The Thing From Bloggy Swamp

"Music is real--the rest is scenery." Fats Waller

Con Chapman

Con Chapman
Location
Boston, Massachusetts, US of A
Birthday
September 28
Bio
. . . is a frequent contributor to The Boston Herald, Cronk News, Fictionique and Punchnel's.

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OCTOBER 9, 2012 10:01PM

That's Why the Lady Is a Slut

Rate: 5 Flag

She’s never too bloated to eat a Slim Jim.
She never showers before taking a swim.
She belches loudly at the Pizza Hut–
That’s why the lady is a slut.

She’s not the type to play bridge at her club.
Doesn’t like salads, preferring a sub.
If she were a dog you’d call her a mutt–
That’s why the lady is a slut.

She likes the free, fresh wind in her hair
As she dares
To drive getaway, it’s okay.
She hates New England, ‘cause it’s cold and it’s damp–
That’s why the lady is a tramp.

She doesn’t like opera, and hates the ballet–
If a flick’s got subtitles, it isn’t okay.
Won’t do Pilates and it shows in her gut–
That’s why the lady is a slut.

Her blue eye shadow says she’s a bimbo.
When she screams at you her arms are akimbo.
An old boyfriend’s name’s tattooed on her butt–
That’s why the lady is a slut.

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Comments

Type your comment below:
Con Chapman – how I miss him!

His light is never dim,
He makes me giggle, he's quite the nut!

That's why he's known as Chapman Uncut!




Cock your hat - angles are attitudes.
Frank Sinatra


HUGGGGGGGGGG
The subtitles in the second to the last photo is what every ex-girlfriend said to me before she "banged" me. Also, I hear the girl in the last image is no dummy; she is very "articulated".
I smell a reactionary.
But, but, but cried the slut
Do come again!
Do you have a refrain?
Or does your rhyme just putt putt?
The cleverness of the dog line (no doggerel) is outshone by the tattoo one. I love a good parody, and this, sir, is a good parody.
she gulps martini
slurps linquine

she tries to sneak in at four
won't fit through the door

she flies by night
never travels light

she thinks she's a bunny
tells me Chapman's funny

her money's spent
she don't pay no rent

she lounges in sweats
looses when she bets

she sleeps till noon
then back to a saloon

that's why
she howls at the moon
twirls spaghetti on her spoon

she won't press my tuxedo
flirts with a guy named Guido

she never listens to Mozart
makes me toast the pop tart

never worked for a living
her favorite holiday
Thanksgiving

she gnaws the drumstick,
the white meat,
says hold the garbage,
her whiskey neat

she struggles into spandex
emails a cowboy called Tex

she's on a see food eat it diet
when she jiggle dances
she starts a riot

r
I'm told one should not refer to a lady's trousers as "sweat pants." They are "sideline pants."