♫ If she says, “Come here!
“My dear!
“There’s something no one else can hear!”
Think of us, and never fear:
The secret-selling championeers!
We pay top price!
We sell, rock-bottom!
And promise no one’s e’er forgotten!
A secret’s safe, till you can pay;
Visit Secret Snitch today! ♫
©2021 Chel Owens
There are still a few more hours to write a humorous jingle for a product that shouldn’t be sold! C’mon! It’s for the A Mused Poetry Contest.
♫ When your life is without care
And when your nether’s without hair;
To follow laws, you can’t be bare,
So try our burlap underwear.
Grampy’s Burlap Underwear!
Grampy’s Burlap Underwear!
You’ll want to swear
If you’ll but dare
To wear
Ol’ Grampy’s Underwear! ♫
©2021 Chel Owens
I’m sure to get hired by a PR group soon… Try your own hand at a humorous jingle for a product that shouldn’t be sold for this month’s A Mused Poetry Contest.
♫ C’mon, c’mon; you’ve got to try this!
For all your cares
And breathing airs:
The one and only Coronavirus! ♫
©2021 Chel Owens
Yep; you really shouldn’t try this product. What else can you think shouldn’t be sold, and needs a snappy jingle? Enter this month’s A Mused Poetry Contest today!
I asked poets to pen a funny commercial. And the one who did so the best was:
Try our Thanksgiving Stuffing, by Bruce
We’re plucking the turkey
in preparation for Thanksgiving.
Pluck the turkey!
Pluck the turkey!
Sing as you pluck, O my three children!
I just wish the turkey would keep still.
We’re stuffing the turkey
in preparation for Thanksgiving.
Stuff the turkey!
Stuff the turkey!
Sing as you stuff, O my three children!
I just wish we’d taken the guts out first.
We’re roasting the turkey
in preparation for Thanksgiving.
Roast the turkey!
Roast the turkey!
Sing as you roast, O my two children!
Well, just shut up and pretend it’s a turkey.
Congratulations, Bruce, on being the funniest poet of the week! I selected his poem for its dark, clever humor. Well done, and -well- awful.
His had at least a few contenders as I snickered my way through reading. See for yourself:
Untitled, by Trent McDonald
Hey Mom and Dad!
Don’t be sad
For we have the newest kiddy fad!
You know the toy
A plastic bit of joy
Wanted by every girl and boy?
You need a pair
But they are dear
And you can’t find ‘em anywhere
A rumor of a stash
Causes teeth to gnash
And a million parents show up in a flash
Stand in a line
Hope for a find
But the last sold at nine
Well, come in a trice
We have some, that’s nice,
And are only charging ten times the price!
So, don’t take a nap
Came ay-sap
And buy some grossly overpriced crap!
Perkup: turns molehills into mountains, by Geoff LePard
Are you flaccid and sad?
Perkup will make glad
Lost your youthful zeal?
Perkup makes your dreams real
Confidence taken a dent?
Take Perkup and turn the smallest event
With the help of our latest fix
Into your very own Grand Prix!
Hey Hottie, by Matt Snyder
Hey Hottie How’s it Hanging ?
Halitosis, she says and hurries away
How many times has this happened to you Horny Harry ?
Have a swig of Herman’s Halitosis Herbal Mouthwash
And try again
Hey Hottie How’s it hanging ?
Hot and heavy Horny Harry
Herman’s Halitosis Herbal Mouthwash Keeping Horny Harry’s Halitosis Free
Untitled, by DumbestBlogger
Help! I’m being eaten by alligators!
Good thing I have Flex-Seal!
I’m going to make an alligator proof cage with it!
It sets up instantly!
It’s amazing!
Oops! The pirhannas were a little bit fast!
Untitled, by Willowdot
Book now
Before it’s too late
Trip of a lifetime
Heaven can’t wait.
Masks are provided
You must stay in your seat
Can’t use the loo
And there’s nothing to eat.
The duration is a fortnight
But might stretch to a month
Quarantine darlings
Read the small print in the bunff.
I’m Rona fly me!
Untitled, by Deb Whittam
Eyes glued to the box,
There’s drama to be seen.
Then it happens at the climax,
How can they be so mean?
