Travel-logy

You tempt me not, o tower Eiffel,
O Louvre, you are the merest trifle.
While some may say that Paris sizzles,
I’d be there on the days its drizzles.

Why lug my camera off to Rome
For ruins? Have you seen my home?

Don’t talk to me of Hong Kong’s charm—
I’d rather see a poultry farm.

Darkest Africa? Not I—
It teems with anthropophagi!

Scandanavia? Too chilly.
Switzerland? The Alps? Too hilly!

Big Ben, Hyde Park, Trafalgar Square—
I find no romance anywhere.

No, London’s not my cup of tea,
And neither is the Baltic, see?

New Zealand fills me with no zeal—
I’d long for home again, I feel.

The Riviera’s just too crass.
On Monte Carlo’s games I’ll pass.

Swilling beer in bawdy Munich?
Not for me, though I’m no eunuch;

No, just the shy, retiring type,
Whose greatest joys are slipper, pipe,

An armchair where, with quilt of flannel,
I can watch the Travel Channel.

The baggage handler deserves a heads-up

“60 severed heads were discovered on a Southwest Airlines flight to Fort Worth, Texas.” — Harper’s Magazine.


Were they all in one trunk?
Don’t you think it would flunk
Pre-boarding inspection?
Did Economy section
Lose their heads when they learned
That these riders had earned
Discounts that were moreso?
(Flying without torso.)

A story played out

Today's ghost phrase:

Ad favreum: adj., Referring specifically to a sports news story -- often brett-takingly trivial to begin with -- reported to the point of absurdity.