Humor in the times of H1N1

This is a poem, I loved to recite, way back in my middle school years. I was looking around for the lyrics - I had actually forgotten a few lines here and there. Google came to my rescue. As I was reciting this poem to my son, I realized that Ogden Nash was indeed a visionary. He was actually talking about our Health Minister - Clueless, Talkative and a muddle head. The beatific smile on his face after every press conference clip on TV is just as irritating. His pronouncements on whether a kid spread virus across the city to 33% of us will be infected by the virus [ that is 1/3 billion ] and 10% of those will die [ which is 30 million ] is a proof of the a brand of insensitive governance that is prevalent today. Of course, the TV channels will provide for a prime time slot for us to retract what we said. We have been quoted out of context.


Here is actually a poem that I have quoted out of context. Close your eyes and think of our Parliament. If this poem conjures an image of a current day politician, then my point is proved. I have been quoted out of context, successfully - yet again.


Try this experiment and see how it goes. Post your results of the blog swabs. Thanks.


I knew a man from Petushkee
As muddleheaded as could be.

He always got mixed up with clothes;
He wore his mittens on his toes,
Forgot his collar in his haste,
And tied his tie around his waist.

What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee!

They told him as he went about:
"You've got u'r coat on inside out!"
And when they saw his hat, they said:
"You've put a saucepan on your head!"

What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee!

At lunch he scratched a piece of bread,
And spread some butter on his head.
He put his walking stick to bed,
And he stood in the rack instead.

What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee!

He walked upto a tram one day
And climbed in very sprightly;
Conductor thought that he would pay,
Instead he said politely:

"Parding your beggon,
Kister Monductor,
I'm off for a week's vacation;
I stop you to beg your cramway tar
As soon as we reach the station."
Conductor got a fright
And didn't sleep that nite.

What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee!

He rushed into the first café:
"A railway ticket please, One way."
And at the ticket office said:
"A slice of tea and a cup of bread."

What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee!

He passed the man collecting the fares,
And entered a carriage awaiting repairs,
That stood on a siding, all by itself.
Half of his luggage, he put on a shelf,
The rest on the floor, his coat on his lap
And settled himself for a bit of a nap.

All at once he raised his head,
"I must have been asleep"- he said.
"Hey, what stop is this?" he cried
"Petushkee," a voice replied.

Once again he closed his eyes
And dreamt he was in Paradise.
When he woke, he looked about,
Raised the window and leaned out.

"I've seen this place before, I believe,
Is it Kharkov or is it Kiev?
Tell me where I am," he cried.
"In Petushkee", a voice replied.

And so again he settled down
And dreamt the world was upside down
When he woke, he looked about,
Raised the window and looked out.

"I seem to know this station too,

Is it Nalchik or Baku?
Tell me what its called," he cried.
"Petushkee' a voice replied.

Up he jumped: "It's a crime!
I've been riding all this time,
And here I am where I began!
That's no way to treat a man!'

What a muddle head was he,
That man who lived in Petushkee