Time is limited,
One and a half minutes to be exact.
Then the commercials will be over,
Quick, it’s time to act.
He puts the kettle on,
As I scurry down the hall.
So quickly, that I nearly skid,
And take a dramatic fall.
Teas brewing, he hollers,
As theme music begins to play.
Frustrated I curse,
Why is the loo so far away?
As voices sound I don’t have time to flush,
It will just have to wait.
The next bit will be dramatic,
I don’t want to be too late.
As I scurry to my seat,
He sighs in disbelief,
Another set of ads eight minutes away,
The tea will be ready then, what a relief.
Untitled, by Hobbo
A funeral plan, the ad man said
Is necessary, a must
To pay expenses when I’m dead
When dust returns to dust.
I listened well, did not dismiss
But what a paradox
When all life’s labours come to this
I’ve paid for my own box.
Ouch!, by Fishman
Sticks and stones won’t break your bones?
Ever been hit in the head with a rock or a club?
If you have, stop on into the Slowpoke Skull Center.
At the door we’ll meet’cha
And then we’ll treat’cha
And we’ll all be wearing masks.
And for safety we all wear gloves!
well, kinda sort of,
we’re still waiting for a delivery from our vendor.
And if you do like being hit in the head with a rock then we have doctors at the Slowpoke Psychiatric Center standing by. Just enter the door on the left.
If you’re dizzy and your visions blurry –
Don’t worry.
Just wave and we’ll come and get ‘ya in a hurry.
So, my dear head hurtin’ friend;
stop tiptoeing through the minefield of concussions,
come on in and we’ll have a discussion.
We’ll get rid of that pounding percussion
and that pain you can just start aflushin’.
Evening and weekend appointments available.
Twinkle Twinkle Body Hair, by Ruth Scribbles
Do I have a deal for you –
It’s not for your hose
It’s not for your shoe
It’s for your eyebrows
And even your nose
All of those hairs
Looking to escape
Need to be trimmed
Make no mistake
They say that the Twinkle*
Is quite easy to use
Just stick it up in there
No need for abuse
No need to worry
That clumping of hair
Will soon start to scurry
No more hair up in there
Your nostrils are now
Totally denuded
Thank you dear Twinkle*
I’m no more secluded
no batteries included.
keep out of reach of children.
don’t use on your pets.
*this product is real.
order right now to get your nostrils clean as a whistle.
Permanent Vacation
(To be breathily intoned by some honey-voiced ingenue in a pursers uniform?), by Obbverse
‘When vacation time rolls around
Don’t stay safe and home bound,
Let us wash all life’s cares away
On a Sunny Cruise ship holiday.’
‘Our crew is here, at your pleasure
To make your cruise a life of leisure,
Every last desire the crew anticipates,
Once you’re on board, Paradise awaits.’
‘If it’s high spirits you enjoy sinking
We set the bar when it comes to drinking,
And it’s always happy hour on the high seas,
Plus, our rock bottom prices are sure to please.’
‘Enjoy our fine company and our finer buffet,
And it’s All You Can Eat, so go re-stack your tray,
An endless smorgasbord, go and recharge your cup,
Finally, our rich desserts- customers always bring it up.’
‘However, should we sail into covid nineteen
We DON’T demand everyone stay in quarantine,
One dark night we’ll slip into some backwater port;
To remain out here, all at sea- could be our last resort.’
Here is my advertisement for your perusal, by Ellen Best
If, you have an Aunty, that makes up stories,
Or, an uncle Ernie you despise,
The ones that should know better,
But fill the world with wicked Lies.
Buy them the under garments
We sell,
you really will get no better,
They do what it says in the advert
Down to the letter.
They will not make them look delightful
Like a pretty Christmas sweater,
Or turn them in to entrepreneurs
Or the newest “Go getter.”
These under pants will make them
Nicer,
They will make them people to admire,
Because these knickers will cure their
Prepensity to be a liar.
For, Our Pants,
truly will,
Catch On Fire!
