Definitely Limericks: Di-Dn
What dictionary lists every word
In the language that anyone’s heard
And defines them? And worse,
Tries to do it in verse?
The suggestion is, frankly, absurd.
Wipe your tears, little darling, don’t cry;
All pet rabbits eventually die.
Though his body is spent,
Rest assured his soul went
To that hutch in the sky. (Mmm, mmm—pie.)
The digital native’s supposed
To understand puters the most,
Just by being born later.
Suggests it’s a dubious boast.
The digital immigrant, meanwhile,
Is supposedly rather less keen while
But most oldies are fine:
They’re just busy, or learning, not senile.
The labels digital native and digital immigrant were coined by Marc Prensky in 2001 to capture young people’s ease with information technology (akin to native speakers of languages) and older people’s discomfort with it. Although the terms remain popular with the media, researchers have shown that the realities of digital literacy across different age groups are far less black-and-white than they suggest. Puter is 21st-century slang for those new-fangled electronic doohickeys.
Losing focus when speaking is less
Of a problem for others, I guess,
But my mind won’t sit still.
It’s a curse, if you will.
(Should I curse in this verse? I digress.)
I’m told I should read some Jane Austen—
Romantic, with irony tossed in.
But here’s my dilemma:
Persuasion or Emma?
They’re novels I fear I’d get lost in.
The dinosaurs, mighty and strong,
Lived a long, long, long, long, long, long, long
Time ago. Noah’s flood
Trapped them all in its mud,
Say creationists. I know they’re wrong.
Creationists believe that dinosaur fossils were laid down in the flood. Many also believe that it caused their extinction, but others contend that Noah rescued the dinosaurs along with all the other animals, and that they died out only in recent times. Very, very recent times. That nightmare about dinosaurs you had when you were six? That could have been real.
Diogenes syndrome’s a mess
Of domestic defilement and less
Than exemplary hygiene,
Miss Brodie; that’s why, Jean,
We’re carting off all you possess.
Those sad cases of elderly hoarders living in squalor are said to suffer from Diogenes syndrome. The betrayed fictional school-teacher may well have ended up a victim once she was past her prime; Edinburgh flats can harbour dark secrets.
“You tripped on some razor-sharp wire,
Then landed head-first in a fire.
Your calmness is baseless:
You’re footless and faceless!”
“But groin-height—that would have been dire.”
“There was an old man of Cashmere,
Whose movements were scroobious and queer;
Being slender and tall,
He looked over a wall,
And perceived two fat ducks...”—Edward Lear.
From More Nonsense, Pictures, Rhymes, Botany, etc. (1872)
It’s apparent that what we have here
Has been quoted directly from Lear.
With its quaint, if quite dubious,
Inclusion of scroobious,
I fear the effect’s rather queer.
He’s displaying discretion, to start;
Disassembling in public’s not smart.
Piece by piece, he’s begun
To dismantle his gun.
Discretely, Bond handles each part.
Disembodiment means that your spirit
Has fled from your body; it’s clear it
No longer enjoys
All the fury and noise
Of existence—some spirits do fear it.
Disenfranchisement means you’re deprived
Of a right; those in charge have contrived
To discard what you had—
Say, your vote. Ooo, you’re mad!
Now it’s gone, but your anger’s survived.
You claim it’s a promising trend?
Your hopes are unfounded, my friend.
We’re still at the start, and
I’m feeling disheartened;
Just wait till we get to the end.
If you’re pining to stash all your pelf
On a flashy designer-made shelf,
But the price is too high,
Why not try DIY?
You save cash if you do it yourself.
Spinning records did not, as a rule,
Win me nods of approval at school,
But now manning the decks
Earns me oodles of sex,
Because superstar DJs are cool.
Kampuchea, the land of Pol Pot,
Though it claimed to be, really was not
In the least “Democratic”.
DK’s chief fanatic
Killed millions; most starved or were shot.
Why explore London’s Docklands by car?
You could go by, instead, DLR,
And be travelling light
Until late in the night.
Rail’s superior, guv’nor, by far.
“Your level one Dwarf rolls a six,
And his axe chops the door into sticks.”
“And now—we attack!”
“You’ve been stabbed in the back.”
“Hey, DM, what’s your game with these tricks?”
Your game is Dungeons & Dragons and you are the Dungeon Master, the one orchestrating the worlds your fellow players explore.
Procreation, dear readers, is rife
With all manner of trouble and strife.
In the midst of each cell
Sits the ladder to hell:
DNA is the spiral of life.