Frog Applause by Teresa Burritt for June 16, 2017

assoiling? Is any lubrication involved?

Not a very impressive Scrabble score.

Don’t flush the toilet when Dracula’s having a nightout?

Is “somebooby” a typo?

“Nightout” is the undead version of “whiteout,” and it’s vital for covering up your bloodtyping errors.

Holy bug! Dracula left a drop of blood behind for creepsake.

Trashtown seagulls sing this song

Guano! Guano!

There is a blue jay nearby who has learned to mimic seagulls and does so all the time.

At first, it sounded like a puppy whining, but has improved much.

They can make nearly any sound they like. Corvids are quite clever and able.

On a particular scale, the message is quite noteworthy..

Joyce portraying Dubliners who are his opposite: drunk and illiterate.

“…and yet her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood.”― James Joyce, Dubliners

Happy Bloomsday!

“I’m in love with Molly Bloom, i wanna have in my living room whispering sweet nothings in my ear.

When i heard what Molly said, good golly how my ears turned red,That’s par for the course for Molly Bloom…"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nRuzbSIqnHM

Dosen’t hold a candle to Jabberwocky.

Bloomsday Shona, Bhaile Átha Cliath !!!

“Will you please come over and let us mooremoore murgessly to each’s other down below our vices.”

There’s IrishMist on the sideboard for courage.

There was such a time indeed, and may come to be again, when the Irish are taken to be such hellish persons, something other than decent Christians, possibly inhuman, and not just in the boroughs of New York and Boston, where they were once so reviled as to be left to take up employment in the role of police, which no decent person among the proper classes of the day would ever do.

But you will never see a science fiction convention that does not lay to rest at least one bottle of Tullimore Dew and end with a Dead Dog Party.

Three quarks for Muster Mark!

Happy Bloomsday, Sister Teresa, you literate scalliwag!

In the name of [Teri] the Allmaziful, the Everliving, the Bringer of Plurabilities, haloed be her eve, her singtime sung, her rill be run, unhemmed as it is uneven!

Her untitled mamafesta memorialising the Mosthighest has gone by many names at disjointed times: E.g., Frog Applause….

I am, literally, scratching, (and possibly sniffing), in a wonder of puzzlement.

On June 16th, 1904, Joyce tried (having an outing?) with Nora Barnacle, who was a 20 year old virgin from Galway, and she refused to have intercourse, but she did something else. And about three months later he finally got her around to intercourse, and they lived together for 17 years, after which she convinced him to marry her, against his anarchist principles. But after 17 years, he was kindly disposed to her, and was willing to give in on matters like that. He tried to hide the fact; he was furious when reporters found out about it. And so every year Dublin is celebrating this sex act in a catholic country where that’s still a mortal sin, and where you can’t buy condoms without showing a marriage license. That’s his greatest joke on the catholic church.

http://maybelogic.blogspot.com/2009/04/robert-anton-wilson-on-finnegans-wake.html

I heard that Joyce was a dirty old man who liked to write nonsense to annoy people.