Untitled, by Gary
Cue the patriotic music and views of the White Cliffs of Dover
It’s time to sell Brexit to the masses, to buy into the dream, moreover
Just think of the future with our new brightly coloured passports
The fun of all those new travel checkpoints and long queues at the ports
The joy of telling our kids that we have taken away their right to free travel
Watch as our worker rights and environmental standards begin to unravel
Be happy as we sell the NHS to American Insurance Groups in the hope of a deal
Any deal as we cut ourselves adrift, is it time for chlorinated chicken to be revealed
Let’s not forget the rich brexit backers who for some reason have now moved abroad
Let’s be proud that now as a country we are free to rip up international accords
Enjoy the sight of all those companies now moving jobs away from our now free island
Yes remember those glossy Brexit adverts that told us to dream, smile and
Strangely failed to mention all the crap that is about to happen to our country
That’s the problem with adverts, they sell you stuff you don’t need, that’s speaking bluntly…..
—–
Thanks for playing!! Return tomorrow for next week’s prompt.
Bruce, here’s a badge for you to use on your site. Congratulations!
©2020 The poets, and their respective works
Hey! It’s the A Mused Poetry Contest! Make a gaffe, cause a laugh!
Here are the specifics for this week’s contest:
You have till 10:00 a.m. MST next Friday (October 2) to submit a poem.
Use the form below to stay anonymous for a week.
Otherwise, for a more social experience, include your poem or a link to it in the comments. Drop a comment if you try to link back and it doesn’t show up within a day.
Have fun!
—–
©2020 Chel Owens
Video ©Youtube
Merry? Christmas to all! I knew that most of my followers weren’t into all the commercialism that seeps into this season and was happy to see so many of the poems reflect that. However, this also made judging as difficult as knowing which Paw Patrol puppy your daughter said her little Stephen wanted.
After much deliberation and decision, this week’s winner is:
by Matt Snyder
Oh holy hell
What’s a child’s wish for old saint nick ?
Rampant shopping by his parents, 5 months in advance…retail has gone bonkers
With a wink of the eye
Black Friday is every day or so it seems so near
Christmas in July with a bottle of beer and the three wise ho’s
With a yank and a tug and on some poor bastards head, mauled over and dead what dread.
With sappy hallmark cards and zippy Starbucks drinks
Purple and white trees, the whole kitchen
Sink. Holes
Burnt in pockets
Egg nog delight
Jesus rolls in his
Grave or returns for the night
Has become silent
I wish you well
To all a good night
Ain’t that right Charlie Brown ?
Bah.
—–
Congratulations, Matt! You are the most terrible poet of the week!
Like last week, entrants took the prompt in a few directions. I enjoyed the references to carols, shopping, and even a bit of politics. Matt’s poem followed my usual terrible requirements (intentional rhyme, meter, and subject issues), with an overall ‘bad poetry’ feel to it.
So many of the following were a very close second. Read, if you can, and see if you don’t agree:
by Deb Whittam
So you’re caught up in the Christmas hype,
Buying stuff you don’t need.
Remember, if you don’t cough up,
They’re going to gripe and it’s all about trying to please.
The shops are announcing their sales
Wares that you can’t really afford
I mean it’s not like they got it wrong.
Buy, buy, buy, that’s the law
What do you mean that the church
Decided 25th was the day
To circumvent pagan worship
Isn’t that a bit unchristian?
What do you mean that it’s all about
Penance and peace? Don’t you mean purchasing and
Spending your hard earned cash for
Profiteering doesn’t happen by itself, does it?
And let’s be honest, we’re here for them.
(Sorry, clarification required) the shops, not your family.
—–
It’s impossible to find accommodation around here.
With crowds converging for the census people are selling their wares
all over the place – a Bethlehem-Census never fails
to promote discounted toga sales.
My wife’s just had a baby and now the jolly farmers are visiting us in droves
– next thing there’ll be hosts of angels singing their heads off.
How are we meant to feed all these visitors
not to mention the farm animals?
And it’s freezing cold in the night.
I’m looking forward to Christmases in the future.
Everyone says future Christmases will be all peace and quiet.
—–
by Jane Basil
One silent night,
the virgin Mary had a baby boy,
an infant holy, infant lowly.
It came upon a midnight clear,
once in royal David’s city.
Ding dong merrily on high.
Go –
tell it on the mountain, the night
before Christmas:
Santa Claus
is coming to town.
