Tag Archives: Tongue Twisters

Three Philosophies Best Spoken Rapidly And Without Breathing…

Some monastic people say that if you can forgo enough

That you can lose the urge to call some other people “bro” and stuff.

To do this is a sort of psychologicalish double-bluff

That, if applied correctly, leaves you feeling rather strong and tough.

On the other hand our non-monastic colleagues like to say

Pursuing earthly pleasures is, to happiness, a surer way

And that forgoing stuff is very (insert synonym for gay)

And that, through your indulgences, you’re guaranteed to feel okay.

I am of a middle-ground, a kind of tertiary school

For those who think that happiness comes not from being tough or cool

But that the key unlocking all the treasures of this happy stuff

Is “Everything is perfect if you keep your standards low enough.”

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In Related News: Sally’s Seashell Sell Did Not Go Well

If a player kicks a keeper

And the team won’t throw him out

Then you keep the keeper-kicker

And the kicked-keeper loses clout

But when the keeper-kicker seeks

To eat the kippers that he picked

He finds the kicked-keeper’s keepers

Had the aforementioned kippers nicked.

So the keeper who was kicked

And the keeper-kicker keep

Debating whether the kipper-nicker

Could be safely called a creep.

Meanwhile, the kipper-nicker

Reveals the kippers from his knickers,

Looks upon the bickering keeper

And his kicker and he snickers.

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Jack Didn’t Sense The Conspiracy Until It Was Too Late

Peter picked a peck of pickled peppers.

It seemed to him the decent thing to do,

Then sweated sweetly with some swarthy schleppers

To schlep the peppers way back home to you.

But you, alas, had since left for the seashore

To sell your silly seashells I don’t doubt.

So I went to the park to soothe our offspring.

Didn’t give tidy teeter-totter daughters time to pout.

But somewhere in my heart I felt a tugging…

The tongue-tied tugging you and Jack know well.

I hope it goes away as I fetch water.

But oops! I tripped or slipped. Jill? What the hell?

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