Frog Applause by Teresa Burritt for May 07, 2024

There you are!

But is she line-caught and sustainable?

Mmmmm, love me a tuna melt.

I’ll stop the Lame and Tuna Melt with you

You’ve seen the Plumage and it’s getting Lamer all the time

Mmm-mmm-mmm, mmmm-mmm-mmm

Modern Froglish

Oh, Thanks a lot! Here I am, trying to de-fragment my mental hard drive — and another silly memory bubbles up from deep in my memory stew — this one from a short ditty in one of my early piano lesson books:

.

“Tuna fish, tuna fish

Sing a song of tuna fish.

Tuna fish, tuna fish

It’s a favorite dish.

Every body loves it so

From New York to Kokomo.

Tuna fish, tuna fish

It’s a favorite dish!”

tub-a-lard or shortin’.

By the Hemingway statue.

forever EDITing ;+)

Rollodex memory card ♦️♠️.

Rolodex memory card ♦️♠️.

I forgot, too double l&L.

Originally erected at StarKist Quay just after the war, the tower became the focal point of a massive uproar when local fishing captains deposited the first haul of tuna in it to protest plummeting market prices. Over the years, as more and more tuna was deposited, the practice became ossified into local tradition. Now, the only problem is gulls, terns, plovers, jackdaws, crows, and magpies, whose buzz-bombing habits remind everyone of Tippi Hedren.

painedsmile 20 minutes agoI looked up tuna tower. It’s a real thing or place. It’s the crow’s nest on a yacht. Google ‘tuna tower’ and ‘yacht’ together.

Those jump-outta-the-birthday-cakes

get old ‘n’ webby even for fishy old rakes.

Much better to have a hot-and-handy kiss-story

bubbling up in memoirs, creating new history.

Mindful of freeboard-folies, all fresh and dour,

sweeter a dropped line, scaled back for a fin an hour.

- haphazardly lifted from the cook’s galley / cook’s book / cooks’ book pages / cook’s galley pages / cooks’ pages of the momentarily titled, handwritten (on toilet roll) works, “Toonerville Trolley and Rough Seize: Tuna Flukes Anchor My Incense of Smell,” by Cap’n Barb Fisher and First Mate Netty MacGill, soon to be a major animated motion picture, Tuna and Tubas Don’t Get Along in Yuma, starring Billy the Bony-Eared Assfish, Zippy the Slippery Dick, and Satchel the Sarcastic Fringehead, from Power to the Tuna-Tower Right Arm! Studios

The trip to West Key (or was it Wet Key?) was all too bizarre,

almost blowing it a few times in the car near Yuma.

Then, as we came up to the City of Yuba,

almost went again in the spit key of the tuba.

Too much free Yuban from that idjit goombah

at the county-fair demo of a ’bot called El Roomba.

So, pay no mind to musical rumors in my bloomers,

I ain’t got tumors or vapor-lock humors or even magical tunas —

there’s simply not enough brass leftover to make a Tuba Czar.

- from “Demerit the Tardy Bow-Hearted Blowhard and Blowheart, My Hardy Beau Merrick Down Below”, by Dame Flo “Twinklecheeks” Hollenfloffner as told to Seaman First Class Wendy Mout-Peece of the All-Tuba ‘n’ Tuna Navy Band, “A-band-on All Cope, Ye Who Censure Beer”, in the forthright account of two fortnights of sleep-deprived spirit-speedwriting, as seen in the article entitled, “How do you keep ‘em in tubas after they’ve seen contrabass saxophones?” in next month’s “Dictation Quarterly,” by Gregg Short-Hande (published by Tuna-Slap-Dash-and-Melt Press, Inc., a wholly-owned subsidiary of Fish-Slapping Kilts and Watered-Down Pith-Dancing Helmets, Ltd.)

Meat Me in St. Louis, no can do!

Tuba Melt in Sandwich, Illinois for you!

[extended air guitar passage]

No Canned Porn in Kankakee doncha see,

Only Fresh Off the Ear, Bea in ol’ Okefenokee.

[improvised percussion solos]

So Hush Up Your Hush Puppies with your hang-dog pedigree

and Walk a New Smile in My Sore-Tired, Hashed Pups see?

[grand flourish and finale ala pipe organ and ocarina]

- Chorus from the traditional children’s song sung by bored fortune cookie and Magic 8-Ball writers during recess during St, Alphonso’s Pancake Breakfast, at Frank Zappa Memorial Wholly High Art Academy & Custom Plumbing Ophicleide Supply Outreach Warehouse

Psst.

The password is tuna-tail slap-slap-pause-slap-whistle-slap.

Pass it on.

All along the tuna-watch tower, the lyin’ sleeps tonight.

There’s too much mind meld happening here, I can’t get no a-weema-wey, right?

Near the salad, the tuna salad, axis bold as love melts tonight!

- Jimi Tokens, following an unfortunate musical teleportation incident

Hot Tuna

….so, that’s what the kids are calling it, now-a-days?…

… it only tastes like tuna…

…I went to Islamorada as a teenager…

…I’d rather be on the tuna tower than the poop deck…

… that’s all I’m saying…

…I’m KING OF THE WORLD!!!…

…she was looking for Moby Dick…

…there’s a Howard Stern joke in here some place…

…porting is such sweet sorrow…

…I order the classic spicy Italian sub from Subway with all the fixins…

..add two scoops of tuna…

… plus their sweet onion and buffalo sauces…

…and

..

…yum yum…

… I call it The Atomic Sub…

So, Veronica, what ya want to do up here on the tuna Tower?

…Oh, Archie, why watch the submarine races of course…

Should be interesting quake activity latter part of May and into June.

Chicken of the sea.

Oh I know you’ll be there.

Should I bring all the cats along, too?

Some are too scared to climb the Tuna Tower. They’re the Chickens of the Sea!

Something smells fishy in here.

Octopus’s Garden got nada now that new-rizz Tuna Tower in town. – headline in Variety

My first thought. DO NOT say a single thing. Smirk a little, maybe.

Frog A-pause … interesting scribbling going on here. Tuna in later …!

It appears that she’s meating herself in the Tuna Tower.

[ Click here to admit one for a non-towering, but fishy, shaggy-tuna story ]

What happened to her arm? Has she been dating George the Animal Steele or something?!

Moral of the story:

You can tune a piano, but you can’t tuna tower.

Semi-naked old men. That will make the eyes hurt.

Sorry, Charlie.