Hat/-tleTales

     While many shameless Texans, recognized 

by their fellows as the braggarts, blowhards and 

bloviators they routinely prove to be, often hear 

themselves tagged as being "all hat and no cattle," 

there remain oodles of citizens two-stepping through

the wider landscape whose behaviors are similarly 

characterized -- similarly, sure...but not quite the 

same.

When Rev'rend Spooner gets his way,
ol' Callaway heads t'other way.
     That cowboy's all cat and no hattle.

She schools each wee preschooler
as she wields one wicked ruler.

     That nun is all habit, no cassock.

Six slugs sail'd straight through, 

leaving zilch residue:
     He's all (rat-a-tat-) tat and no shrapnel.

Sergeant Friday's a cop, 

an abrupt one full stop.

     Hear him gripe: "Just the facts, ma'am; no tattle!"

Though her atria's chill'd, 

she's prepared to be thrill'd

    to her cor: She's all heart (though no cockle).

With Rice Krispies I find 

I prefer just one kind.

     Forget Pop: I'm all Snap and no Crackle.

He brings signs to each march 

and his slogans are arch,

     never dull. He's all that, but no catalyst. 

She'll not wriggle one hair, 

much less fly through the air.

     She's immobile: all halt and no cartwheel. 

Donald's evil's like cancer. 

For Don, love's no answer,

     That's Drumpf: he's all hate and no cuddle.

She's a Bell Witch/Quay blend* 

and, for sure, no one's friend.

     Fire burn! She's all haunt and no Casper.

          * The Bell Witch haunts an area in Tennessee; 

Minnie Quay is a legendary ghost spooking Michigan. 

"Fire burn..." is part of a couplet chanted by the 

Weird Sisters in Shakespeare's Macbeth. 

If Dad laughs at all, 

his laugh's big, never small.
     That's our Dad: he's all "HA!" and no chortle.

She's, when tough love's requir'd, 

ne'er in pull'd punches mired.

     Best to duck: she's all hit and no coddle.

His applause is sedate. 

Meet Monsieur Understate.

    In the end, he's all hint and no catcall.