One Fine Day on the Stump in 2016...Plus More Eggcentricity

I'm Donald Trump!

I love the stump.
Just hear 'em trump-
-et: "Donald Trump!"
They cheer me, pump-
-in' up The Trump. 
My pitch…? I'm rich!  
I'm Donald Trump!

In Iowa,
sure, Donald’s slumpin.'
Second place, though,
ain't no thumpin.'
Still, for Scott I'll
not be plumpin.'
(Later, Walker'll
be a Trump'un.)


I cherish strump-
-ets: wed me three!*
And crumpets ('cuz I'm
Trump) love me.
(No lie! Der Trump-
ster loves to hump!
But don't "Har-r-r-rump'!"
He’s Donald Trump.)
 
     * The premiere Trump…? 
Ivana Trump. A one-time Trump 
was Marla Trump. The current 
Trump's Melania Trump. (And 
not one Mrs. Trump's a frump!)

I'm Donald Trump!
I love my hair,
the flaxen clump
I wear up there.
That golden "sump-
-thin'" makes 'em stare.
Still, I'm no chump:
I'm Donald Trump!

I love the Jews:
my daughter's one.
I'm Netanyahu's
unsung son.
And, when I can,
I'll bomb Iran.
No Forrest Gump:
I'm Donald Trump!

I love the spicks,
those rapist dicks!
I love the blacks
despite their lacks.
I love the hicks;
I love their PACS
(though most are pricks
and all are hacks).

I'm not a Lib!
I'm not a Tea!
I'm worth ten billion
with a 'B'!
The GOP…?
They're piss’d at me.
Their queues I jump!
I'm Donald Trump!

I'll build a wall --
muy mucho tall --
to nix the spicks.
And that ain't all:
I'll get those spicks
to pay for bricks.
Fuck Forrest Gump!
I'm Donald Trump!

I hate McCain:
he lost his plane!
No hero, John!
(The Don moves on!)
I diss’d Rick P
‘cuz he dissed me.
Don't on me dump:
I'm Donald Trump!

That Huffington:
she's such a bitch!
With NBC
I've hit a glitch.
Plus, have you heard…? 
I'm very rich!
When I say "Jump!"
all heed The Trump!

I Lindsey diss’d:
he got me piss’d.
What say we phone
that little cyst…?
His phone's unlist-
ed -- well, it was... 
Is Trump too blunt…?
Deal with it, cuz...

…I'm lewd; I'm crude;
I’m oozin’ 'tude! 
Jeb Bush…? He's weak!
(My mind I speak.)
Him and his bro
both love my dough.
Want Donald's bump…?
Don't dump on Trump!" 

I'm Donald Trump!
Yeah...Donald Trump!
My niche…? Tres riche!
(But hold the quiche.)
I pillory
Bill’s Hillary:
her job at State…?
Eleventh-rate!

Ted Cruz…? Big snooze!
Rand Paul's sans balls!
That Hammerkraut:
What's he about…?
Remember Mitt…?
Proved not worth shit!
(Dick Nixon…? Dim!
Who's heard of him…?)

To Huckabee:
"Don't fuck with me!" 
No one's as won-
derful as he,
as Donald Trump!
(Out on the stump,
just hear 'em trump-
-et: "Don-ald-Trump!")

Eggcentric Britain:
The White Cliffs of D'ova

Whence the Next Totality? Plus Further Eggcentricity

Since August 21^st* just pass’d,

where’er my good eye trips,

it’s stuff obstructing other stuff –

another damn’d eclipse!

     * Of the year 2019

One L.A. gang with Bloods did bang

but never came to grips

with being boss’d. In time they lost:

the Destined Crips Eclipse.

Down pub, me ale well serves to veil

me plate o’ cod ‘n’ chips.

Miss Molly moues this poser, “Who’s

the Batter’d Fish Eclipse…?”

On telly, forty films. Oh, Lordy!

Fleets of fighting ships

fly – fled, en shroud, through banks of cloud:

the Battleship Eclipse.

     Coda

My well’s run dry. No more shall wry

bon mots flow from these lips.

My fans remark: “Your light’s gone dark:

‘tis Smitty’s* Quips Eclipse.”

     * That’s N. (“Jim”) Smithe-Magee

(the N stands for ‘Nonsense’)

Eggcentric Blues:
The Blue Leggoon & a Blue Leggume

Where ARE you...? No: Where IS 'u'! Plus More Eggcentricity

You can’t get married on an isle

unless prepared to add an aisle –

you merely add an ‘a,’ my chil.’

