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Stuff Today - Issue 7151

Monday 24 February 2020

Today's Mersenne Prime: 127

The Deeper Meaning Of Liff

WOOLFARDISHWORTHY, n.

A mumbled, mispronounced or misheard word in a song, speech or play. Derived from the well-known mumbles passage in Hamlet :
'...and the spurns,
That patient merit of the unworthy
...takes
When he himself might his quietus
...make
With a bare bodkin? Who
....woolfardisworthy
To grunt and sweat under a weary
life?'

The Devil's Dictionary

ENTERTAINMENT, n.

Any kind of amusement whose inroads stop short of death by injection.

Roger's Profanisaurus

FIST MAGNET, n.

Someone who attracts punches to his face, eg. Jimmy Carr.

Astonishingly Uninteresting Fact

Pretzel snacks have been around for over 1300 years. A European monk invented the snack using used leftover bread dough

Poem Of The Day

The Secret Life Of The Wheat Crunchie

I am a Wheat Crunchie
Made by Golden Wonder.
Life for me is OK right now,
Since I was torn asunder.

I lie here in a sealed up bag
Where I await my fate
To be savagely devoured
Or expire my sell-by date.

It's ironic that I'm bacon flavour,
('though it gives me no joy),
For once I was the foreskin
Of a little Jewish boy.

Then sold part of a job lot
With many more like me
I was freighted to the fateful
Golden Wonder factory

Then plunged in boiling oil
Until I went all brittle
And swollen like a painful sprain;
No longer soft and little.

Then sealed up in a plastic bag
And sent to Sainsburys
Where mothers queue at checkouts
And their children I'm to tease.

"Oo, mummy, look! Wheat Crunchies!"
I hear a little boy,
And judging by his accent
You can bet he's not a goy.

"You wicked boy!" his mother cried,
"You know this snack's no good.
It's from a beast with cloven hoof
That does not chew the cud."

But as the mother turned to pay,
The boy's hand grabbed my packet.
And deftly as a gull in flight
He slipped it in his pocket.

Then, home alone, safe in his room
He opened up my prison
And what familiar, homely sights
Befell upon my vision.

For in this place, this very boy
Had been attached to me,
And, oh, what games we used to play
When no one else could see.

I always knew we'd reunite
I'd had it on a hunch.
Now, here we are. I've made it home!
Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch ...

- Mike Stools (b. 1962)

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