"King Dump": "Ubu Roi" Reimagined Yet Again

 

(More to come; a work in progress.)

An "Alligators All Around" Administration-wide Appendix

     Additional Sendak Sendups

Alligators All Around:
Abandoning Allies;
Accelerating Atrocities;
Advancing Anarchy. 

   Alligators All Around:

Assaulting Academics;
Abusing Atheists;
Annihilating Archives. 

   Alligators All Around:

Arming Adversaries;
Assassinating Abortion Advocates;
Applauding Assholes. 

   Alligators All Around:

Arresting Arab-Americans;

Assisting Autocrats;

Advocating Armageddon. 

   Alligators All Around:

Altering Appearances;

Airbrushing Autobiographical Accounts;

Arousing Animosity. 

   Alligators All Around:

Ambushing Alternate Arguments;

Appearing Awkward;

Approving Adultery. 

   Alligators All Around:

Avoiding Alzheimer's Assessments;

Achieving Aberration;

Announcing Apocalypse. 

   Alligators All Around:

Arranging Armed Attacks;

Accepting Airplanes;

Accusing Attorneys. 

   Alligators All Around:

Axing Apprentices;

Acting Atrociously;

Acquitting Anarchists. 

   Alligators All Around:

Amplifying Assets; 

Annihilating America;

Alligators ALL Around...

   ...And All Addressing A Alone.

Basilisks Becoming Big:

Breathing Brimstone; 

Badmouthing Bidens; 

Bullying Bankers. 

   Basilisks Becoming Big: 

Befriending Billionaires; 

Broadcasting Balderdash; 

Boosting Brexit. 

   Basilisks Becoming Big: 

Banning Books; 

Banging Blondes; 

Brokering Bibles. 

   Basilisks Becoming Big: 

Broaching Bonespurs; 

Bingeing Burgers; 

Bursting Balloons. 

   Basilisks Becoming Big: 

Baking Books; 

Breeding Bimbos; 

Babbling Bunk. 

   Basilisks Becoming Big: 

Boasting Birdies; 

Building Barriers; 

Backing Bitcoins. 

   Basilisks Becoming Big: 

Bypassing Briefings; 

"Believing" Batshit; 

Bashing Blacks. 

   Basilisks Becoming Big: 

Booing Bruce; 

. 

Drumpft's Epitaphft

     More from guest blogger GFH. 

Drumpft has sailed 

unto his rest. 

Senile retribution 

there must be forgot, 

and loy'lty test 

and all that pussy-grabbin' 

where the loser's 

ceas'd to be a star -- 

now just some burnt shit 

in a jar. 

Protest Signs

Only The Best People

The Kennedy Center 

has crown'd a new boss --

a gain for Vulgarity.

(Quality's loss.)

Now, Donald shall sever 

the cream from the dross.

Attention, America! 

Cock an ear, please, 

as the Center's golf-shoe-licking
board of trustees 
introduces with pride 

this year's five honorees: 

"Applaud Florence Foster 

(Ms. Jenkins to you)!

It's Flo whose ascents 

lesser divas dar'n't do. 

(Her F above high C's

a tour de force, nu...?)"

"Awardee Ed Wood, 

film director first-class!

Edward's "Plan 9 from Outer Space": 

who'll e'er surpass...? 

(Mr. Wood can't be with us 

this ev'ning, alas.)" 

Amanda McKittrick Ros, novelist... 

William Topaz McGonagall, poet... 

Donald J. Drumpf, polycultural icon....

(a work in progress) 

Curse For Bully POTUS

Today's verses created by guest blogger GFH -- with a few small edits from Uly. 

Trump must get Atomic Wedgies
And be forced to eat his veggies.

Lots of Noogies and Pink Bellies;

No appearances on tellies.

Dutch Rubs and a Tittie Twister 

Need be meted to this blister.

Don't, as well, neglect the Swirly --

Very often...very early.

Dog Day Doggerel

The ruby-eyed cicadas call'd 
the locust's second cousin. 