He hadn't travell’d far, had Ike,

until I bought the boy a bike.

Said Dwight, “Add ‘b’...or else I hike.”

Cried Huck, “Let’s steal ourselves a raft –

unless we spot some larger craft.”

“But we ain’t got no ‘c,’ Jim laugh’d.

For forty days, down came the rain.

My first floor flooded. “Where’s the drain…?

I need a ‘d’: that much seems plain.”

My collie Shep’s renamed ‘Bo Peep’

and, much like Bo, misplaces sheep.

Shep gets an ‘e’: I get my sleep.

My Uncle Luke dislikes the lute.

“I hate to pluck. I’d rather toot.”

Luke gets an ‘f.’ (Luke loves his flute.)

In Mexico I met a gringo.

“Lose the ‘g,’ I chirp and…bingo!

Up there jumps a Beatle (Ringo).

Harold, once, had all his hair.

Above his head now’s nowt but air

The ‘h’ that was…? No longer there.

Twin imps attack’d my Aunt Louise.

I poked their ‘i’s out, if you please.

Now we’re in tow to two MPs.

The ‘J’ from Ludwig’s Ode to Joy…?

Gone missing. Perp…? That Bernstein boy.

Len’s publishing his Ode to “Oy!.”

When Sigmund was a little kid

his ‘k’ Sig’s younger siblings hid.

Remaining…? One malicious id.

On hearing The Gospel According to Luke

had abandon’d its ‘L,’ I lacunae rebuke:

No, I’ll not heed The Word for Accordeen ‘n’ Uke.

Dad’s lost his brush. Dad’s lost his comb.

Mom’s lost her ‘M.’ Mom’s left with “Om.”

(I guess that’s why Daddy’s no longer at home.)

Subtraction’s a form of addition, I’ve heard.

Then is “’none’ minus ‘n’ equals ‘one’” not absurd…?

Yes, if ‘minus’ means ‘plus’…or each number’s a word.

What’s the girth of his liver…? No greater than so.

But, with aid of a spoon, he’s ingested an ‘O,’

thus creating the Oliver Hardy we know.

Bitter, mild; ginger, brown: all are versions of ale.

For a fifth variation (my fav’rite) try pale.

(Adding ‘p’ to my ale makes it pale – without fail.)

In Scotland, a quagmire is often called quaw.

If it loses its ‘q,’ by linguistical law

UAW members emerge, then withdraw.

Sinbad takes to the sea aboard Elsie, her udder

so sorely distended, she steers, like a rudder

when Sinbad adds ‘r,’ (Plus, that cow churns his butter.)

Oh, how I love to go up in a swing!

“I shall fly higher still,” I think, “when I’ve a wing.”

(Dropping ‘s’…? ‘Tis no guess it’s a lib’rating thing.)

How our nation’s infected with haters we’ve seen.

Now some linguist has added a ‘t’ in between.

And the hatters resulting…? Quite mad. (No less mean.)

There’s a “Man overboard,” cries the mate (though there’s not).

It’s young Pip, just turned ten, and he can’t swim a jot.

Toss that poor boy a ‘u’! He lacks “’buoy’ancy,” what?

Mr. Ness leads the vice squad. His methods are bold.

Al Capone swipes his ‘v.’ (Nitti did it, we’re told.)

Now Ness works in the ice squad. (He likes soda cold.)

The Fool Killer’s comin.’ I take to my heels.

I’d die not – although I don’t know how that feels.

Find a ‘w.’ Fleeing’s much faster on wheels.

Rebellious Boxers…? Just Boers spelt with ‘x’s.

I’ve battl’d with Boxers and Boers -- of both sexes.

(I beat both a Boer and a Boxer in Texas.)

Unto the fray…? I defer: ain’t no way!

I’m a lover. My fighting’s for some other day.

Drop that ‘y’! Fra and I shall ex ville steal away.

Booin’…? Nowt doin.’ That stuff’s just not me.

Negativity…? Nossir! Just give me a ‘z,’

which I’ll ad to my boo. (Bozo’s raspberry-free.)

Chorus line chorines – that T&A crew –

simply hand in their ampersand when they get through.

Then it’s “ta” each attests (which is short for ‘adieu’).

Eggcentric Caviar:
Roes By Several Other Names

Who Did It...? Plus Additional Eggcentricity

Who put the "ANAL" back in "Jungian analysis"?

