№ 572: Believers' Creed (the universal prayer)

EVERYWHERE, April 11

Progress and civilization,

this is our destiny, we are a nation

following paths our forefathers trod

upon others while worshiping God

who is strict, unforgiving, demanding,

God who, it is our understanding,

chose us as his people, the cream of his crop,

a people destined to be unstoppable

rulers of others both far and near,

THAT God has made abundantly clear,

choosing us, forsaking all others,

to honor our fathers and murder our brothers,

since we are His chosen, we have to conclude,

when we are not winning we're being screwed

by traitors among us who worship the Devil,

celebrate “Sabbaths” with Satanic revelry,

who we will find wherever they hide.

We will succeed because God's on our side.

№ 571.1 EXTRA! Barring Mueller

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(with apologies to Roy Orbison and Joe Melson)

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THE SWAMP, April 11

Donald was fine for a while

Big Macs made him smile

then I tried to thwart

the Mueller Report

with my four page summary

I thought it went well

but there was this smell. . .

I told him, “Spying, FBI.

Spying. I'm your guy”

He said, “Investigate”

and I knew I could not wait

to find the spying, spying,

spying, spying

I have to make up “facts”

to keep him off my back

or I'll be fired

I thought, “With you

the party's through

but I love it still and always will
I'll behave recklessly for my Grand Old Party

Really, what else can I do?

But tell him lies

and be compromised

lying, ‘Spying upon you,

spying on junior, too’  

Then when he's gone

the country can move on

from all the lying, conniving,

denying, dying

Yeah, crying, crying

over you”

№ 571: Here And Now, There And Then, Tomorrow And Tomorrow And Tomorrow

EVERYWHERE, April 10

Fact is, I maintain —

as I've said all along —

there are no right answers,

just flavors of wrong.

Some things are “right”

for a short time

and later on 

they're called a crime

or, at the least,

somewhat untoward

as people change

and they move forward.

Or backward. 

Depending upon

your point of view,
culture, DNA and so on.

“TRUTH” decreed
could set us “free”
if we agreed
what “TRUTH”
and “free” should be.

Which we never will.
Despite hopes and wishes,
those who survive
are the most vicious.
Most of the rest of us
sleep with the fishes.

№ 570.1 EXTRA!: Judge not, Lester B. Judge (a Trump mission statement – or something)

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I don't care you're a judge.

What I say is the law

IS THE LAW.

Nothing you say/do can ever budge me

from my conviction – that might be the wrong word –

that I, though my speech may, at times, sound slurred,

am the one man who knows every watchword

as to how the world works, what countries are turds,

how to get all of my debts (and draft) deferred,

how to avoid any penalties that I've incurred,

how to coerce every woman I've ever preferred,

how to live life complete, undeterred

by decency, honesty or any morality,

principle, religion, but not bestiality –

my business is, as you know, hospitality.

I am the whole package, the total totality.

I may be flawed, but I am a god

like Cæsar or Nero or, my favorite, Caligula –

two hoots for wee boots, three cheers for the figure he

cut in old Rome. (My kind of place, I'd be at home.)

And if you think I'm now prone to temper,

then just you wait until I am Emperor.

FAKE NEWS anchors and late night hosts

will be gladiators or tied to posts

where they'll be attacked by lions and bears.

We'll see how they scream when they get theirs.

All this will be broadcast on FOX TV

sponsored by my friends, Koch Bros. Industries.

Those who survive this kind of toil,

them I will boil in the crudest crude oil

at rallies or dipped in turpentine
they'll be chopped up by wind turbines

or roasted in furnaces fired by coal

which will help reach my energy goal.

Population solution is more pollution,

just like it says in the Constitution.

Which, if I may brag,

I sometimes love

even more than the flag
which one of those days
after I shred it
I may regret
that I never read it.

№ 570: Trump — The Orangine Story? (or an irregal aryan)

REMULAK, April 9

Is Donald from Roswell?

Here's what I think.

He seems somewhat alien,

a bit out of sync

with Earthly creatures

like you and like me.

Does his hair hide his conehead

so we can't see it?

His problems with language —

syntax and such —

shows he knows English.

(But not very much.)

He eats “yuge” quantities of
charred mammal flesh.

Yet his heart beats,
nevertheless.
And he survives

on but little sleep.

(It's either that or

he sleep tweets.)

Also, he does not

love Meryl Streep.

(She once set him fuming.)

If he be human,

he is unglued

that is the one thing
I would conclude.

№ 569.1: EXTRA! Borderline Personality Disorder

Some GOP Lawmakers Express Unease With Trump’s Changes at DHS

I'd advise oldtime GOPers

DO NOT ignore your reasonable fears,

DO NOT say, “It's an honor to serve.”

You need to heed your olfactory nerve.

AND

especially, if you seek job security

DO NOT take a job at Homeland Security

unless you've no shame

and want to take blame

for crackpot distractions

both inhumane and lame

fulsomely praised by

Trump fanboy Hannity

and you wish to cast off

your remaining humanity.

Even Chuck Grassley,

who is Iowa white,

knows what's going on

just isn't right.

It is not with
people we're FULL.

It's we've got a president

who's full of BULL.

№ 569: In Hospice Pity Tally

REALITY, April 8

If you think about it
it isn't preposterous
for you to conclude
the Earth is a hospice.
All life, all species,
of course, are ephemeral,
to try to deny it
is mental Demerol.
Believe if you must
in God we trust,
don't make a fuss,
we're essentially dust
from which we come
to which we'll go,
that is the game
goodbye, hello.

This hospice, however,
is poorly run.
(I assume that's not
news to anyone.)
Lacking in comfort,
lacking in calm,
chock-full of things
causing us harm,
indifferent as to
whether we're well.
You know what it is?
It's a hospice from hell.
A hospice designed
essentially
by Donald Trump
and his GOP
with the intent
to put in your head
this is so awful
you'd be better dead
rather than here
with hapless bystanders
who are so distressed
they'd elect Bernie Sanders
which is not a solution
in times like these
all it would be
is different disease.

№ 568: Donald Counting His Blessings

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N.B. At variance with our usual practice, the “lyrics” below are not meant to be — indeed, cannot be — sung to the tune. Intent is to set the mood.

BETWEEN DONALD'S EARS, April 7

I envy everyone who isn't me
because they have me to envy.
What is there to life if life does not test you,
if no one and nothing ever can best you?

I have the best words. And the most bestest money.
I have the best sex. (Ask one of my honeys.)
I have the best lawyers. (Now that Cohen is gone.)
I've had the best wives I could cheat on.

I have the best children. (Except Junior and Eric.)
I have the best followers. (They think I'm hysterical.)
I have the best network, my FOXes and Friends.
(The one in the middle, does she have a boyfriend?)

I eat the the best burgers. I play the best golf.
If I had a reindeer, it would be Rudolph.
(If a reindeer could be Ey-tal-ee-an-ie,
I'd have the best with Rudolph Giuliani.).

I've the best administration ever assembled.
There's never been one that could resemble
my cohort of schemers, liars and freaks,
incompetent relatives, providers of leaks,
these grubby grifters, this fine bunch of crooks
each a backstabber, who'll write a book
saying my White House is one piece of work
calling me an in-CO-herent jerk,
distracted, disorganized, discombobulated,
confused, corrupted, hair corrugated,
only concerned with my orange-y image,
eating junk food, avoiding spinach,
driving the the country to rack and ruin
too Dunning Kruger to know what I'm doing.

That's what your life is if you are me.
Oh, to have someone who I could envy.