They surface during summer months, 

when soil's no longer fruzzen. 

Then, eggs and nymphs no more,

adult cicadas be a-buzzin.' 

(If you think borer bees be loud, 

you really ain't heard nuzzin.' 

I thought I heard a wasp one day;

as things turned out, it wasn.')

And tho' all old cicadas die, 

strange new ones have arusin.' 
They're ev'rywhere. They're in my hair. 
(I've swallow'd sev'ral dozen.) 

The moral of this verse...? 

There's many call'd, far fewer chussen.

Forever Young (The War, You Know)

I, 

in 1942, 

am born 

(of all the luck!) a Jew. 
The odds predict 

I'll not survive. 

(Indeed, I'm dead

by '45.) 

In '43, 

in Tokyo, 

I'm born -- in wartime,

don't ya know. 

By '45, 

I, too, am toast --

at barely two years old, 

a ghost.

Korea,

Fall of '53. 
An Incheon infant...

Hey: that's me!

At last they're 

drawing down the War. 

(Alas! I'm dead 

by '54.) 

Viet Nam,

1964. 

I'm born amidst 

more Asian war. 

Remember, please, 

this place and date. 

I die at Hue 

in '68.

(A work in progress)

Casa Verde

Preppin' for the Protests: Stand With Ukraine Edition

Noem: 

Go Home! 

End Trump's 

ICEcapades! 

No More 

ICE Ages!

MAINTAIN UKRAINE! 

BEAT the RUSH: 

BEAT the RUSSIANS!

DON'T GIVE UP: 

STAND UP! 

DON'T SHUT UP: 

SPEAK UP! 

DON'T DROP OUT: 

SPEAK OUT! 

MAKE GOOD NOISE! 

GIVE A DAMN! 

WE'RE HERE. 

WHERE ARE YOU...? 

SUSTAIN UKRAINE! 

HOOT the POOT! 
MUTE the POOT!
NEUT' the POOT! 
BOOT the POOT! 
(SHOOT the POOT...?) 

Resistance Protest Signs: Number 17 in a Series

 

Hope; or, Like All Foul Gas, This Too Shall Pass (A Repost)

Drumpf glowers. And glowers. 

For hours and hours. And hours.

Der Fuhrer's fasc Drumpf scours.

(This lad ain’t Adenauer’s.) 

Unlike most Eisenhowers, 

Drumpf stacks of Macs* devours, 

and now, as then (and how!), errs

in plying POTUS powers.

Erecting new Trump Towers, 

Drumpf cries, “Trump never cowers!”

But, fin’lly, Drumpf's Tao sours

The People cry, “Enowers!**

That Hun’s no son of ours. 

Drumpf splits and hits the showers.

The GOP sends flowers.

And Drumpf no longer towers. 

     *Big Macs with lots -- lots! -- of extra cheese.

     **A poetic term -- a portmanteau pairing the Rubaiyat's 'enow,' meaning  'enough,' with the suffix '-ers' from the British slang which turns 'pregnant' to 'preggers' -- the combination meaning "E-freakin-nough, already!"

Chant for Chas.

(With a tip of the Uly Poe turban to Mr Dickens.) 

Note gestes by festive mimes 

whose crest shows zest of limes, 

undress'd -- in jest, it's  guess'd -- 

thrice bless'd (id est: three times!), 

express'd as "Test of Bimes: 

a Spooner'd Nest of Rhymes" 

abreast the vestry chimes 

whilst Heston, vested, climbs 

a chest in quest of dimes.

Out west, twin pests betimes 

(both slimes) confess'd their crimes. 

[The rest's just mess'd-up primes.] 

MAGAlligators All Around

(With a tip o' the toque to Mr Sendak.)

I smelt swamp stench. 

I sens'd strange sound.
I search'd about. 

'Twas then I found

our ship of state 

had run aground. 

The captain, mates 'n' crew...? 

All drown'd:

MAGAlligators 

all around. 

Their eyelids...? Shadow'd. 

