One draws on her Apartheid brain,
another 'pon his Birthright brain.
Yet no soul wins
but one who grins...
and draws on her/his Cockfight brain.
O, left brain, left brain, left brain:
"Rock of Ages for me
cleft" brain!
Ike draws upon his Dwight brain;
"Tricky" tries his Erudite brain.
Then Dick perps a con, one drawn
upon
his Plumbers' Fly-by-night brain.
O, left brain, left brain, left brain:
"Bound 'n' blinded, dumb'd and deaf'd" brain!
Every warm Gemutlichkeit brain –
each so-o-o-o trumps the Hitlerite brain.
For, who'd not term 'sick' Herr Adolph's pique
with folk of Isra'lite brain?
O, left brain, left brain, left brain:
"Lefty's left -- left me bereft" brain!
Jonathan draws on his Jacobite Lite brain
while Kimberlee draws on her "'Knee' (sic)*- say'n' knight" brain.
(Scan both if you'd find a bi-cameral mind:
Plu-parietal probes show both linked at the lobes.)
And, as neither's too bright,
both prove less than polite
as they draw on their "Luddites: Unite!" brain.
O, left brain, left brain, left brain:
"C-'d, F-'d, bass-'d 'and
treble-clef'd" brain!
* The famed Python knights actually say "ni" of course.
Joe's drawing upon his McCarthyite brain,
so we're secreting our Neo-Trotskyite brain.
How Joe'd love to indict us (at
least to affright us),
thus stifling our Overly recondite right brain.
O, left brain, left brain, left brain:
"Deft Klephts Lev'rage
Clever Thefts" brain!
She (Juliet) draws on her "Portuguese Plight" brain.*
Her Romeo on his quint'ssential
Brit's "Quite!" brain.
Harsh words are exchanged. Both act daffy, deranged,
crying, "Sof'! Wha' laght
thru'..." as each drawls on his Right brain.
O, left brain, left brain, left brain:
"Do-si-do and all'mand left" brain!
Wien sets alight the Skintight brain,
which heightens the Transvestite brain.
O, wigs! O, gowns! O, Tinseltowns:
ignite the Urban limelight brain!
O, left brain, left brain, left brain:
"Old Dutch Cleanser, Tide and
Dreft" brain!
Scan your (very) full o' shite brain:
has it turned Walpurgis Night brain?
And the enemy? Bonhommie-free,
her lark's "'X' marks the 'spite'" brain!
O, left brain, left brain, left brain:
"Marlen' Dietrich'd,
Hild'gard Neff'd" brain!
You're still drawing on your Yesternight brain?
Best engage your "-geber (Zeit-)" brain,
vis-a-vis your Dionysius the Areopagite brain...
* One
so-called Portuguese plight routinely encountered has
been expressed as, "Pode ajudar-me a levantar o carro com o macaco?"
which roughly translates, " Who here's gonna help me
to jack up my car?"
Poet Poe pens nonsense verse. "Plus...phun," puns Uly, "I disburse." Its gamut runs from spam to worse. The po'sy 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.)
Saturday, December 1, 2018
On the Outs A Nonsense ABC
Aborigines wander the Outback.*
When it’s bedtime, they’re out like a light.
One’s a cat in a hat. Catch and put out that cat!
We can chat once that cat’s out of sight.
*Notably during their Walkabouts
Don the Drumpf takes his dumps in our outhouse.*
“Are you out,” voters shout, “of your mind?”
(Will who denigrates him end up out on a limb?
Nonsense: Drumpf’s out to lunch, all shrinks find.)
* Formerly called the White House
Elephants hang out outdoors.
Did they not, they’d go out of their wits.
Certain frogs, tres outres, will go out of their way
to tout only an outfit which fits.
Gregarious gnomes seem outgoing.
Often, hermits are outcasts, no doubt.
And ice lollys are fun. (Can ice pops be outdone?
I think not: such “improvements” are out.)
Aren’t jesters at court now outmoded?
