SONG CHALLENGE WINNER!

The Song Challenge:  Dull Men of the World Unite -- LONDON (Reuters) - Now there's a Web site for the man who has everything except a life. Promising to free its readers from the pressures of trying to be "in and trendy," www.dullmen.com reviews dull books, tells dull jokes and lists dull events for every month of the year.  "In March, we like to watch maple trees during sugaring time.  Sap dripping just right to watch -- the right pace, the right suspense," suggests the site run by the U.S.-based National Council of Dull Men.  Laid out in shades of grey, black and white, it also offers a test with questions like "Do you like to watch airport luggage carousels?" and "Do you like English food?" to help readers find their true selves.


The Limerick Anti-Rake by derrymacash
(To the tune of The Limerick Rake)

I'm not a young fellow that's easy nor bold
When confronted with danger my feet they grow cold
My ma's apron strings I found hard to leave hold
Which caused her some quare consternation
I eat when I'm hungry, as much as I need
But not a scrap more, I would class that as greed
When it comes to the drink, and it comes to the feed
My motto would be "Moderation"

I've never been tempted to raise merry hell
Peaceable quiet serves me quite well
Stories about me, there are none to tell
I'm a man who's determinedly boring
I don't cause no ructions, I don't start no fights
I'm tucked up in bed come eleven each night
With the blankets around me, my eyes are shut tight
No sound 'cept the odd gentle snoring

When it comes to the music, there's much I can't handle
But I'm a big fan of that fine crooner Daniel
O'Donnell.I know that there's some that can't standle
Him, whose tastes are a bit more demanding
But music that challenges, music that bites
That questions and nags and (they tell me) delights
Would cause me some trouble, I'd grow pale with fright
As it surpassed my small understanding

In the final look-out, I know where I stand
I'm the king of the safe and the lord of the bland
The high priest of middle-ground, no other man
Can beat me for sheer bloody boredom
But sometimes when nobody's looking I dream
Of reversing my lot, of letting off steam
Of drinking and drugging and making a scene
Debauchery, rock'n'roll whoredom

I'd spit in the face of convention and taste
To hell with the upright, to hell with the chaste
I'd give you the finger and sneer in your face
Like yer man, the punk rocker, Sid Vicious
But then with a jolt I dismiss all such thoughts
And feel like a thief who's been stupidly caught
With his hand in the till, and I know that I ought
To acknowledge that my dearest wish is

To die in my bed in the midst of a sleep
Out of harm's way, it's my mission to keep
Always to look before making a leap
And always to watch where I'm landing
To cause no offence and to be left alone
And if ever, dear God, I should become well-known
It won't be because I've been bad to the bone
But because I've been fairly upstanding

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