Noses...? Brown'd. 

Intentions...? 

Evil, I'll be bound. 

A failed poseur

we thought just clown'd...? 

That narcissist 

their king they crown'd. 

In golden robes 

this thing they gown'd. 

More MAGA'gators 

gather'd 'round. 

They immigrants 

harass 'n' hound. 

They kids 

illegally impound. 

Our Constitution 

they've unwound. 

MAGAlligators 

ALL around!

Imagined Medievals

Alcuin of York 

used talons from a stork 

to help him chew 

his bar-be-cue: 

"'Tis helpful eating pork." 

Venerable Bede, 
a bookman built for speed, 
penn'd tomes in reams -- 
though now it seems
this Briton couldn't read. 

Carolus the Bald 

was hairless falsely call'd. 

Who'd on him pin

"King Head-'o-Skin" 

would see Carolus gall'd.

"A Pint o' Pease, Please!"; or, Pick Your Porridge! Pease Porridge Variants

Pease porridge hot. 

Pease porridge cold. 

Pease porridge covered in 

Peronospora mold. 

Some like it hot. 

Some like it cold. 

No one likes it covered in 

Peronospora mold. 

Pease porridge cold.
Pease porridge hot. 
Pease porridge top fermented
in Ma's copper pot. 
Many like it cold. 
Fewer like it hot. 
You'd like sev'ral growlers
whereas I'd like just a spot.

 

Pease porridge warm. 

Pease porridge cool. 

Pease porridge tepid, 

served with Papa's past'fazool. 

Few like it warm. 

Many like it cool. 

You can't seem to get enough

while too much makes me drool. 

Pease porridge cool. 

Pease porridge warm. 

Pease porridge regist'ring 

a diff'rent thermal form. 

Some like it cool. 

Some like it warm. 

No one likes it anywhere 

where lukewarm is the norm. 

Pease porridge grey. 

Pease porridge green. 

Pease porridge made in Grandma's 

platinum tureen. 

You like it grey. 

I like it green. 

No one likes it midnight blue: 

they don't know where it's been. 

Pease porridge green. 

Pease porridge grey. 

Pease porridge partner'd 

with a Caesar salad, say. 

I like it green. 

You like it grey. 

We both like it tomorrow, 

not today or yesterday.

Pease porridge sweet. 

Pease porridge dry.

Pease porridge complements 

a  huckleberry pie. 

I like it sweet. 

You like it dry. 

Grampa likes it not at all 

but will not tell me why. 

Pease porridge dry. 

Pease porridge sweet. 

Pease porridge -- served in saucers,

over ice or neat.

Pease porridge dry. 

Pease porridge sweet.

Pease porridge -- do as follows: 

pour, sniff, drink, repeat. 

Pease porridge nuked.

Pease porridge chill'dI

Pease porridge in a growler...

Careful lest it's spill'd. 

None like it nuked.

All like it chill'd.

So: may I have the same again, please...? 

I'm not nearly fill'd."

Pease porridge chill'd. 

Pease porridge nuked. 

Pease porridge I'll reorder 

lest I stand rebuked. 

All like it chill'd. 

None like it nuked. 

Late last night I chugged two mugfuls...

...whereupon I puked.

Vladimir Nabokov's Lolita Anagramaniacal Opening Lines

Lolita, light of my life... 

...might fail to yell "Foil!"... 

...or opt to yell "Epee!" --
she's just that unpredictable...

Fyodor Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment Anagramaniacal Openin Lines

On an exceptionally hot evening...

...having no expectation, none yell...

...such triple-digit temps can leave  even the most gung-ho Russian peasant unmotivated...

William Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury Anagramaniacal Opening Lines

Through the fence, between the curling flower spaces... 

...three Harpwig FC wheels (NG) 'n' three-foot Cucu beetles (NG)... 

...two strikers and a goalie from the recently relegated Yorkshire football club and several exceedingly tall insects imported from Amazonia -- and nary a one of 'em any good...

