№ 642: The Problem At Hand (involuntary celibacy)

INCEL, ID (June 18)

With rape and pillage offic'ly discouraged
few men today work up the courage
to use God-given authority
to screw the female majority,
what with shrews squawking —
their femme-Nazi talking —
insisting on their “equal rights”
which, historically speaking,
you'd waste your time seeking
in Homer, the Bible and Arabian Nights.

We incels need to expel
all our pent up frustration!
To restore patrimony,
we'll accept matrimony
and (maybe) less masturbation.
Preachers, producers and politicians,
actors, teachers and rock musicians
jocks, old, fat, ugly billionaires. . .
They get ALL the sex.
IT AIN'T NOT FAIR!

№ 641: Twit Tweets

Trump voters cringe and shrug at tweets while Democrats rage

HELENVILLE, Wis. (AP) — Bill Brasch greeted President Donald Trump’s latest tweet controversy with a shrug.

He doesn’t believe Trump was being racist for telling four congresswomen, all women of color, to “go back” to the countries they came from.

THE SWAMP (July 17)

Donald Trump tweeted garbage today.

Nothing which bears repeating.
And since his followers' attention is fleeting,
there's no point refuting, correcting, disputing
his mistakes, outright lies and deception.
I mean, after all, it is not as if
his Twitter wallowers would pay attention,
let alone face a fact that might distract
from the pre-ill-conceived notion that
this sad obese man has some sort of plan
to ensure, at a stroke, that white Christian folk
retain and remain the majority.
It is understood, he would if he could,
but he does not have THAT authority.

Yet.
I would not bet against his trying to do it.

I hear you say, “Congress stands in his way.”
To which he would say, “Screw it!”
and direct Stephen Miller, “Steve, at your leisure,
think up some way to turn me into Cæsar.”

№ 640: The Sky IS Falling (no, really!)

Climate eschatology

It’s not just hydrogen bombs pushing us closer to oblivion, it’s climate change and the threat of ecological collapse. Researchers now estimate the likelihood of human extinction by 2100 at 9.5%.

TOMORROWLAND (July 16)

(with apologies to George and Ira Gershwin)

The more I read the papers, the less I comprehend.
The world and all it's capers and how it soon will end.
Nothing seems to be lasting, but that isn't our affair.
We've got something permanent,
I mean how we don't care.
It's very clear we are not here to stay
Another year. . .maybe we go away
The internet and the airplane,
the technologies we love so,
destroy the planet. . .time for us to go.
Oh no, my dear, we are not here to stay.
Pack up your gear, prepare to pass away.
As we stumble and bumble the climate will crumble.
Despite what the Panglosses say,
we are not here to stay.

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Email subscribers click here.

Then everyone click here.

OR, keeping it simple:
THIS is the way the world ends,
this IS the way the world ends,
this is THE WAY the world ends. . .
not with a bang but a wimple?
(Pace T. S. Eliot)

George Kraychyk/Hulu

№ 639: Donald's Self-Assessment

FANTASY LAND (July 15)

I could sell ANYTHING better than Bezos,

sing sweeter than Pavarotti.

My words are better than William Shakespeare's.

(And my fans are less snotty.)

I could paint better than Pablo Picasso.

(If I bothered to do that.)

I could do a kids' book more entertaining

than Dr. Seuss' The Cat In The Hat.

I could run a three minute mile.

I could pose naked for Playboy.

I could throw fastballs. Or touchdown passes.

And, if I chose to, I could birth babies.

I could write better lyrics than Porter.
Or Hart. Or Lin-Manuel Miranda.

I could fake the news better than Jim Acosta

I could teach Mafia bosses how to make pasta.

I could show my friend Kim a thing or two.

(Instruct him how to go bankrupt.)

I could teach Gypsy Rose Lee the ease of strip tease.

I could show Vesuvius how to erupt.

I could out-general Zhukov or Rommel.

I could out-land Aldrin and Armstrong.

I could out-model my wife, Melanie:

pasties on nipples, my schlong in a thong!

I am, I confess, always the best.

I out-race RuPaul in drag.

But you won't  — EVER!  —  hear me say that.

Because I never brag.

№ 638: Boris, You Bore Us (so sing us a chorus)

THE SETTING SUN (July 14)

Boris Johnson had not yet been born*

when Stop The World I Want To Get Off was performed**.

The score, nevertheless, has this poignant song

which I am sure Boris would, if he sang, sing along.

Some few specifics have, perhaps, changed,

but the candidate's tune remains the same.

He's a guy on the make who is less than third rate.
It seems the Sixties are far right up to date.

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———————
* 1964
** 1961