In the US that jury’s still out,
sound decisions outweigh’d by a South KKK’d.
White supremacy’s what they’re about.)
Are not lesbians out of the closet?
Where’d be Lincoln without ‘Honest Abe’?
Does not Lutwidge cry out, “When a boojum’s* about,
let the toves and the mome raths outgrabe?
* A dangerous breed of snark made famous by Charles Lutwidge Dodgson
Nursing nuns by machines are outnumbered,
making outpatients’ outcomes prove poor.
And the outlook looks grim, since the chances are slim
that nun output improves anymore.
When it’s bedtime, they’re out like a light.
One’s a cat in a hat. Catch and put out that cat!
We can chat once that cat’s out of sight.
*Notably during their Walkabouts
Don the Drumpf takes his dumps in our outhouse.*
“Are you out,” voters shout, “of your mind?”
(Will who denigrates him end up out on a limb?
Nonsense: Drumpf’s out to lunch, all shrinks find.)
* Formerly called the White House
Elephants hang out outdoors.
Did they not, they’d go out of their wits.
Certain frogs, tres outres, will go out of their way
to tout only an outfit which fits.
Gregarious gnomes seem outgoing.
Often, hermits are outcasts, no doubt.
And ice lollys are fun. (Can ice pops be outdone?
I think not: such “improvements” are out.)
Aren’t jesters at court now outmoded?
In the US that jury’s still out,
sound decisions outweigh’d by a South KKK’d.
White supremacy’s what they’re about.)
Are not lesbians out of the closet?
Where’d be Lincoln without ‘Honest Abe’?
Does not Lutwidge cry out, “When a boojum’s* about,
let the toves and the mome raths outgrabe?
* A dangerous breed of snark made famous by Charles Lutwidge Dodgson
Nursing nuns by machines are outnumbered,
making outpatients’ outcomes prove poor.
And the outlook looks grim, since the chances are slim
that nun output improves anymore.
(As you can see by looking below, this is a work in progress.)
Out
of the blue or your mind out of gas etc
Outpost
outpatient out perform outpouring
Out
qualify
Out
run outrigger
Out
sick outsourcing
Outtakes
Outu
Out
vile jelly out vote
Out
weigh out west
Out
x
Out
yonder
Out
zone
This Day in History 10/21/17: A Curry T'd Up is a Curry T'd Off
During
a losing effort against the Grizzlies, the NBA champion Warriors' Steph Curry is ejected
after overreacting to being called for a technical.
‘Tis sad how hoops lives not up to its promise.
Its bones stand tall; its skin, withal, shows squamous --
as notes below the Welshman Dylan Thomas:
"The force that through the green fuse drives the flower...":
Was not said pressure loosen’d to empower
the ref who of Steph urg'd the early shower?
Scott Wall, that ref, ain’t black, nor Steph’s not white.
Still, notwithstanding such, was Curry right
to "not go gentle into that good night"?
Who’s quick to say, “That’s round ball nowadays”
would skirt these issues which the NBA’s
official rules – nor Dalton’s law! – won’t raise.
‘Tis sad how hoops lives not up to its promise.
Its bones stand tall; its skin, withal, shows squamous --
as notes below the Welshman Dylan Thomas:
"The force that through the green fuse drives the flower...":
Was not said pressure loosen’d to empower
the ref who of Steph urg'd the early shower?
Scott Wall, that ref, ain’t black, nor Steph’s not white.
Still, notwithstanding such, was Curry right
to "not go gentle into that good night"?
Who’s quick to say, “That’s round ball nowadays”
would skirt these issues which the NBA’s
official rules – nor Dalton’s law! – won’t raise.
Donald Digs Dictatoheads
I’m “Oh My God!” for al-Assad, though
Adolf’s still my boy.
“Il Duch” (Benito)? Neat! Though cats call’d Castro never cloy.
(Ceausescu? Him I’d rescue. See? My minions I'd deploy.)
I dig Duterte’s dastardlys and Erdogan’s eclat.