Ding dong merrily high.
I want a hippopotamus for Christmas.
—–
by Nitin
So I’m in a shopping mall you see,
An agglomeration of shops and shops to be,
There’s a boozy Santa in the corner with a kiddy on his lap,
The kiddy is either waiting for his present or is taking a nap
“Ho ho ho and a bottle of rum,”
Screams a vagabond, a bum
I’m tired shopping for the wifey
Shops, shops and shops are all I see,
I’m exhausted and need a break
But what should I get my kiddie
Maybe I’ll just give him a little money
The kiddie and the wifey want freebies
And we’re living in a damn capitalist economy!
They’re a bunch of cold blooded democrats
I believe that Trump’s the man, you WORK to become an aristocrat
Anyhow I’m stuck in this marriage with shops all around me
I’ll think I’ll sing a line from Hey Jude
“When I find myself in trouble mother Mary comes to me”
Wait that’s Let it Be
—–
Ding dong ding dong
The text chimes are
Driving me absolutely crazy
Spend money here
Or there
The halls have been decked
All year! Why?
I don’t want your crap
Do you want mine?
Save your pennies and buy
Medicine or food ?
Your children don’t want
Beanie weenies
And please don’t burn the piano
To buy aunt Matilda
A new nose ring
To catch her snot
While she sings
Joy to the world
The cash registers are bulging
And people are destroying
Their ability to warm their
Houses
—–
by Gary
Blimey the adverts have started already
Only just done Halloween I’m so unready
Reindeers standing where the tinned soup used to be
I only want some food for dinner not a giant inflatable Christmas tree
Santa hats seem to have replaced my usual supply of herbal tea
*
Jingle bells bellows out on loop from the supermarket speakers
Ornamental singing elves more important than things like carpet sweepers
Hilarious festive ties are everywhere all playing an out of tune carol
Nearly every aisle is full of wine and spirits and lager by the barrel
Suddenly the only cheese you can buy must contain apricots and cranberries
Over priced selection boxes become the only source of confectionaries
Nuts by the bucket full which is no good for delicate tummies like that of Gary’s
*
Is it too much to ask for one single deodorant not those annoying Old Spice Gift sets
Suddenly on every aisle corner you see stacks of Home Alone Video Cassettes
*
All the shop staff are forced to be decked out as Santa’s little helpers
*
Gone are the discounts as it’s full pricing in all its splendour
It’s a crime not to stock up for that big day in December
To much much for me as it’s still just pigging November
—–
by Chetyl
Groceries hidden by Christmas fare
Oh, oh, see chocolate cherries there
A once a year treat I can’t resist
But is it too early? I need to resist
Passing by the long toy aisles
Stuffed animals with sewn on smiles
Since when are they giant sized
Maybe bedrooms are bigger, I surmised
After Thanksgiving I must indulge
Texan dancing Santa with tummy bulge?
I think I’ll stick with my mini tree
Add a few lights, happy me.
—–
There was an elf
who lived by himself
he whittled wood toys that he set on a shelf.
One night he thought:
“These toys can’t be bought
so I’ll give them to those who have naught.”
So one cloudy day
he gave them away
went back home and read E. Hemingway
While still all alone
his gloom it had flown
so he moved out to Sierra Leone.
There he lived on an isthmus
and he waited for Christmas
so he could help Santa with the gift-giving business.
—–
by Daniel Kemp
’Twas Christmas Eve behind Stephen’s gate,
The shops were closed. The hour was late.
The money counters were stressed and tired,
Stephen wished more he’d hired!
Sacks of notes were piled high on trucks,
Millions of pounds and millions of bucks.
He toasted his wife he praised his staff,
But as the drivers drove off they began to laugh.
They loaded the spaceship and off high it went,
Around the world tipping out all the money that was spent.
In the morning the cash laid deep and crisp and even
Good King Wenceslas had a look and said it was the fault of Stephen.
—–
Thank you for contributing your terribleness. Come back tomorrow for our ONE YEAR anniversary of this contest, plus the final prompt of 2019.
Matt: D. Wallace Peach created this graphic that you can use (if you want) for a badge of honor as the winner:
©2019 Each poet, and his/her respective poem
Welcome to the Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest #51! Can you believe it?
