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How about some Port-O-Let Poetry?????
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In a Satalite brand portapotty: I'll fight, With all my might, For my right, To sh*# in a Satalite
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HERE WE GO, almost two months I been comin' to this site. That's the longest I've ever been around a bunch of carpenters before the sh*t jokes started! This thread could rival the slap fest thread for length now. - yb
*If Baxter Black were a logger, the granolas would desistThe trees would quake in their roots.Formerly a large tree arborculturistWith the sawmills he'd be in cahoots.Bring em in dead! Drag em in alive!The only good tree is a stump!Baxter Black in the woods, all the trees that he's taking, No wonder the Aspens are quaking!Lee GrindingerLivingston, MontanaYou can take the boy out of Montana but you can't take Montana out of the boy. Hey Dan, how about Baxter Black and Ringling5 in the same concert!
*With the infamous Cold Beans n' Bacon?Heck I think my guitar's still out of tune...As for the port-o-let (I like to call it a honey bucket) folks, I saw this one (which isn't a poen, but is sort of funny "Save Soviet Jews...Win valuable prizes!"
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The best one I recall in the port-o-let lacked poetry, Next to the seat was the words, " Quite Please! Baby Laborers Hatching" (I Guess you could put any Trade in place of laborers, ie the drywaller thats 2weeks late)
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ok, it's noy poetry, but this is a true story. NO BS!
I'm on a big job recently. Real big. And I have to use the sanican, bad. (that's the only time you'll go in there, right?) So I'm sittin' there and in walks another guy, a roofer I think. (did I mention that this sanican was a "two-holer"? I told you this was a BIG job!)
Anyway, this roofer is in a hurry. (had to have been either a roofer or ...no, it must have been a roofer) and he pulls down his pants too fast and some change falls down the hole. He looks down there (now I'm tryin' to mind my own business, you know) and before I know it, he throws his WALLET down there! I say, "Hey, whatthehellyadoin,man?" He says "I didn't want you to think I would go down there for just some change." - yb
*Bob,I am laughing so hard at that one but it can not be true. Great story though hope you don't mind me thievin' it from you and spreading it as my own.Pete Draganic
*YB, Was that you next to me man? thanks for the hand up out of the hole.Good Luck,Stephen
*Sure thing brother, you looked like you needed a hand! - yb
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Man after my own heart BB. I like to take mine to the bar, because they can take you home when you're too drunk to drive...
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yer killin me yb ,thats hilarious .Chuck
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Lee:
It’s nice to here from someone here on Breaktime who is from my "hometown". I lived there from birth to 23. Graduated Park Senior High.(class of 69) I seem to recall another artist on the web from Livingston who does wood carving. I’m not sure I recall correctly however it seems here name is Amber. I think she’s bookmarked on my other browser. I digress…… Mount Baldy, the Crazy’s, (mountains that is) Yellowstone river, lots of memories. Wind blowing 80 plus mph, still the scenery takes my breath away when I go back there. I’m still working on my poetry. Involves port-o-let and cell phone, need to drawn upon true life events. Lee, keep you chisel sharp, and the wind to your back.
Michael Leistko/Builder
*There once was a carpenter named Wallace,who nature called into the office.While posturing to view, the paper so new, crouched down all askew.His cell phone hung loose, in his shirt pocket for use, it slid swiftly with ease,and too quietly to seize, not even catching the rim, it went flying right in, would it sink or would it swim?I will tell you right now, after making a vow, no more phone tag today, all calls will just stay.As I’m walking away, a thought comes into play, maybe a roofer would do, just pull it out of the stew, for that I would buy him a brew……. or two.This story was based upon actual events. The names have been changed to protect the "innocent." (They would be considered a real minority around here.)
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Whenever I tell anyone here in TN that I'm from Montana they ask me if I'm a cowboy. My reply is always "Hell no, I'm a carpenter not a cowboy -- horses scare me."
I do, though enjoy rodeo, hot western swing music and cowboy poetry.
In the "Annual Issue On Houses" edition of FH, there was a poem by a carpenter.
Kind of left me empty...
Since I can't write cowboy poetry, here's the first "Carpenter Poetry" I wrote. (I put it on a time sheet and my boss was laughing like a weeny as he was trying to fill out my paycheck).
Me and Jim we hung soffit
It weren't for fun but for "profit"
We tried and we tried
them compound 45's,
but in the end we still had to caulk it.
Who's next?
*they say I'm too dumbto make a wall plumb,just give me a stud, some drywall and mudand I'll make it looklike Eileen Over.
*Oh, how I long for the good ole days, when men were men, and boys were boys.The tempo of the hammers filled the air and the guys dripped sweat with pride.But the good ole days are still here. As long as I can ascend the deck,and if I can manage to get to the roof, I'll be happy as well as content.For the good ole days are fading away. And the memories of many o' house too.Its a good thing that I learned how to booger. 'cause a boogered house will outlast you!blueBlue
*If a carpenter falls off a roof ,without his O.S.H.A. approved safety harness,and no one is there to see it,am I still fined?Thats to many syllables for a Haiku aint it?
*An old ridge cap went blowin' off one wet and windy day.On the grass it rested as some more came off it's way.Yippy kie aye, yippy kie O. Someone forgot a nail.Pete Draganic
*We tried and tried to get it right,And in the end, 'twas quite the site.The 'spection man flat turned us down.Said, " Boys, you'd make much better clowns!"So off to clown school I did go,The pace was fast, not ever slow.I nearly flipped at my last task:"Hey Hammer Boy, saw that fat lady in half!"Well, I cranked up my old 77,And sent that baby straight to heaven.They said " Oops, that's not 'zackly what we meant,but what the hey, now you can have her tent!"