William Shakespeare's Richard III Anagramaniacal Opening Lines

Now is the winter of our discontent...

...wet feet, no oro sun, thin cows in dirt... 

...and my damn back is killin' me.

Gabriel Garcia Marquez's One Hudred Years of Solitude Anagramaniacal Opening Lines

Many years later, as he faced the firing squad... 

...he -- Mr. Sage, Sr. as Chief Yananda -- quietly farted... 

It was in this role -- that of the charismatic though flatulent tribal leader of the local Yanomamo natives -- which the elderly actor had performed on the West End stage to some critical applause only three months before being convicted and sentenced to death for the kidnapping and murder of El Presidente's only daughter.

Miguel de Cervantes's Don Quixote Anagramaniacal Opening Lines

In a village of La Mancha... 

...Che, an ailing vole, a lama... 

...with only months to live, preached to his fellow lemmings a religion fusing Cuban Marxism with Tibetan spiritual practices...

Robert Louis Stevenson's Treasure Island Anagramaniacal Opening Lines

If sailor tales to sailor tunes...

...fail to start one's isle-air soul... 

...then wtf...?

Richard Llewellyn's How Green Was My Valley Anagramaniacal Opening Lines

I am packing my belongings...

...Ma -- locking penis in gym bag... 

Look the other way, won't you, please, Mother, 'til I'm finished...?

George Orwell's 1984 Anagramaniacal Opening Lines

It was a bright cold day in April...

...what AI call'd "a boy's tiring drip"... 

...just how tiring the drip could become young Winston would  discover all too soon...

Edward Lear's Anagramaniacal Opening Lines

The Scroobious Pip went out one day...

...an' busted (oy! phoo!) its out-worn piece... 

How now will it ever replace that toupee and engender of humiliation surcease...?

Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures Underground Anagramaniacal Opening Lines

Alice was beginning to get...

...to a nice big wan tinsel egg.

"That girl is REALLY starting to bug me," the largest of a nestful of pale (and, until but a moment before, pleasant) foil-festooned oval spheres was heard to remark.

Leo Tolstoy's Anna Karenina Anagraramaniacal Opening Lines

Happy families are all alike.

If a Kay, a Miller, a Phils, a Peel... 

...though probably not if a Rumplestiltskin von Phuquephace...

Samuel Beckett's Waiting for Godot Anagramaniacal Opening Lines

Nothing to be done

No...? Get into bed, Hon!

Introducing one Baltimoron who's sick and tired of waiting.

Robert Browning's Anagramaniacal Opening Lines

That's my last duchess... 

She's Thut's "Ms Cat Lady"... 

...and who doesn't acknowledge that the popular Egyptian charioteer is also a world-class painter of feline portraits..?

Mark Twain's AnagraMania

You don't know about me... 

...but at noon you'd wok me...? 

If I were you I'd take a deep breath and count to ten -- unless you'd prefer to say hello to my little friends Fisti and Cuffs...

A. A. Milne's AnagraMania

Here is Edward Bear... 

(Did we err...? Be he Sara...?)

What sort of a bear would live under the name of Sara...? Oh...THAT sort of a bear.

Marcel Proust's AnagraMania

For a long time, I used to go to bed early... 

...and I'd forget to get my ol' Lois a bouree.

Without a quick turn or two about the nursery before lights out, that old gal wouldn't sleep a wink...

Bulwer-Lytton's AnagraMania

It was a dark and stormy night... 

...In my Dakota, Tar, with Dr. S_____, sang...

...Don Jose's "Flower Song" aria from Carmen as the infamous plastic surgeon and his giant Negro assistant, having finally loaded the remaining three headless corpses onto the Dodge truck's rain-soaked flatbed, attempted, mostly unsuccessfully, to pat dry each other's soggy jodhpurs...

Into the Woods's AnagraMania

Once upon a time...
...a poem 'n' I cut one... 

(The lines were in the style of poetry of the Fartypants School of nonsense verse.)

