Cora and I hit the library once a week to try and cycle in a few new books.  It’s a joy, really.  But today I picked up some book called Favorite Nursery Rhymes or something to that effect, and was totally struck by the content.  Granted, it’s been like 25 years or so since I’ve been exposed to these, but lemme tell ya, there’s some strange shit goin’ on in them thar poems:

JACK AND JILL:

Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water.

Jack fell down and broke his crown, and Jill came tumbling after.

Okay, first of all, if Jack broke is effing crown, I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t be singing a song about it.  Secondly, seriously Jill?  I mean your brother falls down a hill, cracks his head open, and you proceed to trip right after him?  C’mon Jill.  Really?  You’re making us girls look like uncoordinated fools.  I’d like to propose a different ending: Jill walks gracefully down, calls for help, and tells her brother to “pay attention asshole; it’s only a hill for Godsakes.” Different ring, but definitely more realistic, don’t ya think?

 

Along the same morbid lines…

IT’S RAINING, IT’S POURING:

It’s raining, it’s pouring, the old man is snoring.

He went to bed and bumped his head and couldn’t get up in the morning.

For real?  The poor man died in his sleep.  Why not write a children’s song about it?  For the love of God.

 

RUB-A-DUB-DUB:

Rub-a-dub-dub.

Three men in a tub. (Clearly you know where I’m about to go with this).

And who do you think they be?

The butcher, the baker, the cadlestick maker

Turn ‘em out knaves all three.

Honestly, instead of the butcher and the baker and shit, I’d say the police officer, the carpenter…basically the Village People and leave it at that.

I think it might be less confusing that way.  And truthfully, the last person I’d want in a tub with me is the butcher, wouldn’t ya say?  A pretend cowboy seems much less harmful.  I think fake guns make great water toys. To be clear, I’m all for men sharing a tub.  But I might wait a few years before explaining the birds and the bees, or the bees and the bees or whatever to Cora.  It was a good try though, nursery rhyme creator.  You silly knave, you.

 

ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE:

One, two, buckle my shoe.

Three, four, shut the door.

Five, six, pick up sticks.

Seven, eight, lay them straight.

Nine, ten, a big fat hen.

Pretty sure kids won’t pay attention if they don’t give two shits about the content.  Terms like “hen” and “buckles” are just not culturally relevant and will confuse the poor dears.  Most kids these days don’t even know what sticks are unless we’re talking about sticks of gum or butter or something.  Here’s one that’ll really hit home:

One, two, what should I do?

Three, four, my computer isn’t working anymore.

Five, six, I need a sugar fix.

Seven, eight, who cares if I gain weight.

Nine, ten, at least I can watch TV again!

 

And lastly…

SING A SONG OF SIXPENCE:

Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye.

Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie.

When the pie was opened the birds began to sing.

Wasn’t that a dainty dish to set before the king?

Okay, weird.  Clearly we’ve got a baker who’s a little ‘passive aggressive’.  I mean, it’s a great idea to play a prank on the king, especially if you are sick of cooking his meals or whatever, but I think you could be a little more creative then birds.  Why not do like that guy did at Taco Bell and pee and spit in it?  Better yet, sever a finger and throw it in the batter.  That’ll really show ‘em.  I just think live birds is a bit weak given everything you could have picked.