Francisco faded wa-a-a-a-ay to soon. I love Gaddafi’s hat.
(I’m into hats: my hair’s a hat.) Hussein’s hat’s where it’s at.
I’m into Idi. Id’s a sweetie! Uncle Joe, as well.
The Jongs (-il, -un) and Kraprayoon: you boyos bang my bell.
Hey, Leonid! (I miss ya, kid – more since your Sov’ets fell.)
My man Mugabe! (Hey, there, Bobby: keep Zimbabwe swingy!)
My pal Nikita’s senoritas let you grab their thingy!
The two Okellos? Lovely fellows. Pol Pot? Kinda clingy.
Nguyen Ai Quoc? Hey, Doc: you rock! Say! Have you met Raul?
Sese Seko’s on the take? Oh, well: he’s no one’s fool.
Tafari (who became Selassie): that man’s born to rule.
Nor can I say too much today about my buddy Xi.
And I’ll outdo ‘em all – each poison pol – before I’m through!
“Il Duch” (Benito)? Neat! Though cats call’d Castro never cloy.
(Ceausescu? Him I’d rescue. See? My minions I'd deploy.)
I dig Duterte’s dastardlys and Erdogan’s eclat.
Francisco faded wa-a-a-a-ay to soon. I love Gaddafi’s hat.
(I’m into hats: my hair’s a hat.) Hussein’s hat’s where it’s at.
I’m into Idi. Id’s a sweetie! Uncle Joe, as well.
The Jongs (-il, -un) and Kraprayoon: you boyos bang my bell.
Hey, Leonid! (I miss ya, kid – more since your Sov’ets fell.)
My man Mugabe! (Hey, there, Bobby: keep Zimbabwe swingy!)
My pal Nikita’s senoritas let you grab their thingy!
The two Okellos? Lovely fellows. Pol Pot? Kinda clingy.
Nguyen Ai Quoc? Hey, Doc: you rock! Say! Have you met Raul?
Sese Seko’s on the take? Oh, well: he’s no one’s fool.
Tafari (who became Selassie): that man’s born to rule.
The Urbans, Popes? You’re not the dopes
some make you out to be.
Vargas? Win? Good friends you’ve been –
like mother’s milk to me.Nor can I say too much today about my buddy Xi.
Yo! Yayah Kahn! Yeah, you’re “me
mon.” If you can’t do it, who?
And Mao Zedong? No, folks aren’t wrong:
I cherish chairmen, too.And I’ll outdo ‘em all – each poison pol – before I’m through!
This Date in History: 12/12/'2012 The Speaker & the Fiscal Cliff
Get on with it,
John (post-election activity).
Don’t take us over the fiscal acclivity.
Tether your tears. Void your ploys: they’re too cute.
Spare us a fall from the feared fiscal butte.
Don’t risk our dough. Being broke’s such a drag.\
And spare us a fall from the Great Fiscal Mesa.
True medicine, John, not financial placebo
will ease this disease, the acute fiscal Nebo.
Abandon us not. Neither pooh-pooh or pimp us.\
Don’t stall, lest we fall from the fiscal Sierra.
Maneuvering must be immediate…or
we might trip, and so flip o’er the tall fiscal tor.
You motioned to Mitch, “Let’s give F.C. a whirl.”
No!! No one should urge the unsafe fiscal Ural.
Support some heights, sure: some might prove “muy bueno.”
But veto all vaults o’er the fiscal volcano.
We’re altophobes all. We’ve a fear of the tall.
We’d not hit (much less fall from) that weird fiscal wall.
The Recession Bell’s rung. The Depression Bell’s ringin.’
Arrest our descent from the fiscal Xiao Hinggan.
You need to announce with your mouth full of moxie,
“No falls from the fiscal…” (don’t faint) “…Yagradagze.”
Your seeing us through this will earn you thanks…and a
caress -- if we miss it: the fiscal Zaranda.
Don’t take us over the fiscal acclivity.
Tether your tears. Void your ploys: they’re too cute.