Genesis's AnagraMania

In the beginning...
...I, e.g...? Thin 'n' benign... 

(I was younger then.)

Jane Austin's AnagraMania

It is a truth universally acknowledged...

...everyone's Thula duck lard...? It's a-wilting... 

(It seems Mr. Darcy owns a pineapple plantation / fois gras factory on Oahu which he's dubb'd Thula.. .)

Longfellow's AnagraMania

Tell me not in mournful numbers... 
..."Mull 'n' burn fourteen mint moles..."

(Nobody tells Henry Wadsworth how to prepare his signature blacken'd moles.)

Inferno's AnagraMania

Midway on the journey of our life... 
...I found you, El Rey. "Join me!" "What for...?" 

(It sems Mr. Alighieri could use a little help finding his way through that  dusky wood. And who better than The King...?)

Canterbury's AnagraMania

When April with his showers sweet...
...howls, "Shrew! Wine, shrew!" I shit peat... 

(April is most particular about his tipple and I'm no help.)

Aeneid's AnagraMania

I sing of arms and the man...
...not his farm and gas mine... 

(We want a tale of heroes in war, not agribusiness and the energy sector.)

The Odds Have It...

...a monopoly, that is, on vowels. Don't tell me you haven't noticed that the 13 odd letters of the English alphabet listed in order include among their number all six vowels or that no vowels -- not a single one -- appear among the 13 even letters listed in order. 

Tiny Tim's AnagraMania

Marley was dead...
...are we mad...? Sadly... 

(We're Crotchets, dammit, and we couldn't care less.)

Whaling's AnagraMania

Call me Ishmael...
...I'm a Hell's Camel...

...Me...? I'm La Shellac... 

...A camel shell am I...

(Is this story about Ishmael the harpooner, Ishmael the motorcycle gang member, Ishmael the gentleman thief or Ishmael the hajjan...?)

Lenten Anagram Mania

Jesus wept. 
Caption appearing beneath illustration accompanying newspaper's Good Friday early edition op ed. 

Upset Jews. 
Caption appearing beneath illustration accompanying newspaper's Good Friday afternoon edition op ed. 

Just weeps. 
Caption appearing beneath illustration accompanying newspaper's Good Friday late edition op ed. 

Use wet PJs. 
Caption appearing beneath illustration accompanying newspaper's Easter Monday early edition advice column offering tips on cleaning up egg-coloring messes.

An Anagrammed Alternate Gatsby

In my younger and more vulnerable years... 
...a gerbil ruined very early neums...

(In this variation on a classic jazz-age novel, Scott Fitzgerald's opening words are completed with some by Ulysses Poe. Together they begin relating the story of a former mysterious American millionaire turned novice choir monk who composes liturgical texts, setting them to primitive written forms of chant only to have both words and notations set on fire by a jealous Mongolian hamster bent on harassing the cloister.)
 

Conspiracy! (Number One in a Series)

"Who'd read between the lines 
must rearrange the letters." 
                                         -- Uly Poe 

Make America Great Again...

...a meme, a trick, a nigger, a... 

"Draw your own conclusions." 

                                -- Pepe Catona

C. Dickens's "A Tale of Two Cities" Opening Line Followed by U. Poe's Alternative Anagrammatic Continuation

It was the best of times... 
...see: I'm soft, wet -- bat-shit!  

(Show me someone who thinks it was the best of times and I'll show you someone who isn't paying attention.)

J. Joyce's "Ulysses" Opening with U. Poe's Alternate Anagrammatic Continuation

Stately, plump Buck Mulligan...
...kills McUbu, tall 'n' gay Muppet. 

(The Irish Times called it the crime of the century.)

Two VERY Short Stories From One Anagram Pair

For sale: baby shoes; never worn. 
                                     -- E. Hemingway

Hoary barbs for less? We've none.
                                                  -- U. Poe 

(We do stock a line of moderately priced barbs.)

The Trials: A Lament

I've tried 

to imagine myself 

a fine fellow. 
I've tried 

to suppose myself 

some sort of saint. 
I've tried 

to remold me 

in manieres most mellow. 