Writing bad poetry intentionally can be tricky, so I wrote a basic outline here. The long and short of it is to capitalize on the poetry clichés all beginning poets love: adjectives, fluff, overused expressions, and angst. Add intentional mis-meter to that, and you’ve got a ‘winning’ combination.
Here are the specifics for this week:
An offer like this won’t last forever! You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (November 15) to submit a poem.
Use the form below if you want to be anonymous for a week.
For a more social experience and immediate attention, include your poem or a link to it in the comments. If you use the ol’ linkback method, pop me a comment if you don’t see the link show up within a day.
Merry(?) Christmas and have fun!
Photo credit: GIPHY
The husband and I run an online dice store, Game Master Dice. I’ll write about the whole, sordid history of acquisition and the daily running of it one day; for now, I wish to discuss a phenomenon one experiences in sales:
Everyone is a walking wallet.
My husband told me that awhile ago, when I complained about how pressured I feel at stores. These days, I feel it everywhere. Websites, billboards, friends, store aisles -they are all trying to get a bit of my money. No –all of my money. It’s just a matter of who can grab it first with the brightest ad and the most compelling sales pitch.
Most of us learn to resist, mostly. Otherwise we’d not be living with a roof and walls whilst wearing clothes.
But the onslaught is relentless! I know that advertising has been around since before Pompeii. I know that companies have always sought the best way to purchase ad space in our brains. I also know that ads were less insidious, even when the mental takeover involved a catchy jingle.
If businesses could, they would literally brainwash us to buy. I incorporated that idea in my serial science fiction story.
I’ve thought about all these sales tactics lately because we’re trying to ramp up sales in the dice store. We are therefore pulling out the tricks I use(d) when doing paid content writing: keywords, tags, linking, Instagram and Pinterest and Facebook…
We want to make a living, but sales and marketing have always made me uncomfortable.
My consolation is that we’re marketing to people who want to purchase what we sell. They’re going online to find a dice set or a Reaper miniature or a dice cup, and we’re trying to point them down our little aisle of the internet. It’s not like we’ve popped up during their drive with a BUY OUR DICE NOW!!
Right?
I remember a job interview waaaaay back when, during which they asked me if I’d be comfortable selling their product to customers who called in. I had nailed the interview up to that point; I knew it. My answer to that question, I also knew, shot me right in the foot.
So how comfortable do you feel advertising? Do you tell friends and neighbors about a great deal without any qualms at all? Would you rather stay out of the Rat Race entirely and go live on Walden Pond?
If you get 10 of your friends to read and comment …yeah, nevermind.
—————-
If you read what I wrote this week, I guarantee you won’t be pressured to purchase anything:
Wednesday, July 24: “Summer Days Ain’t Lazy at All.” I complained about pregnancy.
Thursday, July 25: “The Top Ten Reasons I Can’t Write Romance.” Also complaining, but in a humorous way.
Friday, July 26: Winner of the Weekly Terribly Poetry Contest. Congratulations to Rasmus K. Robot and Charles!
Saturday, July 27: Announced the 36th Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest. The theme is your ‘favorite’ relative (who’s really not). PLEASE ENTER!
Sunday, July 28: “One More Day,” in response to Carrot Ranch’s prompt. Someone else was complaining.
Monday, July 29: An inspirational quote by Joseph B. Wirthlin. He says to stop complaining.
Tuesday, July 30: “Wilhelmina Winters, Ninety-Eight.”
Wednesday, July 31: Today.
I also posted all this week at my motherhood site. I wrote “Manic Kids? Try Snacks!,” “Why the Heck Would Anyone Get Pregnant?,” and “Pregnancy Limerick.”
©2019 Chelsea Owens
It’s time to really let the fur fly around here, because I am going to ask the question no one ever should: Is Harry Potter a good book?
If you have been living in a bubble or under the age of twenty for the past 21.5 years, you might not know what I am referring to. In that case, I speak of a book series published by an unknown woman (at the time) that EXPLODED into ultimately selling more than 450 million copies worldwide.