Spare us a fall from the feared fiscal butte.
Don’t risk our dough. Being broke’s such a drag.\
Don’t cast us
down from the damned fiscal crag.
Mr. Speaker: to tweak ‘er you’ve had since last June.
Do look ahead: it’s the dread fiscal dune.
A tax hike – is that all the government TARP meant?
Disgraceful! We’re facing the fiscal escarpment.
The President’s deal? Take it! No time for stalls.
Mr. B: steer us clear of those grim fiscal falls.
How dare you
proclaim we’re the world’s greatest nation?Mr. Speaker: to tweak ‘er you’ve had since last June.
Do look ahead: it’s the dread fiscal dune.
A tax hike – is that all the government TARP meant?
Disgraceful! We’re facing the fiscal escarpment.
The President’s deal? Take it! No time for stalls.
Mr. B: steer us clear of those grim fiscal falls.
We’re poised to
go over the fiscal gradation.
No Dem will not dub you “Congressional Chump”
if you don’t walk us back from the harsh fiscal hump?
Tax
billionaires? Buffet says that would be fine.No Dem will not dub you “Congressional Chump”
if you don’t walk us back from the harsh fiscal hump?
But first inch
us away from the fiscal incline.
Can’t caucus chums swallow the debt-ceiling pill?
Such would walk us away from the fiscal Jocks Hill.
Have you eyed not the most recent Rasmussen poll?
Read! And weep! Then clear keep from the feared fiscal knoll.
Don’t make of this issue a partisan wedge.
Please! Talk us down – now! -- off the foul fiscal ledge.
Your gavel
you’ll keep if you’ll use your cabesaCan’t caucus chums swallow the debt-ceiling pill?
Such would walk us away from the fiscal Jocks Hill.
Have you eyed not the most recent Rasmussen poll?
Read! And weep! Then clear keep from the feared fiscal knoll.
Don’t make of this issue a partisan wedge.
Please! Talk us down – now! -- off the foul fiscal ledge.
And spare us a fall from the Great Fiscal Mesa.
True medicine, John, not financial placebo
will ease this disease, the acute fiscal Nebo.
Abandon us not. Neither pooh-pooh or pimp us.\
How dumb to go
tumbling down fiscal Olympus.
You won’t heed our pleas? Must we others’ aid seek?
Oh, don’t let us go over the bleak fiscal peak…
That peak which provides to perdition a launching pad.
Don’t let us suffer the fierce fiscal Quinderdad.
Dunce! Can’t you once be just “one of the guys”?
And refrain from this bane, this corrupt fiscal rise?
I’m warning
you, Johnny, this cliff’s no chimaera.You won’t heed our pleas? Must we others’ aid seek?
Oh, don’t let us go over the bleak fiscal peak…
That peak which provides to perdition a launching pad.
Don’t let us suffer the fierce fiscal Quinderdad.
Dunce! Can’t you once be just “one of the guys”?
And refrain from this bane, this corrupt fiscal rise?
Don’t stall, lest we fall from the fiscal Sierra.
Maneuvering must be immediate…or
we might trip, and so flip o’er the tall fiscal tor.
You motioned to Mitch, “Let’s give F.C. a whirl.”
No!! No one should urge the unsafe fiscal Ural.
Support some heights, sure: some might prove “muy bueno.”
But veto all vaults o’er the fiscal volcano.
We’re altophobes all. We’ve a fear of the tall.
We’d not hit (much less fall from) that weird fiscal wall.
The Recession Bell’s rung. The Depression Bell’s ringin.’
Arrest our descent from the fiscal Xiao Hinggan.
You need to announce with your mouth full of moxie,
“No falls from the fiscal…” (don’t faint) “…Yagradagze.”
Your seeing us through this will earn you thanks…and a
caress -- if we miss it: the fiscal Zaranda.
We’re fed up
with hillocks, with hummocks and hills.
With tors and Zarandas we’re stuffed to the gills.