I've tried 

one pluperfect self-portrait 

to paint. 
I've tried 

to imagine I'm 

ev'ry bloke's bestie, 

a guy 

lacking guile 

and mendacity's taint. 
I've tried, 

since a kid, 

of all sin to be rid. 
I've tried -- 

heaven knows how I've tried. 

I just cain't.

Frackin'Stein

The Seventh Shirt...? It's Hethven Hert's: A Nonsense Leading to an Anagram

My sweetheart's sewn 
some seven shirts. 

The first she sew'd

is Blob-I-Dob's. 

The second sewn

is Seuss's Yert's. 

The third shirt sewn 

is Uncle Bob's. 

The fourth she sew'd 

is Fran De Boo's. 

The fifth shirt sewn 

is Gammer Gurt's. 

The sixth she sew'd...? 

I've got no clues. 

The seventh shirt...? 

It's Hethven Hert's.

For Blob-I-Dob see Delicious Nutritious Sayings. For Yert see Yertle the Turtle by Dr. Seuss. For Uncle Bob see Bob's your uncle. For Fran De Boo see Deliciou Nutritious Sayings. For Gammer Gurt see Gammer Gurton's Needle. There is at present no known source for Hethven Hert.

Snarkstiltutes! The Kraken

 

Kraken 

Aged ten 'n' three, 

I Jack Tar'd be,
though yet I'm sea legs lackin.'

Part man, part whelp, 

I plan (you'll help...?) 

to kill the kelp-clad kraken: 

I, arm'd with guns 

'n' bullets (tons!),

bazookas, too, am packin.'

Snarkstitutes! The Skookum (and the Shen), the Troll, the Unicorn, the Vetala (aka the Vetada), the Warg, the Xindi (or the Xana), the Yeti and the Zashiki Warashi

Tho' 'twon't say when, my wont's to pen,
"I grabb'd ten shen 'n' shook 'em..." 
Till then I'll bruit this substitute:
"I'll stick to stalkin' skookum."
(And, once they're caught, you know, one ought
to cuff their flukes 'n' nuke 'em.) 

I've punted foals. I've blunted dholes. 

I've hunted moles down holes. 

My recent goal's to play new roles --

like trackin' truant trolls.

(One snare I fear...? I'll ne'er adhere

to quality controls.) 

I'm ever urgin' ev'ry virgin:

"Virtue must be earn'd:

Procure ye horns of unicorns,

nor leave no cones unturn'd.

(Each horn purloin'd must needs be join'd

with love -- lest one be spurn'd.)" 

An op'ra done (a top-notch one) 

last season at La Scala

explores in song what all goes wrong

when vanquishin' vetala. 

(My baritone was "stand-alone";

I sang Vetala Wallah.) 

My friend Seurat tried bellin' chats

and wound up in the morgue. 

Still, hear him rage, "Who's up for wagin'

war upon the warg...?"

(Who'd join -- enlist -- in such a tryst  

ought visit <warg.org>)

No taint to show restraint, although

I'll faint -- or go bananas --

unless I shoot (read: execute)

some xindhis. Or some xanas.

(One's not a nut who'd question what

a piece of work this man is.) 

Gendarmes demand all arms be bann'd --

brass knuckles and machetes. 

(With same I'd deign to yank the chain

of all remaining yetis.

How do 'em in...? Their hides I'd skin; 

their guts turn thin spaghettis.) 

Some beasts you'd drub...? Then grab a club 

(a niblick, spoon or mashie), 

then zero in...and shear its shin.

zashiki (ugh!) warashi.

(One blow at speed is all you'll need:

nowt skillful, shrewd or flashy.)

Voila! You've seen there's beasts umpteen 

as nasty e'en as snarks. 

While we disperse, let me be terse:

Their bites...? Fa-a-ar worse than barks.

(No wonder fundamentalists

exclude 'em from their arks.)   

     Fin