Welcome to the website woven for wordaholics, logolepts, and verbivores. Carnivores eat meat; herbivores eat plants and vegetables; verbivores devour words. If you are heels over head (as well as head over heels) in love with words, tarry here a while to graze or, perhaps, feast on the English language. Ours is the only language in which you drive in a parkway and park in a driveway and your nose can run and your feet can smell.


We usually think of rhyme as a musical device found only in poems. But, in fact, rhyme is the name of the game. Rhyme appeals so powerfully to the human ear that, if we listen carefully, we can discover a surprising number of common, everyday words and phrases that rhyme. Let’s take a sneak peek at the big league saga of Chicken Licken:

Once upon a rhyme time, Chicken Licken got the heebie-jeebies that the sky was falling. Licken dashed pell-mell, helter-skelter, hither and thither, higgledy-piggledy, willy nilly and here, there and everywhere, shouting, “Yoo hoo! May Day! You snooze! You lose! This isn’t sci-fi! It’s the real deal for double trouble!”

Keeping his eyes on the prize, Chicken Licken put the pedal to the metal to waylay Henny Penny, a roly-poly, jelly-bellied old bird no longer in her heyday. Henny Penny huffed and puffed at Licken, “Tee hee, I don’t want to create ill will with a blame game, but what’s all this hubbub and hurly burly about? Your whale of a tale sounds like a lot of phony baloney, folderol, razzmatazz, claptrap and mumbo jumbo to me.”

“Jeepers creepers and geez Louise! Why are you making such a to-do and taking potshots by calling my story a rinky-dinky hunk of junk? Hey, I’m no Humpty-Dumpty crumb bum bozo, no run-and-gun nitwit lamebrain. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but your opinion will never make or break me.”

Feeling the wear and tear and bumps and lumps of walking a fine line through a stress test, off Licken scurried to hippy-dippy Loosey Goosey, who was indeed loose as a goose and snug as a bug in a rug. “Whadaya know, daddy-o?” honked Goosey. “Hey, you old son of a gun. Let’s take a chill pill, go with the flow and party hearty. I’ve got a razzle-dazzle, killer-diller, no-fuss-no-muss, big league idea that will float your boat, flick your Bic and knock your block, jock and socks off. Let’s get down to the nitty-gritty and hustle our bustle to a spring fling for artsy-fartsy Deadheads who have tons of fun in the sun and feel their flower power while smoking mellow yellow wacky tobacky. It’ll be better than prime time on the boob tube or a chick flick at a picnic a sure cure for all your gloom and doom.

“Yo, bro. Be there or be square! We’ll be made in the shade and in like Flynn with all those lovey-dovey cutesy-wootsies, which we’ll share even Stephen. If you want to be a fuddy duddy no-show, then I’ll see you later, alligator.”

Feeling ants in his pants, Chicken Licken decided that his court of last resort was to get back on track by consulting fuzzy-wuzzy Foxy Loxy. Licken was sick of the humdrum, ragtag hoi polloi and their honky-tonk ways, while Loxy’s claim to fame was that he was a true blue guru.

“Okey dokey, you lucky duck,” said Loxy with a tutti-frutti smile. “Your goof-proof, rough-and-tough, rock’em sock’em story beats the heat, takes the cake and fills the bill. Let’s go to my teepee for a powwow and a chalk talk.” So off the two ran to Loxy’s den, where Loxy began to speed-read his handy-dandy cookbook about slicing and dicing sweetmeat and Tex Mex green beans and chugalugging them down with mai tais, Tia Marias, pale ale and near beer.

At this, Chicken Licken sensed double trouble and yelled, “Ah ha! Who says that might makes right? I’ll never ever be boiled in oil or meals on wheels, you big pig and beast from the east! Now it’s a no go! It’s one and done!”

“Holy moly and hell’s bells, peewee. You’re cruisin’ for a bruisin’, your ass is grass and you are screwed, blued and tattooed. That seals the deal. It’s my way or the highway,” snarled Loxy, looking less and less like a Care Bear and more and more like a lean, mean eating machine.

“No way, Jose, and up your nose with a rubber hose,” shot back Chicken Licken, as he beat a retreat. “This cave could really use a sump pump and a pooper scooper, you unsanitary bowwow. I’m off to Oshkosh, Fiji, Hong Kong, Togo, Malay, Tora Bora and Zululand any place but here!”

Then wham, bam, thank you, ma’am. The sky fell down and killed them all, proving that haste makes waste, well begun is only half done and a stitch in time may not save anybody.