We’ve had it to here, whether curb, slope or shelf.
If you’d risk fiscal cliffs, better go by yourself!
With tors and Zarandas we’re stuffed to the gills.
We’ve had it to here, whether curb, slope or shelf.
If you’d risk fiscal cliffs, better go by yourself!
The Canon Contracted or Who Xrays Your Zucchinis: an Abecedarially Constrained Nonsense in Prose (a Work in Progress)
Anon’s
The Epic of Gilgamesh
Anonymous Babylonian cuneiformist describes Enkidu’s friend Gilgamesh horning in, jilting kismet. “Let ‘Mesh nix oblivion, please!” “Quite right,” spouts trickster Utnapishtim. “Vanquish whosoever x-rays your zucchinis.”
Homer’s The Iliad
Achilles balks. Cries “defrauded!” Exits fray. Gigantic horse is jury-rigged. King loads mercenaries: No one panics. Quorum ransacks splendiferous Troy until victorious warriors x-ray yahoos’ zucchinis.
Homer’s The Odyssey
After battles conclude, Daneans, enthusiastic for getting home, initiate journey. Kirke, Lotus-eaters, Maelstroms, noting ominous quest, remit spoilers, troubling Ulysses’s victory-lap while x-raying yokels’ zucchinis.
Anon’s The Old Testament
Adam’s bitch caves, departs Eden. “Free Goshen,” hollars Israel. Jews kill, later, many neighbors over promised quarters. Rabbinical scribes Torah-rize until voice warns, "X-ray Yahweh’s Zucchinis!”
Hesiod’s Works and Days
Almanac by cultivator depicts examples from Greek husbandry. “Idleness jaundices, kiboshing love, marriage: No one profits. Quick riches sully those un'cultivated,' venal wastrels x-raying yes-men’s’ zucchinis.”
Aesop’s Fables
Aesop, borrowing classic depictions (epics, fictions, 'grues,' howlers in journals, koans, legends, myths), noting one point, quaintly rerenders stories. These, unusually vivid, well x-ray yonder zucchinis!
Thomas Mann’s The Magic Mountain
Alpine blizzards chill Davos’s environs, freeze-drying gentleman Hans. Invalid Joachim? Kaput: Lung malady. Naphta opines provocatively. “Quiet,” rails Settembrini -- too vehemently? Weimar x-rays young zucchinis.
Marcel Proust’s In Search Of Lost Time
All because cattelyas don’t ever fade, Gilberte, having initiated jealousy kissing little Marcel, needles Odette, pretty quickly ruining Swann -- thereby undermining Vinteuil's waltz “X-raying Yourbeletieff’s Zucchinis.”
Anonymous Babylonian cuneiformist describes Enkidu’s friend Gilgamesh horning in, jilting kismet. “Let ‘Mesh nix oblivion, please!” “Quite right,” spouts trickster Utnapishtim. “Vanquish whosoever x-rays your zucchinis.”
Homer’s The Iliad
Achilles balks. Cries “defrauded!” Exits fray. Gigantic horse is jury-rigged. King loads mercenaries: No one panics. Quorum ransacks splendiferous Troy until victorious warriors x-ray yahoos’ zucchinis.
Homer’s The Odyssey
After battles conclude, Daneans, enthusiastic for getting home, initiate journey. Kirke, Lotus-eaters, Maelstroms, noting ominous quest, remit spoilers, troubling Ulysses’s victory-lap while x-raying yokels’ zucchinis.
Anon’s The Old Testament
Adam’s bitch caves, departs Eden. “Free Goshen,” hollars Israel. Jews kill, later, many neighbors over promised quarters. Rabbinical scribes Torah-rize until voice warns, "X-ray Yahweh’s Zucchinis!”
Hesiod’s Works and Days
Almanac by cultivator depicts examples from Greek husbandry. “Idleness jaundices, kiboshing love, marriage: No one profits. Quick riches sully those un'cultivated,' venal wastrels x-raying yes-men’s’ zucchinis.”
