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!)
Poet Poe pens nonsense verse. "...plus phun," puns Uly, "I disburse." Its gamut runs from spam to worse. The matter posted...? Poe's diverse -- most, postcards from his universe, replies to grudges he must nurse. My summary...? Let me be terse: a mitzva, mostly. (Not a curse.)
Monday, January 28, 2019
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
What A's Still Not For: A Revised Reissue Of An Early Illuminated Alphabet
The 2019 original "What A's Not For," addressed to a boy and his sister, indicated one at a time to that anonymous pair not on...
-
PWWL is pleased to acknowledge the participation of friend-of-blog JD in creating this item. Collaboration in name, collaboration in pro...
