anothersam
SMIDSMe
Today is Bob Dylan's birthday. To celebrate, I am holding a contest to see who can come up with the best verses to his classic song. The sample below may help get you into the spirit of the thing. The winner will receive a certificate suitable for framing in your browser of choice. I have some experience with this.
Hastings Hustle Certificate of Completion
Darwin Award Award
(My stationery cupboard also includes a Bicycle Approval Form and last year's Bicycle Census.)
Without further ado:
How many roads must a man ride down,
before you call him a man?
How many times can he ride down that road,
until he's hit by a white van?
And how many times can man SMIDSY man,
before he is forever banned?
The answer my friend is blowing in the wind,
the answer is blowing in the wind.
How many years can some potholes exist,
before the streets are hole-free?
How many years must us cyclists exist,
before we are safe from A to B?
And how many times can a motorist say,
though we're here, that he just doesn't see?
The answer my friend is blowing in the wind,
the answer is blowing in the wind.
How many times must a man look up,
And see that it looks like rain?
How many hills must one man climb,
before he can walk without shame?
And how many times must the wind push him back,
can I end this without sounding too lame?
The answer my friend is blowing in the wind,
the answer is blowing in the wind.
Speaking of forever banned, fingers crossed that I won't be. As the man himself sang, To live outside the law you must be honest.
Hastings Hustle Certificate of Completion
Darwin Award Award
(My stationery cupboard also includes a Bicycle Approval Form and last year's Bicycle Census.)
Without further ado:
How many roads must a man ride down,
before you call him a man?
How many times can he ride down that road,
until he's hit by a white van?
And how many times can man SMIDSY man,
before he is forever banned?
The answer my friend is blowing in the wind,
the answer is blowing in the wind.
How many years can some potholes exist,
before the streets are hole-free?
How many years must us cyclists exist,
before we are safe from A to B?
And how many times can a motorist say,
though we're here, that he just doesn't see?
The answer my friend is blowing in the wind,
the answer is blowing in the wind.
How many times must a man look up,
And see that it looks like rain?
How many hills must one man climb,
before he can walk without shame?
And how many times must the wind push him back,
can I end this without sounding too lame?
The answer my friend is blowing in the wind,
the answer is blowing in the wind.
Speaking of forever banned, fingers crossed that I won't be. As the man himself sang, To live outside the law you must be honest.