Aesop’s Fables
Aesop, borrowing classic depictions (epics, fictions, 'grues,' howlers in journals, koans, legends, myths), noting one point, quaintly rerenders stories. These, unusually vivid, well x-ray yonder zucchinis!
Thomas Mann’s The Magic Mountain
Alpine blizzards chill Davos’s environs, freeze-drying gentleman Hans. Invalid Joachim? Kaput: Lung malady. Naphta opines provocatively. “Quiet,” rails Settembrini -- too vehemently? Weimar x-rays young zucchinis.
Marcel Proust’s In Search Of Lost Time
All because cattelyas don’t ever fade, Gilberte, having initiated jealousy kissing little Marcel, needles Odette, pretty quickly ruining Swann -- thereby undermining Vinteuil's waltz “X-raying Yourbeletieff’s Zucchinis.”
Friday, November 30, 2018
Protest Chants for 2020
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
His neckties still hang wa-a-a-ay too low.
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
His BFF’s our Russian foe.
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
He doesn’t know he doesn’t know.
(Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
Is that stuff hair…or oleo?)
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
Why’s he behave like Putin’s ‘ho’?
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
He brags, “I’m rich!” So: where’s the dough?
(Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
Is that hair…or a UFO?)
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
How much back tax does this crook owe?
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
His plan? Home-grown Guantanamo.
(Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
His hair…or an Antarctic floe?)
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
He started lying lo-o-o-ong ago.
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
Folks hoped he’d change; folks hoped he’d grow.
(Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
His hair…or neighbor's yellow snow?)
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
But he’s a fake, so did he? No!
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
He’s big on braggadocio.
(Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
Is that stuff hair or stale gateau?)
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
Mysogyny he won’t outgrow.
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
He grabs ‘em by their…what…? Hello!
(Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
Is that hair…or an embryo?)
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
Just call him ‘Gen’ralissimo.’
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
He “governs” with his kids in tow.
(Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
Is that his hair. we just don’t know.)
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
His bus’ness model’s quid pro quo.
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
His government’s a TV show.
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
You still would vote for him…? Oh, no!!
His neckties still hang wa-a-a-ay too low.
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
His BFF’s our Russian foe.
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
He doesn’t know he doesn’t know.
(Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
Is that stuff hair…or oleo?)
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
Did he once host a TV show?Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
Why’s he behave like Putin’s ‘ho’?
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
He brags, “I’m rich!” So: where’s the dough?
(Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
Is that hair…or a UFO?)
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
He claims he speaks for Av’rage Joe.Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
How much back tax does this crook owe?
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
His plan? Home-grown Guantanamo.
(Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
His hair…or an Antarctic floe?)
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
His tweets elicit vertigo.Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
He started lying lo-o-o-ong ago.
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
Folks hoped he’d change; folks hoped he’d grow.
(Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
His hair…or neighbor's yellow snow?)
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
Some thought he’d shake up status quo.Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
But he’s a fake, so did he? No!
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
He’s big on braggadocio.
(Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
Is that stuff hair or stale gateau?)
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
He plumps for Wade; he dumps on Roe.Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
Mysogyny he won’t outgrow.
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
He grabs ‘em by their…what…? Hello!
(Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
Is that hair…or an embryo?)
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
“He’s psycho,” writes Politico.Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
Just call him ‘Gen’ralissimo.’
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
He “governs” with his kids in tow.
(Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
Is that his hair. we just don’t know.)
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
He calls himself a CEO.Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
His bus’ness model’s quid pro quo.
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
His government’s a TV show.
Hey, hey! Ho, ho!
You still would vote for him…? Oh, no!!
Wednesday, November 21, 2018
Dump Him ABC
Assassinate him! Bump him off! Crucify him! (Who would scoff?)
Drag 'n' drop him! Eighty-six him! Finishing him off’ll fix him.
Guillotine him! Hang 'im high! Immolate the frickin’ guy!
Jettison him down your loo! Knock his block off! Lynch him, too!
Massacre him! Neutralize him! Off him! (Death might quitel surprise him.)
