Saturday afternoon sonnets

So Barry Bonds is closing in on Ruth.
They are two hitters of a different class.
The cleanliness of Bonds requires proof,
While Babe hit homers drunk half off his ass.

The pundits and the purists prattle on,
about the homerun totals they amassed,
and all the pressure has been put upon
young Barry who could be Babe Ruth's grandson.

The seven hundred and thirteenth homerun
was the last dinger Bonds hit o'er the fence.
Since then he has been under the press gun
to hit one out and prove his dominance.

And soon he'll beat the Babe, but I can not avoid
thinking how great he would have been taking steroids!


Sir Paul McCartney and his wife are through.
His wife? I thought she died God rest her soul.
Oh he remarried? Geez, I never knew.
Almost four years ago? What do you know!

Without my knowledge quietly he wed
the virgin Heather Mills pure as the snow.
A household name it surely can't be said.
But now she'll fill the tabloids there's no doubt!

But let's not hate the Beatle heiress yet.
These times are trying for sweet sweet Heather.
It's undetermined how much she will get.
What fraction of a billion waits for her.

And come on, she deserves the fortune to be sure!
He would be absolutely nothing without her!