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("London--On the streets of Birmingham, the Queen's English is not the Queens English. The country's second-largest city decided to drop apostrophes from all street signs, saying they're confusing and old-fashioned.")
Apostrophe to an Apostrophe
Cilium,
tittle,
gnat's eyebrow,
discretely silent
in Joneses,
conferring ownership
in Joneses',
ever willing stand-in
for what's missing,
orthographical enrichment,
we'd be much less judicious
without you.
Fine Feathered Friend
("Denver--Willie, a Quaker parrot, has been given the local Animal Lifesaver Award....Megan Howard was baby-sitting for a toddler. Howard left the room and the little girl started to choke on her breakfast. Willie repeatedly yelled "Mama, baby" and flapped his wings, and Howard returned.")
Lassie, go home--you've been outdone. Sure, you sought help for the well-trapped Timmy, but Willie the parrot used the English language in addition to wing-flaps to attract attention to little Hannah. "Mama, baby" is a tightly condensed sentence with an implied verb ("help"), well beyond your barking and yapping, my Lass. You may be man's best friend, but Willie, a Quaker, is blessed with the transcendent Inner Light of a Friend. Sorry, dog!
There's Something to be Said for Bad Taste
("Christchurch--This city in New Zealand intends to drive out unruly teens who congregate in malls by playing the music of Barry Manilow.")
All right, you mall rats, gang-banger wannabes in your oversized low-riding jeans and baseball caps worn askew, milling and rapping, obstreperously clogging the walkways, intimidating the demure ladies that come to actually shop at our fine collection of stores, break it up and get out of here.
You gonna make us, Gramps? Mr. Big Security Guard? You and what army?
Me and Barry Manilow, that's who. Leave immediately or I play my Manilow mixed tape on my boom box.
You wouldn't dare. There's a law against mall security brutality. We'll sue your dentures out.
I'll take my chances, boys. You won't move? Okay, I warned you twice. Here goes. {Punches button on boom box.}
"I write the songs that make the whole world sing"
Argh! No! My ears!
"Oh, Mandy, even now, I can't smile without you."
My stomach!
"Her name was Lola, she was a show girl"
Help! Give us a break! We'd rather be tasered!
"At the Copa, music and passion were always in fashion"
Stop, please! We're begging you!
"Oh, my music makes you dance"
Enough! Uncle!
"I write the songs of love and special things"
Okay, okay. We're outta here!
"Looks like we made it, made it through the rain, kept our world protected"
{Guard shuts off boom box.} That we did, Barry, that we did.
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