Helle, Seize Her!, and Bury It in Aussie
Though my little, alas, Hans Andersen is still anything but Christian in his Daneing for reasons better linked than described any further to make of that principality best known for serving Hamlets for breakfast and round tins of butter cookies for Christmas tea the object of his desiderata unto expatriation, his alter-egotist as of today, no less up-front in finding himself upright, is if need be willing to take the outback as his backup.
So when you hear him, or us, in either nation someday, saluting with the most modest among our twenty-one guns - their odd-manhood outed - "the Prime MEN-ah-stahr", don't assume any deliberate masqueing by our stage Ulsterman - it's just that each of those belles dames d'état sans merci pour notre distresse putting our little Head of State in
quite the state has her own way of getting our Irish up, Dublin from one inch to the full two faster than - speaking of (Frosted) Mini-We(e)s - the heel-clicking Lucky Charms leprechaun, fleeing the hot Benny Hill-closing pursuit of those female fairies "always after me lucky charms" of other than cereal aspect can cry, "I'll make an Aer Lingus plane and fly [them] away".*
*It may be objected that in the anything-but-objective objectification of the world's distaff general staffs by which my own private staff chooses its socially-networked Most-Favorited Nations, I ought therefore thump the tub back home on behalf of, e.g./G.O.P., Sarah Palin, Michel[l]es Bachmann and Malkin, and the assorted shiny-lipped anchorettes and talking-head harridans and common scolds of the Fox "News" Channel, that they might one day haunt the hallowed halls of heads of state stateside, and the latter's menstrual ministries in minstrelsy of high-heeled, well-reared and bust-capped, cap-busting propaganda. Objection sustained. You want high-minded bloggerie, and you're reading me?
So when you hear him, or us, in either nation someday, saluting with the most modest among our twenty-one guns - their odd-manhood outed - "the Prime MEN-ah-stahr", don't assume any deliberate masqueing by our stage Ulsterman - it's just that each of those belles dames d'état sans merci pour notre distresse putting our little Head of State in
quite the state has her own way of getting our Irish up, Dublin from one inch to the full two faster than - speaking of (Frosted) Mini-We(e)s - the heel-clicking Lucky Charms leprechaun, fleeing the hot Benny Hill-closing pursuit of those female fairies "always after me lucky charms" of other than cereal aspect can cry, "I'll make an Aer Lingus plane and fly [them] away".*
*It may be objected that in the anything-but-objective objectification of the world's distaff general staffs by which my own private staff chooses its socially-networked Most-Favorited Nations, I ought therefore thump the tub back home on behalf of, e.g./G.O.P., Sarah Palin, Michel[l]es Bachmann and Malkin, and the assorted shiny-lipped anchorettes and talking-head harridans and common scolds of the Fox "News" Channel, that they might one day haunt the hallowed halls of heads of state stateside, and the latter's menstrual ministries in minstrelsy of high-heeled, well-reared and bust-capped, cap-busting propaganda. Objection sustained. You want high-minded bloggerie, and you're reading me?
Comments
Post a Comment