Cosmopolitan Toastmasters

About our Beloved Secretary: The minutes presented herein are periodically illuminating, at best.  The "General Secretary" is somewhat delusional but often inspired. Please proceed with caution.  Also note that the club secretary is enamoured with the ICTM committee and often attempts to subvert the demonic intentions of our business meeting with Anti-Smedlatarian diatribes in print.  He also thinks he is the "General Secretary" and insists on being called GSD. He is also a left-leaning porcine populist.

                                                GSD's Car      

"Great Speeches are not about what they hear you say, its about how you make them feel."......Kathleen Lepp

"Ours is the only organization I kow that is dedicated to the individual.  We work together to bring out the best in each of us, and then apply our skills to help others.."....Dr. Ralph C. Smedley

"Thinking again?" the Duchess asked, with another dig of her sharp little chin. "I've a right to think," said Alice sharply, for she was beginning to feel a little worried. "Just about as much right," said the Duchess, "as pigs have to fly...." — Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Chapter 9

"The time has come," the Walrus said, "To talk of many things: Of shoes--and ships--and sealing wax--Of cabbages--and kings--And why the sea is boiling hot--And whether pigs have wings" - Lewis Carroll

"Talk doesn't cook pork." - Phil Simonson

"They never taste who always drink;  They always talk who never think."... Richard P. Nyberg

I think, therefore, I'm Wishy-Warshy!"...Tom Renick via Dr. ICTM

 You can send in your favorite quotes to our Editor.

Can Piggy-Banks Fly?  Can real pigs fly?See: Cosmo-Poem (below) and link to: Real Porcine Poetry

She said “I’ll take you back

when pigs learn how to fly”

She said “You broke my heart too often

Too many times you made me cry."

She went and sold my pick-up truck

She threw my old guitar in the trash.

And this little old sow won’t learn to fly

I’m out in the cold freezing my ash..

Please fly, my chubby porker friend

She’s watching from the window

Thinks I’ve gone round the bend.

I made your wings from baling wire

I glued each feather on with care

Please my little chubby porker friend

She even kept my beer..

I can barely hold you up ..

You future breakfast snack.

It’s only two feet off the ground

Why can’t you get the knack.

Oh darn here come old Farmer John

I think he wants his old sow back.

Ouch, what’s that just hit me?

My empty piggy-bank I cry.

I guess she wants my sorry ass back

For she sure taught that pig to fly.

    In Praise of Pigs
A pig is a jolly companion,
Boar, sow, barrow, or gilt --
A pig is a pal, who'll boost your morale,
Though mountains may topple and tilt.
When they've blackballed, bamboozled, and burned you,
You'll never go wrong with a pig, a pig,
You'll never go wrong with a pig!
                                     Anon. 

"I can't get the knack because my wings are too small; yet empty "piggy-banks" can fly??"

                Pig Abuse

In ev'ry age, and each profession,

Men err the most by prepossession;

But when the thing is clearly shown,

And fairly stated, fully known,

We soon applaud what we deride,

And penitence succeeds to pride.--

A certain Baron on a day

Having a mind to show away,

Invited all the wits and wags,

Foot, Massey, Shuter, Yates, and Skeggs,

And built a large commodious stage,

For the Choice Spirits of the age;

But above all, among the rest,

There came a Genius who profess'd

To have a curious trick in store,

Which never was perform'd before.

Thro' all the town this soon got air,

And the whole house was like a fair;

But soon his entry as he made,

Without a prompter, or parade,

'Twas all expectance, all suspense,

And silence gagg'd the audience.

He hid his head behind his wig,

With with such truth took off a Pig,

All swore 'twas serious, and no joke,

For doubtless underneath his cloak,

He had conceal'd some grunting elf,

Or was a real hog himself.

A search was made, no pig was found--

With thund'ring claps the seats resound,

And pit and box and galleries roar,

With--"O rare! bravo!" and "Encore!"

Old Roger Grouse, a country clown,

Who yet knew something of the town,

Beheld the mimic and his whim,

And on the morrow challeng'd him.

Declaring to each beau and bunter

That he'd out-grunt th'egregious grunter.

The morrow came--the crowd was greater--

But prejudice and rank ill-nature

Usurp'd the minds of men and wenches,

Who came to hiss, and break the benches.

The mimic took his usual station,

And squeak'd with general approbation.

"Again, encore! encore!" they cry--

'Twas quite the thing--'twas very high;

Old Grouse conceal'd, amidst the racket,

A real Pig berneath his jacket--

Then forth he came--and with his nail

He pinch'd the urchin by the tail.

The tortur'd Pig from out his throat,

Produc'd the genuine nat'ral note.

All bellow'd out--"'Twas very sad!

Sure never stuff was half so bad!

That like a Pig!"--each cry'd in scoff,

"Pshaw! Nonsense! Blockhead! Off! Off! Off!"

The mimic was extoll'd, and Grouse

Was hiss'd and catcall'd from the house.--

"Soft ye, a word before I go,"

Quoth honest Hodge--and stooping low

Produc'd the Pig, and thus aloud

Bespoke the stupid, partial crowd:

"Behold, and learn from this poor creature,

How much you Critics know of Nature."