*b Bozo's LamentOne stud short of a wall,Sweet ****,One stud short of a wall.I counted and I addedAnd I cut 'em all so pretty,But I'm one stud short of a wall.i 2nd verse same as the 1st-pm
*Is that sung to the melody of Cowboy's Lament?
*umm. . . "One toke over the line" maybe ??Ya gotta go with what ya know!-pm
*Ok, after reading it one more quick time I realize it's from One toke over the Line(sweet Jesus).Bellamy Brothers right?
*Stephen,Haiku has seventeen syllables, usually with three lines -- 5-7-5. Converting your poem to Haiku would (possibly) yield:Builder falls off roofNo OSHA sees it happenDid he make a splat?This is getting fun...Blue's didn't rhyme but so what...Booger Haiku rocks!Dan
*Excellent Billy!Right in the cowboy poetry tradition!Did you just 'cipher that one out recently or have you been sitting on it for a while?
*So you guys wanna hear my "Carpenter's Prayer?" I put it on the inside of my Christmas cards...Ahem...The Carpenter's Prayer May the ground not rise to meet me,May I never smack my thumb,May my nails sink swift and sweetly,And my partners not be dumb.May The wood always be straight and true,And never have a knot.And if, Lord I do whack my thumb,May it quickly clot.May there always be an end in sight,And never work six days.May the job always come out "Just Right",With my clients full of praise.But mostly Lord my biggest wish,Is for whom my work is done,After I finish this punch-out list,May they enjoy their brand new home.Dan Morrison
*Here's a variation on that theme that I posted here on St Patrick's Day lastb Irish Carpenters BlessingMAY THE FLOOR RISE UP TO MEET YOUAS YOU FALL UPON YOUR FACE(AFTER TRIPPING OVER THAT PILE OF STUDS YOU LEFT LYING ABOUT THE PLACE)MAY YOUR NAIL GUN HAND BE STEADYAND YOUR BEER GLASS ALWAYS FULL(of Guinness)AND MAY GOD HOLD YOU IN HIS PALMABOUT 5 SECONDS BEFORE THE TIME BELL RINGS(ANYMORE WOULD BE A WASTE OF GOOD DRINKIN TIME)-pm
*Pneumatic nail shot through my hand,Blood splattered in my hair,My fist nailed firmly to that board,Red stains are everywhere.My left thumb missing from the contact,Soft flesh cut by blade,My paycheck comes this afternoon,I think I've got it made.The sun shines brightly on this day,Lead foreman yells "Come Here,""Get yourself on over this way,But don't you kick my beer."I try to move it's mighty tough,I stumble, one bad leg,An accident some years ago,Left me a wooden leg.Quitting time arrives real soon,I go to get my pay,A breeze kicks in the paper flutters,My paycheck blows away.I bitch, I moan, I chase that check,Across the second floor,I stumble off the platform edge,Air below, nothing more.The concrete slab aproaches fast,My brain predicts pure gore,I wait for life to flash on by,I draw a blank, nothing more.I'm fortunate that on this day,The rebar did arrive,A bunch of it placed vertically,Did interrupt my dive.The doctor says I'll heal real soon,Misfortune follows me,I'm always careful on the job,Oh OSHA please help me!
*That's Brewer and Shipley.Rich Beckman
*You know, Mongo? You don't say much, but when you do.......
*Pete,Once I get that steel plate removed from my skull I think I'll be able to think a bit more better abler clearerererer...By the by, I just got back from a long weekend in your homeland...visited Milan. Italy's one of my favorite places, we went to Rome in Feb for a couple of weeks.Ciao...maxed out on gelato,Mongo
*You inspired me, Danny boy.Had an alternative ending too, wanna hear it? Goes like this:"They said, that's not 'bout what we're talkin',So, for punishment, go put in some blockin'!"But, as you know, meter is everything.Bucksnort LongfellowAnd hey, horses are just big dogs, I take mine to the job
*How about some Port-O-Let Poetry?????
*How's this for the port-o-potty wall?Here I sit, broken hearted.Came to Sh** but only farted.
*Pete, I was going to use that one! Hell with work today, I am going to search every port-o-let in this town for something funny to say here! I will make a full report later. Holdin my nose, Glenn
*For the Porta-Crowd:I had to take a nasty dump,No time, I'm in a rush,I thought I could "relax" inside,No time, I feel the gush.The closest place, that Porta-thing,I hate to go inside.While the crew drinks coffee, eats donuts,I slink away to hide.I open up that lime green door,It never opens well.I step on in and nearly puke,Oh god that nasty smell.I drop my drawers and sit on down,Forgot to check the seat,Those nasty slobs that I work with,What pigs, they're never neat.I take my place upon the throne,A gross and smelly place,I hear two mice scurrying below,Having a Porta-race.I do my business, drop my load,I hear that nasty "splash,"Some of that liquid hits my butt,I think I'll get a rash.I try to clean up, dry myself,No paper on the roll.I panic, hyperventilate,The smell, it takes it's toll.The very last thing that I see,Before I pass on out,Is Mama yelling down to me,"You dirty rotten lout.""I told you not to take that job,you lazy stubborn mule.""You should have studied much harder,And gone to medical school."Doing my best to advance the written word,Mongo