No. 242: Belief (Good Grief!)

God, decidedly,
is not everywhere.

She's not here. 

She's not there. 

In the sea, 

in the air,

in the stars, 

underground,

not anywhere,
in fact,
to be found.
She, simply,
is not around.

Historically, 

no matter how loudly

believers insisted

there's never been proof

She ever existed.

Oh, poetry here, 

folk wisdom there — 

getting Her sex wrong! — 

cannot compare

with no data showing 

mater or pater,

which leads to conclusion:

THERE IS NO CREATOR!

We evolved from excessive

natural processes,

lightning shocks,

water and rocks.

Some find this frightening,

to me it's enlightening.

This religious inkling,

I deem wishful thinking.

No. 241: Donald (or What You Will)

Guardian: 'Idiot': Murdoch mocked Trump after phone call on immigration, book claims

“Idiot”

fat butt

auto pilot

mixed nuts

lacks guts

loves sluts

budget cuts

dumb klutz

Pizza Huts

wadda putz

brain schmutz

cuckoo coconuts

(pee nut?)

trap unshut

Russia's robot

Il Duce strut

jaw juts
“hair” cut

gut glut

missed putts

buck's rut

chases scut

abut rebut

uppercuts

ethics shortcuts
undercuts

off the wall nuts

donor dough nuts

No. 240: Middle Class Dismissed

Such as it is, the middle class clings

to splintering rungs on a teetering ladder,

trying to rise by pulling. . .strings

with the people who actually matter.

The rungs below are covered in “slime”:

exotics of various races,

immigrants, poor, “committers of crime”,

conniving full time to replace us.

Meantime, at the top of the heap,

the one-percent puppetry masters

keep a few shepherds to keep the sheep

from banding together. Think of the disaster

if non-upper classes

in concert making things “fair”,

were to imagine that wee teaming masses,

could better allocate everyone's share,

instead of letting our “betters” decide

who has to walk, who gets a free ride.

Relax, relax, hold your outraged remarks.

I am not advocating anything Marxist.

I jest, I confess, I know we are blessed

to live in a land where you wealthy know best.

While we are stressed, we are not oppressed.

If  allowed to remain almost middle class, 
we will continue kissing your ass. 

A note to our email subscriber(s): Our Tuesday, January 2, 2018 edition (No. 239) included embedded HTML which does not propagate to email. To view full issue. please visit the blog or click here to see issue No. 239. 

[updated 1/3/2018, 2:19 pm]

No. 239: Coal Black Magic

The US government’s ongoing assault on organized labor through the 1980s and 1990s meant that the mammoth energy conglomerates that dominated the coal industry were free to open non-union mines with increasing impunity. But mining was still just as rough—replete with injuries, accidents, and black lung deaths.

But part of coal’s legacy in central Appalachia is that, as with their economic opportunities, individuals often don’t have much control over whether they are healthy or not. Between drugs, poverty, social isolation, and lack of educational opportunities, there is any number of hazards that can derail, or even end, a person’s life. With so many possible pitfalls, it’s difficult to avoid encountering some.

It’s probably no coincidence that coal-mining towns emerged in the 1990s as the epicenter of the opioid crisis, says Shannon Monnat, sociology professor at Penn State University. Of course, injuries abound and surgery is common, leading to prescriptions for heavy-duty painkillers. To keep injured miners working—and from claiming disability insurance—some companies had doctors prescribing pain drugs on the job.

— Quartz: The100-year capitalist experiment that keeps Appalachia poor, sick, and stuck on coal

[with apologies to Knowles Shaw who wrote “Bringing In the Sheaves”

Fifth generation miners now are unemployed

because nobody profits from our working down a hole.

When Trump brings coal back and gets us off relief,

we shall die a-coughing, digging out the coal.

Refrain:

Digging out the coal, digging out the coal,

we shall die a-coughing, digging out the coal.
Digging out the coal, digging out the coal,

we shall die a-coughing, digging out the coal.

Never seeing sunshine, two miles underground,

lungs as black as bosses greedy, grasping souls.

The bosses killed our union, so we work dirt cheap,

we shall die a-coughing, digging out the coal.

Refrain

The bosses all rejoice as regulation ceases.

Our safety does not matter, profit is their goal.

Instead of two miles under we'll lay six feet deep,

in our early coffin from digging out the coal.

Refrain

Bonus #1:

Bonus #2:


[corrected: 1/3/2018 9:49pm]

No. 238: A Revisit Of St. Sick — Roy, The Inclement Moore

Assessing former candidate Moore's

all but admitted attempts to procure

sex from girls less than mature,

Ivanka spoke of a place in hell

reserved for abusers of children.

Well. . .

I find that bewilderin'.

Given her daddy's contrary stand

on the Judge AND her daddy's behavior. . ,

Her daddy who so grandly boasted

of the sort of behaviors he savors. . .

There is, I admit, a difference in age

between Moore's and her daddy's victims.

Does that and Daddy's being more famous 

give Daddy exemption from daughter's dictums?

To hell with the diff, I say convict 'im.

From what I can tell

both sit well in hell.