Death and all its nursery rhymes...

August 22, 2009

Hello dedicated readers. Yes Im talking to all 3 of you. Today I am going to write a blog which might actually intrest some individuals. Mainly those obsessed with either childrens nursery rhymes, death, OR by some coincidental miracle, BOTH.

The facts of the situation are as follow: I was sitting at the table eating a delicious breakfast of eggs, hasbrowns, and pancakes (which I, in the prime of my life, created out of scratch. Yes I know, Be amazed) When I noticed it was raining fairly hard outside. Suddenly a tune popped into my head, a tune of a popular childrens nursery rhyme titled something along the lines of, "its raining it pouring"*

(*disclaimer: Name given by author may drastically differ from socially accepted name)

The lines to the tune are as follow:

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.

As I sat at the table, staring out the window, monotonouslly humming a childrens nursery rhyme, a thought escaped the prison of my mind.

What the hell does this even mean?

In my mind I already knew the answer of the question would most likely bear unhappy fruits, unhappy, morbid fruits with a back-taste of death. However I also created a theory that by going on this epic quest to find the answer to the riddle of the meaning of the rhyme (O.o) I would somehow be vindicated for all my past and future failuries in life. With this joyful thought I quicjly headed upstairs to good old wikipedia.

*CAUTION* the following might come as a shock to readers who have a history of going into random cases of shock. Read at your own risk.


Wikipedia stated the following:
"It was written about the meteorologist John Dalton. On July 27th 1844, after suffering several previous strokes, he made
his last meteorological observation (presumably that it was raining)
and during the night fell from his bed where he was found dead in the

Well there it is folks. All around the world children are sitting in houses, playgrounds, cardboard boxes, cars, alleys, potholes, bunkers, submarines, aircraft carriers, mud-huts, earthen tunnels, coral reefs, etc... singing a happy tune about a man who died violently in his sleep.

Im sure John Dalton would roll over in his grave if he heard the atrocities being sung towards his name. Although after his previous accident, I dont think he'd be to keen on rolling over any time soon.

RIP John Dalton.
You were the best meteorologist out there.
May you rest in peace.

And in order to pay reperations for the tasteless song that is his memorial, join me in the singing of a nursery rhyme song which has absolutley nothing to do with anything morbid of any kind. Let THIS song me the song which we remember him by:

    Ring around the rosy

    A pocketful of posies.

    ashes, ashes.

    We all fall down!.


   Wir sind der Kinder dreien,

    sitzen unter'm Hollerbusch

    Und machen alle Huschhuschhusch!