№ 786: A Very Stable Genius Contemplates Next Steps

IMPERIAL PALACE (February 5)

Everyone knows I am so germaphobic,

I don’t ever breathe when near the Potomac,

an Indian river which unlike Liz Warren

has “native” blood — by which I mean foreign,

not North European like you and like me and

not Latin or Asian or even Korean

like dear leader Kim, my nuclear friend,

and Putin and Bibi (he-manly men

like me and President Xi)

and the Turkish guy whose name I forget

and Bolsonaro and the Philippine whosis

and my murdering Prince, MBS,

who Jarred assures me can do Middle East peace

if the price is right and Bibi’s convinced

before he’s convicted, jailed and evicted

from whatever they call their White House.

AND Boris Johnson — Johnson! lovin’ that name —

who’s a bigger liar than I am . . .

My phone call was “perfect”,

no smoking gun, no quid pro quo, 

and as you know Bolton’s a jerk,

an Obama guy who should be locked up

whoever appointed him is bigly corrupt.

And so it's admitted, I am acquitted.

It's finally attested. And now I can have

late night “comics” arrested.

Cancel election.
I am perfection.
(Time for new wife?)

I am forever.
I am for life.

№ 746: Britain Goes To The Dogs, Er, Polls

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LAND'S END (December 11)

(with apologies to E. Y. Harburg and Jay Gorney)

Boris says we are cream of the crop
and are not Euro yobs,
while Corbyn tells us put him on top,
fire capitalists and the nobs

Both parties offer ice cream and cake
saying they know THE way ahead
but whichever comes out on top
England will likely drop dead

Remember when we carried Thomas Cook
Travellers Cheques all world-round?
Today sterling begets bewildered looks, 
there's no one left respects the pound

Yesterday Britannia ruled the waves,
people found the pound sound
Tomorrow we'll be burning notes in caves
when no one will accept the pound

Now it seems as though England's under a spell
and will only further decline
And though it's deserved, it still hurts like hell
Our sun set, it doesn't shine

We can all remember when Frogs and Wogs
and Huns and Micks all bowed down
Today Kaffirs write award-winning books
but reject the prize when it's in pounds

№ 715: Have A NICE Day

QUICK MARTY, THE DeLOREAN (October 29)


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(with apologies to James Rado, Gerome Ragni and Galt MacDermot)

When a loon is in the White House
and “presidents” aligned with “tsars”
combined destroy the planet
and Musk leaves Earth for Mars,
this is the dawning of the Age of Apocalypse
the Age of Apocalypse
Apocalypse
Apocalypse
Idiotic politicians
discovering new divisions
making ever worse decisions
expounding cock-eyed visions
infesting every nation
de-stroy civ-il-iz-a-tion
Apocalypse
Apocalypse
When a loon lived in the White House
and “presidents” aligned with “tsars”
combined destroyed the planet
and Musk left Earth for Mars,
that was the dawning of the Age of Apocalypse
the Age of Apocalypse
Apocalypse
Apocalypse
Apocalypse
Apocalypse
Apocalypse

[corrected 10/30/2019, 9:47 am to add music credit]

№ 681: Fool Britannia!

French was the mother tongue of every English king from William the Conqueror (1066–1087) until Henry IV (1399–1413). Henry IV was the first to take the oath in English, and his son, Henry V (1413–1422), was the first to write in English. — “Anglo-Norman language”, Wikipedia

DOWNTHEBREXITWHOLE (September 11)

From William I to Henry IV

when at the Royal Court you were called for,

to understand what your king had to say

the language you spoke would be français.

NOT Shakespearean English iambic pentameter!

(Nobody ever spoke in that manner.)

In those days (please pardon the stench),

the “King's English” was Norman-Old French.

Later, of course, came those George's in ermine

who, in fact, mostly spoke German.

Still later, the Stuarts ascended the throne.

They, being Scots, spoke a language unknown.

Moral:

Dear Boris,

You should be ashamed.

“Boris”? 
How's that

A GOOD ENGLISH NAME?

№ 676: Boris Trumps Whilst Trump Bores Us

WISHWEWERENOTHERE (September 4)

Boris is such a discombobulator.
Makes our Donnie look like a third grader.
Which, of course, we knew he was.
This pompous, pathetic lizard of ours.

When nations suffer electoral quirks
you end up with governments headed by jerks.
We should (maybe) rethink divine rights and kings
if clowns are what democracy brings.

№ 673: Be Little Britain

DELUSION, ENGLAND (September 1)

There will always be an England
though it may extend
no more than King Henry's arm*
beyond the River Thames.

There will always be an England,
Boris feels it in his gut.
Yet there are those who would contend
Boris is a nut.

