Posts Tagged ‘Humor’

My Challenge


The challenge was humor to write
I worked at it night after night
You’ll see as you read
I didn’t succeed
My attempts at humor are trite

8/28/90 Phyllis deWitt VanVleck

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Shane’s Declaration

This is a true story of a relative, who shall remain nameless. RIGHT!




The children stood upon the stage

Each holding words upon a page

In turn they read a line or two

On what their Daddy’s always do


One Dad fought crime, and one fought fires

One farmed land, and one sold tires

Shane was nervous when his turn came

And couldn’t remember his own name


Poor Shane’s courage was almost gone

So the congregation clapped him on

But he’d lost the paper that he had

So the Preacher prodded the little lad


What does your Dad do every day?

Shane thought a bit on what to say

Then the little boy in Sunday clothes

Yelled out, “My daddy picks his nose!”

Phyllis A. DeWitt-VanVleck

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Coat Hangers




Oh, those blasted wire hangers

    I swear they have a brain

For nothing is so obstinate

    Nor causes so much strain


No matter how I hang them

    They tangle every time

I think it’s done on purpose

    And I call that a crime

It really takes Job’s patience

    To remove one from a pile

And even though in cheerful mood

    I quickly lose my smile

I come very close to swearing

    When I try to hang a dress

Because they see me coming

    And become a tangled mess


I’m sure I’ve heard them whisper

    “Let’s drive her up the wall “

‘Cause soon as they’re untangled

    Several always fall

They hang around in ugly clumps

    And mesh with all their might

And while they plot their evils

    They gather strength to fight

I haven’t won a battle yet

    No, not even one

For patience is exhausted

    Before the fighting’s done


It isn’t any secret

    That the hangers won the war

My clothes are draped here and there

    And some lie on the floor



8/26/80     Phyllis DeWitt VanVleck   


2’nd … Arkansas NPD 1988

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I thought I would start off my Weblog with something to make everyone laugh. I know the residents of Martinsville, Indiana, could use one as they sop up the flood water. It’s a bit long, but I hope you will enjoy it and I look forward to your response.



          THE PICNIC


It was that special day again

Awaited all year long

It was planned with such perfection

That nothing could go wrong


With games and food and sing-a-long

Prepared in great detail

The clan converged at forest glen

And herein starts my tale


Some sheets were spread upon the ground

And food was placed thereon

With space enough around the edge

To seat the hungry throng


It started when Samantha Sue

Performed her annual feat

She upchucked everything she ate

Upon the picnic sheet


Obnoxious little Curtis Lee

Dropped bugs in Elmer’s plate

Old Elmer never noticed them

And relished what he ate


Aunt Martha brought her terrier

And Elsie brought her cat

The cat and dog were enemies

So hissed and barked and spat


They tugged at leash and chewed on rope

And finally they were free

The chase was on, right through the food

Up to a nearby tree


The cat then jumped upon the dog

I can’t describe the scenes

As they tangled in the salad

And fell into the beans

Then dripping beans from nose and tails

The chase led near a log

Where they disturbed a hive of bees

Who then chased cat and dog


Forgotten was their hateful feud

And running from the bees

They jumped upon the Preacher’s wife

And scratched her arms and knees


The woman, screaming from her fright

Pushed cat and dog away

She swatted bees with paper plates

Then fled, in her dismay


Well, cat and dog and Preacher’s wife

With bees in close pursuit

Ran right on through the food again

And squashed a bowl of fruit


With shoe caught in a melon wedge

Miz Preacher set the pace

For cat and dog and angry bees

Like some made comic race


They headed for a scummy pond

The Preacher’s wife jumped in

The dog and cat joined her there

In water to her chin


The cat and dog were terrified

And shared the woman’s space

The dog was first – sat on her head

With cat astride her face


The Preacher’s wife was traumatized

I know, I heard her swear

A string of words not fit for man

As she dislodged the pair 

The bees turned back, still angry

And headed up the hill

Our group, in mass, ran screaming

Including cousin Will


He headed for the old outhouse

And in his drunken role

He lost his balance in his haste

And fell into the hole


In extricating Uncle Will

(And laughing as he did)

John’s teeth fell out, and need I tell

Just where the darn things slid


He scooped them out with hot-dog forks

And washed them off with beer

Then placed them on a log to air

And blushed from ear to ear


Then Martha’s dog grabbed the teeth . . .

John’s anger was afire

And another chase was under way

Through bramble-bush and briar


Emerging from the underbrush

John’s language was a sin

The teeth were caught in Fido’s mouth

In toothy canine grin


Hank caught the dog as he ran past

And pulled the denture free

The dog then showed his gratitude

And bit him on the knee


So Hank let out a piercing scream

And cursed his luckless fate

Just then a crow high overhead

Dropped bird-doo on his pate 

It splattered down in Hank’s toupee

And whitewashed jet black curls

What made it worse was when he heard

The laughter from the girls


He shook the wig against a bush

Arousing skunks near-by

One lifted up his angry tail

And let his essence fly


Those catching spray coughed and wheezed

And rolled upon the ground,

They burned their clothes, right on the spot

And in the sheets were wound


Mosquitoes tortured everyone

And chiggers did their best

To make us scratch in misery

And put us to the test


The wind blew sand in everything

In food, and eyes, and nose

And sunburns were a sizzling red

From bald heads to bare toes


Small babies cried relentlessly

And children fought all day

“Dear Lord, please let this day speed by!”

I heard the Mothers pray


To top it off, as if on cue

Dark clouds then drifted in

The rain came down in buckets full

And soaked us to the skin


We rushed to pack our things away

But shouts were loud and clear …

“It’s sure been a wonderful day!

Let’s do it again next year!”



7/27/92                Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

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