Polish off his dumb ass? Do! Quarter him! (Then draw him, too!)
Rub him out and Suffocate him! Breathes he still? Then Terminate him!
If he still won’t die, Undo him! Vaporize him! (In short, screw him.)
Whack him! eXecute his ass! Yank his breathing tube: he’ll pass.
Zap him with your taser gun: 'Twill prove a boon...and so-o-o-o much fun.
Drag 'n' drop him! Eighty-six him! Finishing him off’ll fix him.
Guillotine him! Hang 'im high! Immolate the frickin’ guy!
Jettison him down your loo! Knock his block off! Lynch him, too!
Massacre him! Neutralize him! Off him! (Death might quitel surprise him.)
Polish off his dumb ass? Do! Quarter him! (Then draw him, too!)
Rub him out and Suffocate him! Breathes he still? Then Terminate him!
If he still won’t die, Undo him! Vaporize him! (In short, screw him.)
Whack him! eXecute his ass! Yank his breathing tube: he’ll pass.
Zap him with your taser gun: 'Twill prove a boon...and so-o-o-o much fun.
Saturday, November 17, 2018
I Can't Get Past That Hair
Hey, Gotham Town:
who's trickling down
that up- and down-
ward stair?
Despite his myth,
he's short on pith.
(And what’s it with
that hair?)
a bigly bil-
lionaire!”
I beg him, “Bro,
just let it go!”
(Be that a ‘fro…
that hair?)
(Most muse, “He can-
not dare.”)
Perhaps he’ll stew
and think it through.
(And then shampoo
that hair...?)
Chauvin? Indeed:
he's there.
Perhaps he can’t
control his rant.
(A plug implant…
that hair?)
(He never learns
to share.)
The man is ill,
a psycho. (Still…
that’s one weird hill…
that hair.)
Shields reveals
on air.
Perhaps he is
(though that’s his biz).
(Do stylists frizz
that hair?)
“they let you, lads,
nor care.”
Does ‘Vanka blink?
Does ‘Vanka wink?
(Does ‘Vanka think
that’s hair?)
And Congress napp'd.
'Tain't fair.
“I never did!
Me? God forbid!”
(The man's pure id...
with hair.)
We’ll all catch hate-
de-mer.
He lacks the skill
for steering. (Still,
I’m in…until
that hair.)
He sucks up --zoom! --
all air.
Narcissus-like
he grabs the mic.
(Do people like
that hair?)
ce? Bono? John?
Not Cher!
No stars came out.
‘Twas all about
(no doubt) his sprout
of hair.)
He fails at Truth
or Dare.
His fibs and guiles
extend…for miles.
(Who reconciles
that hair?)
Barack’s Oba-
macare.
Perhaps he will.
(Most hope not.) Still…
I’ve had my fill
of Herr.
prefers to choose
his lair.
At Mar-a-Lago stay!
Okay? (Say…
is that hay
or hair?)
(He specs expects
to pare.)
Claims he: “Some folks
don’t get my jokes.”
(Then Fallon pokes
that hair.)
The man’s one head-
case rare,
each twitter feed
a bitter screed.
(He is, indeed,
all hair.)
Then writes ‘em off.
Then cheats…at golf!
(Still…what God-awf-
ul hair!)
that Cuba spears
their share.
Did foreign thugs
deploy those bugs?
(Ill-fitting rugs
ain’t hair.)
name one vice he'd
pare?
Prescription drugs?
“Quite bad,” he shrugs.
(Hey! Are those plugs…
in there?)
Will White House germs
he bear?
His overreach
incites “Impeach!”
(When does he bleach
that hair?)
to heaven ply
that prayer.
I do believe
that’s how he’ll leave.
(Is that a weave…
that hair?)
What’s goin’ on
up there?
Still, notwithstanding
all his lies,
the made-up guff
that liar plies,
despite the hates
each tweet creates,
the myths with which
his base he baits,
although the cat’s
an autocrat
(and certainly
no diplomat)
and yet, in spite
of all of that,
I can’t get past
that hair…I still
who's trickling down
that up- and down-
ward stair?
