somewhere, sometime, has written this parody before. I certainly hope not.

And let me add that this lyric is entirely the product of imagination. I have no first-hand experience of the subject matter. Repeat, none.

Inflate me,
My sweet, inflatable you.
Elate me,
Manipulatable you.
Two enormous knockers and a nice little rump—
All it takes is patience and a bicycle pump.
Your latex
Against my veteran flesh,
In Playtex,
Is even better ‘n flesh;
And, when I push this button,
You can simulate arousal, too—
My automatable you.

Lyric © 2005 Nathaniel DesH. Petrikov, until further notice

Criticisms, off the top of my head: veteran flesh/better 'n flesh is a dummy rhyme at the moment, though veteran is certainly apt, according to my mirror. Inflate me, as a synonym for induce an erection in me, may be 'way too subtle for this day and age. Still, that one will probably have to stay. (O God, where does one find perfection?)