Who put the "BRIS" back in "Who's the king of hubris?"?

Who put the "CRAP" back in "Platonic rapproachment"?

Who put the "DEMON" back in "faith-based demonstration"?

Who put the "EVIL" back in "Donald: he's the villain!"?

Who put the "FART" back in "priceless work of art"?

Who put the "GONAD" back in "Ralph for Pres! -- Go, Nader!"?

Who put the "HORMONE" back in "Pick one: health or money!"?

Who put the "IMUS" in "I'm used to controversy!"?

Who put the "JUNGLE" back in "Jung left out the punchline"?

Who put the "KILLER" back in "I think I'll erupt now"?

Who put the "LOSER" back in "Hello, Serb...I'm Croat!"?

Who put the "MONSTER" back in "Uncle Sam on steroids"?

Who put the "NERD" back in "Mine's the cleaner desktop..."?

Who put the "ODOR" back in "Is that blood...or ketchup...?"...?

Who put the "PAPER" back in "pay-per view TV"...?

Who put the "QUEER" back in "Brooce...? One unique error..."...?

Who put the "RETARD" back in "Yeah! We're tardy! So...?"...?

Who put the "SHITHEAD" in "It's sushi: The ad SAYS so!"...?

Who put the "TYRANT" back in Drumpf’s one nasty ranter!"...?

Who put the "UGLY" back in "What's that on you...glycol...?"...?

Who put the "VEG’TABLE" in "You’d save? Get a blender!"...?

Who put the "WARTS" back in "Wow! Art's not like life!"...?

Who put the "XANADU" in "Sex...? An adult issue..."...?

Who put the "YAHWEH" back in "Godly...? Ah...we hope so..."...?

Who put the "ZENITH" back in "Into zen...? I think not..."...?

And who put the AMPERSAND" in "Ham per sandwich...? Zero!"!

Eggcentric Wimbleton:
Andregg Eggasi

Seven Queer Queries...& a Little More Eggcentricity

     “Which two
do you eschew…?” muses
Brian Boru. “
     You can’t
pander to Gandhi and
Pandit Nehru.”

      “Such a
slut…so much smut! Nut case –
open-‘n’-shut,”
     “tut!”s Judge
Jeff to Judge Mutt. “But...she
sure does strut, what!”

     “When zen'd
men again pen 'em like
Jean La Fontaine's,” ventures
Alfred Lord Tenn-, “...then I'll 
tender ‘Amen!’s”

     “Whereso-
e’er, fair-hair’d br’er,” declares
 Robespierre, “we dare
bare derrierres, we’ll peel
‘ready-to-wear’!”

     “Why de-
cry my dry eye…?” sighs a
fly Buddy Guy when men
libel his tie. “No vox
populi, I.”

     “How’ll I
“Ciao!” Kung Pao Cow…?” howls a
foul Chairman Mao as a
scowl prowls his brow and he
zips down his trou-.

     "What al-
lows the Great Tao: a know-
tow…? Or a bow, now I’ve
left it to Beaver…? What
ails Tony Dow…?” 

Eggcentric Mexicana:
Three Ameggos

"Star Trek": Space Opera or Space Sitcom...? Plus Eggcentricity XI

Willy, in “The Sunshine Boys,”

insists he knows which words are funny.

Willy’s claim’s no empty noise.

Nope, Willy’s claim’s right on the money.

     “Listen, Ben, to what I say!”

(Ben is his nephew.) “’Pickle’s funny…

...duck…all words that start with K...

...‘cake,’ ‘dick,’ ‘rake,’ ‘schtick’… Believe me, Sonny!”

     In “Star Trek,” Roddenberry frames

his scripts with ten gazillion roles,

(some leads, some bits) with off-world names

that christen critters, gnomes ‘n’ trolls.

     One cannot fail to note the horde

that start with (or contain) a K:

Kes, Kahless, Kang 'n' Kargan, too...

as well as Kirk 'n' Spock 'n' Korrd.

     Sure, space remains the last frontier,

but there's not space to name ‘em all --

though, were I to, ‘twould soon be clear

their sum would come to quite a haul.

     Which begs the question: why does Gene

employ so many names with K…?

Does trekkies Roddenberry mean

to take “Trek” in a funny way…? 

Eggcentric Walt:
G'oeuf'y

Pandora Meets Pollyanna Meets Pancho: a Partly Pantoum...Plus Eggcentricity XII

     Nothing succeeds like excess, especially 
in some pseudo-Malay poetic form (Google 'pantoum').

