Welcome back to Thropplenoggin’s MP3 Emporium…Take a semi-brever and accompany the Big T as he perambulates through the zeitgeist’s most pertinent ditties.
Sligo River Blues. Ah, the very words inspire reminiscence of a quiet punt down the Isis after my morning lectures one spring, when I resolved to try out my latest ethnosexographical acumen, by attempting to woo the taciturn scholar, Swotty Sylvia. I punted past her usual haunt – a secluded willow tree, under which she oft reclined, book in hand – and espied her looking most bewitching.
I decided to attempt intercourse commensurate with her advanced intellectual rigours, and poured forth a most felicitous ejaculation from Catullus that Higginsbottom had taught me: “nam pransus iaceo et satur supinus / pertundo tunicamque palliumque”. She squealed in mortification, and launched a heavy tome my way. I later investigated the meanings of these latinate phrases: “I am lying down after lunch, I am full and on my back / I am boring a hole through my tunic and cloak”. Gadzooks!
John Fahey’s melodious strain bears the appellation “Sligo River Blues” and, I have to say, it really is mellifluous as a mountain rivulet. This buoyant ballad rather reminds me of the heady scene of magnolia blossoms as I punted towards Swotty Sylvia, only to bungle the moment. I never did woo Swotty Sylvia, and, as time elapses, I find myself wondering whether even Calligula’s sweet-talk could have pried apart those passionless thighs.
File under:Jocund Acoustic Plucker or Fahey’s A Jolly Good Fellow!
Welcome back to Thropplenoggin’s MP3 Emporium…Take a semi-brever and accompany the Big T as he perambulates through the zeitgeist’s most pertinent ditties.
Up North Kids. Ah, the very words inspire reminiscence of the bonnie banks of Loch Ness and a youthful bout of ethnosexography in which I stalked the monstrous Highland Hussy, Filly McCavity. Upon arrival in the vicinity, I requested whereof I might locate this tartan-bedecked damsel, and was told by a local jock, ‘Och aye tha’ wee broon ‘un’. ”Will she?!’ I replied. “Huzzah!” And with loins girded, I sallied forth into the chilly mists to stalk the fair maiden.
Papa M‘s melodious strain bears the appellation “Up North Kids” and, I have to say, it really is a blast of fresh northern air . This delightful ditty rather reminds me of many a misstep in the boggy lowlands of a Glasgow housing estate, with the smell of stale McEwan’s wafting up my nostrils. I never did find Filly McCavity, and, as time elapses, I find myself wondering whether she wasn’t merely a figment of my imagination.
Welcome back to Thropplenoggin’s MP3 Emporium…Take a semi-brever and accompany the big T as he perambulates through the zeitgeist’s most pertinent ditties.
Emperor’s Main Course. Ah, the very words inspire reminiscence of Hong Kong and a youthful bout of ethnosexography in which I stalked the Inscrutable Oriental, Suzie Wong. Upon arrival in the harbour, I requested whereof I might locate this yellow-skinned jewel, and was told by a local stevedore, ‘Mong Kok”. ”Will she?!’ I replied. “Huzzah!” And with loins girded, I sallied forth into the balmy night to trail my treasure.
Kid Koala‘s melodious strain bears the appellation “Emperor’s Main Course” and, I have to say, it really is a degustation fit for a dynast. This charming chanty rather reminds me of many a wrong-turn down the begrimed back alleys of Sham Shui Po, with the smell of 5-spices wafting up my nostrils. I never did find Suzy Wong, and, as time elapses, I find myself wondering whether she wasn’t merely a figment of my imagination. Or perhaps even the imagination of someone else. Sigh.
Estate. Ah, the very word inspires reminiscence of the estate belonging to Not-so-Great Granny Thropplenoggin. 200 hectares of verdant pastures, with peons a-plenty to wait upon us hand and foot after a long day’s hunt in the field of ethnosexography. Now that was a real estate. I even had my very own butler – Bumkins.
Real Estate‘s melodious strain bears the appellation “Suburban Beverage” and, I have to say, it really is just my cup of tea. This joyous air reminds me of rutting in the spring with a young filly called Delilah Bunt-Witherington. DBW to some, but she was always DD to me – Delightful Delilah. And, just like when the intoxicating liquor of “Suburban Beverage” hits the jubilant coda at the 3.39 mark, I never wanted her to end. But end she must…sigh!
RICK STEIN: this wannabe Keith Floyd eschews booze for a bitching Far East locale, tho' Chalky the dog is now off the menu; culinarylingus 4 months ago
MJ: from "black" soul r'n'b pop songs to platinum coloured skin, ends his days in a gold-plated coffin; mourning bling? 4 months ago
Apostles of Bosh
8,379 People Have Peeked Under Thropplenoggin's Pith Helmet
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"Posit Ennui - Meet Dr. Y.U. Thropplenoggin, bosh-monger, diabolical wit, master of verbal tomfoolery. His pithycisms also make Twitter a chortlesome place for me to roam. I've learned from messy experience not to have any coffee in my mouth when reading tweets by @thropplenoggin."Megatonlove, Apostle of Bosh
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