I read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone at the recommendation of my former sixth-grade teacher. I really liked the book. It had interesting characters, magic, an unseen parallel world, and enough British elements to tickle my anglophiliac bones.
I purchased and devoured each subsequent book as it came out, and cried on opening night of the first film.
A few years after that point, however, my English professor in (my return to) college ran us through an interesting exercise. “What makes a good book?” he asked, and wrote our responses on the white board. After looking over the items listed, he announced, “Harry Potter is not a good book.”
Since I do not live in a bubble and am not under the age of twenty, I was also not completely ignorant to the idea that others didn’t love Harry Potter as much as a large pocket of Potterheads. As a consequence, I was not floored at my teacher’s conclusions.
I instead experienced a wider perspective. His announcement released me from the godlike worship I had for authors everywhere and allowed me to acknowledge the series as one written by a human, with flaws. It was written by the first and only billionaire author human, granted, but still had flaws.
In turn, I was able to grasp the hope that someone like me could write. Someone like me could even write something that another person might read, or purchase.
Which is all very interesting, but doesn’t answer the main question of this post.
Is Harry Potter a good book? Why or why not?
My own husband dislikes that J.K. Rowling neglects a basic rules structure for her magic system, that Dobby exists, and that most of the stories are just not interesting.
For myself; I notice some literary no-no’s in her writing like adverbs, POV changes, and …say, a rule she introduces about non-verbal magic spells that she seems to abandon in later novels. I also think (and thought) that it’s really not feasible for a young wizard who can shout two spells to consistently beat someone who literally murdered older, gifted wizards.
But maybe I’m being nit-picky with that last one.
Ever the devil’s devil’s advocate, though, I say that J.K. Rowling’s series could be considered perfection. She hit the sweet spot across age, race, gender, nationality, and class. She wrote characters REALLY well. I’m just a medium-level admirer and would gladly jump on a train, attend Hogwarts, marry one of the Weasley twins, and go out to lunch with Tonks.
As a final thought to any still in the haters camp: last year, my son’s doctor complimented my son because he was sitting in the waiting room reading a novel. I believe it was Magician: Apprentice. “When Harry Potter first came out,” the doctor noted, “I used to come out and find kids’ noses stuck in books. I haven’t seen that since.”
Say what you will, but I’d love to bring that sort of book love back. Wouldn’t you? Perhaps there’s a spell for that.
Until then, do you say it is a good book? Do you only say so because you love it?
Do you only disagree because you hate it?
—————
I solemnly swear that you may read below to see what I wrote for the last two weeks:
Wednesday, February 6: We discussed the deep subject of baths vs. showers in “A Serious Question Concerning Hygiene.”
Thursday, February 7: “The Cure for Depression: Get a Paid MEDICAL Friend,” the slightly-third suggestion in a series originally posted over at The Bipolar Writer Mental Health Blog.
Friday, February 8: Winner of the Weekly Terribly Poetry Contest involving Nursery Rhymes. Congratulations to Violet Lentz!
Saturday, February 9: Announced the twelfth Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest, with a prompt of love poems.
Sunday, February 10- Thursday, February 14, plus Sunday, February 17: Various terrible poetry contributions of my own on the subjects of my backup camera, my absent appendix, black clothes, a first date, Costco, and Half-Price Chocolate Day.
Thursday, February 14: Wrote “Freddy and Teddy’s Valentines” for Susanna Leonard Hill‘s Valentiny contest.
Friday, February 15: Posted the WINNER of the love poem Terrible Poetry Contest: Geoff LePard.
Saturday, February 16: Announced this week’s Terrible Poetry Contest prompt. PLEASE ENTER IT!!
Also re-blogged Peregrine Arc‘s creativity contest.
Monday, February 18: Shared a quote from Joseph B. Wirthlin about finding a direction in life.
Tuesday, February 19: “Wilhelmina Winters, Eighty-Two.”
Wednesday, February 20: Today
Anything accomplished today was brought to you by Chocolate.
Feeling down? Try Chocolate. Your frowny downs will soon leave town.*
*Results may vary. Complain to your friends before use. Side effects may include: delayed drowsiness, addiction, weight gain, tooth decay, and satiating waterfalls of happiness coursing through your bloodstream creating full body ecstasy.