To Panama, past Perth, through Panmunjom
she swept, pan-global pandemonium.
Nor'd psalm on panpipe play'd provoke a calm.
Nor'd balm be brung by wrung harmonium.
     Ne'er slept, her global pandemonium,
attacking pap 'n' pancreas alike.
Nor'd balm be brung by wrung harmonium.
No pae'n discover'd, panacea-like.
     Attacking pap 'n' pancreas alike,
her damn pandemic panic brought to pass.
Nor'd pae'n, uncover'd, panacea-like
trepan the pate of that Pandora lass.
     Her damn pandemic panic brought to pass
to Panama, to Perth, to Panmunjom.
Who'll pot the pan of that Pandora lass...?
Some pantywaist...? Oh, pshaw! (Perhaps her Mom...*)

     * In panhellenic mythology, Pandora is the first 
human woman created by Hephaestus. Therefore, 
unfortunately, she has no mother. Uh-oh!

     Still, pulling out one's panyo just won't do,
nor'll paging Dr. Pangloss, who would merely
a Pollyanna panoply (or two)
of fixes fake forge, albeit sincerely.
     No paging Dr. Pangloss! Pang would merely
engage in "happy talk," or an array
of fixes false forge, albeit sincerely.
No panegyric ever saved the day.
     Engage in "happy talk"...? Pour an array
of "pie-meet-sky" solutions...? Not his* style.
No, panegyrics seldom save the day.
Nor does he plan on living in denial.
     Nope, "pie-meet-sky" solutions aren't his style.
And pulling out his panyo just won't do.
Nor does he plan on living in denial.
"Wait! Pollyanna: does she not pull through...?"*

     * This question is posed by one Pancho Garcia 
Lorca, panhandler turned poet and, more recently, 
composer of this and other pantoums, partial and 
otherwise. Senor Garcia Lorca has set his own words 
to music for tenor, harp, cello and organ. In addition, 
like Cesar Frank before him, Garcia Lorca has set the 
strophe "Panis angelicus" swiped from the hymn 
"Sacris solemnis" by Thomas Aquinas with a similar 
instrumentation.  

Eggentric Mythology:
Daedalus & Eggcarus

Eggcentricity X...Plus Five Grimericks from "Highschool in the Time of Cholerona" by Hogmalion's Big Pig

Overheard at a local cafe,

where some kid heard some other kid say,

“Schools are closed for the year.

Now my homework is beer,

and my final exam’s MDA.”

As a senior, this totally sucks:

problematic, BIG time! Here’s the crux:

Sure, I’ve got time to kill,

and a season to fill,

but now what the hell good is this tux...?!

Of the COVID, I’m not scared a bit.

Nor of death, nor of any of it.

So, what tears me apart...?

What puts fear in my heart?

I’m afraid that I’m getting a zit!

The gym locker room...? One giant germ!

And school lunch...? Oh, God! Don’t make me squirm.

All day long the bells ring,

but I’ll tell you one thing:

Glad I took AP Hoarding last term.

Active shooter...? Quick! Lockdown the space!

A tornado...? Uh-h-h...shelter in place!

But the weirdest of all

comes from something so small:

I may die just from touching my face!

Eggcentric Third World:
Beggladesh

Harbinger Plus Eggcentricity IX

This year, April looks to be
the second cruelest month. "We'll see
what happens," Donald's wont to say.
(I fear the cruelest may be May.)
As luck would have, I love my rooms --
less Navy brig, more Brigadoon.
Beyond them, something wicked looms.
I hope I'll see you all come June. 

Eggcentric Arthurian:
Eggscaliber

Three Fine Days...Plus Eggcentricity VIII

One Fine Day in the Rose Garden

His tone’s unpresidential.

He’s the Frozen One.

His lying’s exponential.

He’s the Hosin’ One.

He sleepwalk’d all through March.

He’s the Dozin’ One.

Still, he’ll save you – though he’s arch.

“I’m the Chosen One.”

  

One Fine Day in the Oval Office

“All across our great country, 
I'm seeing this virus getting caught.

I like viruses that don’t get caught.”

     

One Fine Day on the Phone Call to China

“Listen, Ivanka, 
President Xi is calling it 
the 'ColonaVilus.'”





          Eggcentricity VIII

Eggcentric Fellini:
Anita Eggberg