Meet a marriage made in hell.
The Daddy doubles as the groom.
The bride? Ivanka…badda-boom!
Detect you that mendacious smell,
the bigly el'phant in the room?
It's not Ivanka's new perfume.
The bridesmaid's Conway -- born to sell
chic tchotchkes from Ivanka's Loom.
The goal? To boost Th’Ivanka Boom.
The Queen of Soul assesses well:
"Say, baby, who be zoomin' whom?"
(Ivanka needs a nom de plume.)
That sound you hear? The sunset gun:
just dump the Kool-Aid in your Sanka.
First, though: fashions by Ivanka.
Who's to thank? The Trump Cartel.
('Merci' in French; in German, 'danke.'
Thanks for all you do, Ivanka!)
Uly Poe pens dogg'rel verse. "'Tis fun," hums Uly, "I disburse." The gamut runs from bad to worse. The matter treated...? Quite diverse -- most, postcards from his universe, replies to grudges he must nurse. My summary...? Let me be terse: a blessing largely. (Not a curse.)
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PWWL is pleased to acknowledge the participation of friend-of-blog JD in creating this item. Collaboration in name, collaboration in pro... -
Sphynx's riddle...? Snare for fools: Pyramids at Giza. Pepperoni plopp'd near tools: gear -- amid sat pizza. Moral: T...
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