Despite his myth,
he's short on pith.
(And what’s it with
that hair?)
The umpteenth time
he blusters, “I’m a bigly bil-
lionaire!”
I beg him, “Bro,
just let it go!”
(Be that a ‘fro…
that hair?)
He pouts, “I plan
a Muslim ban.” (Most muse, “He can-
not dare.”)
Perhaps he’ll stew
and think it through.
(And then shampoo
that hair...?)
His twitter feed’s
‘mysogyny’d.’ Chauvin? Indeed:
he's there.
Perhaps he can’t
control his rant.
(A plug implant…
that hair?)
Of tax returns
a show he spurns. (He never learns
to share.)
The man is ill,
a psycho. (Still…
that’s one weird hill…
that hair.)
He's “crim’nally
uncurious,” Mark Shields reveals
on air.
Perhaps he is
(though that’s his biz).
(Do stylists frizz
that hair?)
Gals grabs he (gads!)
by p words -- adds, “they let you, lads,
nor care.”
Does ‘Vanka blink?
Does ‘Vanka wink?
(Does ‘Vanka think
that’s hair?)
The handicapp'd
he mock'd. Rubes clapp'd. And Congress napp'd.
'Tain't fair.
“I never did!
Me? God forbid!”
(The man's pure id...
with hair.)
Him? Navigate
the ship of state? We’ll all catch hate-
de-mer.
He lacks the skill
for steering. (Still,
I’m in…until
that hair.)
Into each room
he roams? Ka-boom! He sucks up --zoom! --
all air.
Narcissus-like
he grabs the mic.
(Do people like
that hair?)
Who sang at Don’s
inaug’ral? B'yon-ce? Bono? John?
Not Cher!
No stars came out.
‘Twas all about
(no doubt) his sprout
of hair.)
In thrall to lies,
he falsifies. He fails at Truth
or Dare.
His fibs and guiles
extend…for miles.
(Who reconciles
that hair?)
He made a vow
to disallow Barack’s Oba-
macare.
Perhaps he will.
(Most hope not.) Still…
I’ve had my fill
of Herr.
He now eschews
grand South Lawn views, prefers to choose
his lair.
At Mar-a-Lago stay!
Okay? (Say…
is that hay
or hair?)
His border wall?
In dead free fall. (He specs expects
to pare.)
Claims he: “Some folks
don’t get my jokes.”
(Then Fallon pokes
that hair.)
The Press? It’s dead:
He tweets instead. The man’s one head-
case rare,
each twitter feed
a bitter screed.
(He is, indeed,
all hair.)
To pay his lend-
ers? God forfend!
Here’s him: Zut! C’est
la guerre!”ers? God forfend!
Here’s him: Zut! C’est
Then writes ‘em off.
Then cheats…at golf!
(Still…what God-awf-
ul hair!)
Attache’s ears
attack'd? State fear’s that Cuba spears
their share.
Did foreign thugs
deploy those bugs?
(Ill-fitting rugs
ain’t hair.)
Aside from ISIS --
still a crisis -- name one vice he'd
pare?
Prescription drugs?
“Quite bad,” he shrugs.
(Hey! Are those plugs…
in there?)
So: will this worm
serve out his term? Will White House germs
he bear?
His overreach
incites “Impeach!”
(When does he bleach
that hair?)
Perhaps he’ll die
in office. I to heaven ply
that prayer.
I do believe
that’s how he’ll leave.
(Is that a weave…
that hair?)
So: what's the poop?
A wig? A toup? What’s goin’ on
up there?
Still, notwithstanding
all his lies,
the made-up guff
that liar plies,
despite the hates
each tweet creates,
the myths with which
his base he baits,
although the cat’s
an autocrat
(and certainly
no diplomat)
and yet, in spite
of all of that,
I can’t get past
that hair…I still
cannot get past
that hair!
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