After you're done reading her great post, please head over to Mame Musings and read more about her. You won't be disappointed by what you find.
Actually, you should probably just follow her (one way or another) so you can be sure to learn about her core values through her new 12 in 2012 series. I personally follow her because she has a great mix of comedy, sincerity, lessons for living life, and honesty. To be able to blend that all together on a consistent basis is truly a talent, and, in our household, we are big fans of her work.
So without further ado...
Kissed the girls and made them cry,
When the boys came out to play
Georgie Porgie ran away.
On the surface this rhyme reads like a classic case of an obnoxious playground bully—a perfect example of why schools now have tough new zero tolerance policies for just this sort of harassment.
According to sources who refused to be named for fear of unwanted kiss retaliation, it appears there is more than enough blame to go around here.
Apparently, Georgie’s inappropriate displays of affection and fear of males resulted from his low self-esteem, which was caused by his unfortunate nickname, which came from his high BMI, which came from his love for pudding and pie, which stemmed from the fact that his mother didn’t make him eat his vegetables, which was the result of his mother being too lenient, which was her way of compensating for the fact that she had run Georgie’s dad off (because he liked to kiss other women).
Bottom line: Georgie is the victim. Call Gloria Allred.
Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie.
When the pie was opened the birds began to sing,
Oh wasn't that a dainty dish to set before the king?
What is the deal with these kings?
Weren’t pipes, bowls, and fiddlers enough? Now they are harassing birds?
What gives them the right to think it’s okay to feed some poor, innocent blackbirds a little cheap bag of rye and them stuff them against their will into a pie?
No wonder they started singing once the pie was opened! I’d probably sing too if I was finally released from the cramped, doughy confines where I had been encased with 23 other sweaty, squawking blackbirds.
And, dainty? 24 blackbirds might be called a lot of things, but I assure you, dainty is not one of them.
I don’t blame the blackbird for later pecking off a nose—that’s a justifiable angry bird.
Bottom line: The blackbirds are the victim. Call PETA.