There will always be an England
although it deflates
into a protectorate
of the United States.

There will always be and England
if only to enhance
the inflated self-importance
of the denizens of France.

There will always be an England
because if there were not
what would be the point of being
an Irishman or Scot?

There will always be an England
and all that that entails
otherwise there'll be no need
for a Prince of Wales.

“There will always be an England,”
is how I'll end this sermon.
Were it not for Anglo-Saxons,
you'd be reading this in 𝕲𝖊𝖗𝖒𝖆𝖓.
—————————————
*William of Malmesbury's Deeds of the Kings of England records that during the reign of Henry I “the measure of his arm was applied. . .” The folktale that the length was bounded by the king's nose was added some centuries later. — Wikipedia

№ 649: A Meditation On Olde England

NOT CAMELOT (July 29)

Though shopkeepers may now be “foreign”,
though Eton's field are now deserted,
though Rolls and Bentley are owned by the Germans,
the Irish and Scots are still reliably vermin.
(As is who else? Ah, yes! The Welsh.)

The Guy Fawkes set remain a threat
to our shriveling Anglican hierarchy.
J. Corbyn's crew, though they are few,
could, given time, pose a problem or two.

Still England stands, if she no longer commands
admiration and fealty of lesser lands.
Except America, where, though they often regret it,
they still look to us. (The Yanks never get it.)

Boris Bumptious, forever presumptuous,
decided we're better alone
and set out to sea as blind as can be
without GPS or a plan to get home.

Believing himself the reincarnation
of Royal Alfred or even Arthur,
thinking he would outfox all Europe,
forgetting they find us a bit of a bother.

We will not benefit if he throws a fit
and Europe shows us the door.
Can we turn to America? Those distant cousins
who'll likely chortle whilst rolling on floor?

It is impossible to predict in advance
the weary end to this dreary dance.
England's interest will not be advanced
if she is seen as a down-market France.

№ 645: Ever More Boris

LITTLE BRITAIN (July 23)

How long do you think it will be

before Boris knows it’s not 1903,

that the sun’s long since set

on the old Empire,

that with him “in command”

the U.K could expire?

Before he ships convicts out to Australia?

Renews border conflict with Venezuela?

Before his hired Hessians extinguish rebellion?

Before he rebuilds the navy and makes it swell again?

When he meets with the Queen in his phantasmagoria

will he realize Her Majesty is not Victoria?

Johnson’s premiership came slow and can’t last

because the future is never the past.

№ 644: Mr. Johnson Regrets (a history lesson)

LITTLE BRITAIN (July 22)

“There will always be an England,”

is what we used to say,

before Boris Bumptious

gave it all away

by turning back the calendar

to the time before

when Britain was divided

and there was a score

of dueling petty “kingdoms",

not one of which was "Great”

let alone “United”,

let alone a state

in any sense resembling

what Britain would become

from Land's End to John o' Groats and

a never setting sun,

until undone by history

as empires ever are,

a process Boris can't reverse.

Grande Bretagne, au revoir.

№ 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

№ 633: Headlines

HERE AND NOW (July 7)

British ambassador calls Donald inept.

(Speak of a secret but poorly kept.)

UN declares climate outlook is bleak,

a brand new disaster at least once a week.

Iran's giving up on nuclear deal.

(Additional proof Trump's a schlemiel?)

Meanwhile at Brexit, could be Johnson's thing

is playing the part of Jacobin king.

Book: Trump calls AOC “Evita”.

(Who wudda guessed he knew from da theata?)

The people of Hong Kong it seems wish to die.

If so, Premier Xi will oblige. By-and-bye.

Our sperm counts are falling. This is a crisis.

Who can we blame? Latinos or ISIS?

Evangelicals continue their Trump adoration,

succumbing to his satyr's “salvation”.

Ex-GOPer toys with White House run,

calls for impeachment. Lordy, what fun!

Feds arrest billionaire. Under-age sex.

(Maybe he runs for president next?)

And though I confess I do not care much,

in “football” our women defeat the Dutch.

№ 608: Brexit Cont'd.

THERE'LL ALWAYS BE AN ENGLAND BUT IT NOT BE SO GREAT, June 2

Nigel Farage, plenipotentiary,
from a far, far long gone
previous century
when Britannia was grand
ruling the waves,
minting pounds sterling
from peasants and slaves.

Oh, to return to
those days of old when
everyone did
what Westminster told them.
Farage could be right.
As could Boris Johnson.
Is Nigel Holmes
to Boris's Watson?

Fiddle-dee-dee.
Hey diddle-deedle.
Sing all in chorus,
“Quick, Boris, the needle!?”