The tale of a tape, or trying to splice and dice, to piece together the Don and Comey Comedy Show. Maybe it’s turning into farce?

Sound Bites.

Those tapes about Comey Trump brought up?
Just another fabrication Don thought up.

Now Don don’t like where the investigations going,
Just like his nose, Dons paranoia keeps on growing.

Now Robert Mueller may face the sack,
Bob, better shut your eyes or watch your back.


Looking up to big brother.

Night Follows Day.

He stands looking out from the double wide,
Another restless night leaving him red eyed,
So tired of the weariness that’s bone deep,
But with a mind so wired it wouldn’t sleep.

Out in the damned desert he hears a coyote cry,
Yap-yapping at a thin sallow moon up in the sky,
Slowly the echo of its brainless baying trails away,
Just another mongrel that;s overspent its stay.

How the Hell did it all come to this?
When did all the hits begin to miss?
He looks up at the moon with a silent scream;
Fading away in El Mirage, living the bad dream.

Now how he bitterly recalls the rich life he’s tasted,
The days of skating through life permanently wasted,
No more rolling past the ladies, six pack taut and trim
And knowing they were lingeringly looking back at him.

The desert wind riffled through his sun streaked hair,
He turns to to face the cooling breeze- which ain’t there,
Here, even in the bleakness of the Arizona night
The desert offers no cold comfort, no respite.

He gives a cough and then coughs again,
He’d give his right hand to see a spit of rain,
He lifts that heavy hand, drags on his cigarette
And gazes through the haze with some regret.

He’s never been one for maudlin thought
But the nights are long and days are short,
So he silently flicks the but from his hand
And watches it spark and sputter in the sand.

Those damn Marlboros have left their mark
He muses, peering out at a night so deep and dark,
He pulls a pack from the pocket of his shirt,
In light of the surgeons report, another sure won’t hurt.


Off on the sidebar, a name stands out. RIP, Ms Pallenberg.

Up There In The Skies.

The Grim Reaper has come for Anita,
This causes quite the conundrum for St. Peter,
She’s no angel, God (and nigh on everyone) knows,
And when it came to trouble she had quite the nose.

She had trials and tribulations- by the score,
But her transgressions St Peter chooses to ignore,
So she will get her set of harp, halo and wings because
If anyone knows about heads up in the clouds, she does.


A right couple of clever clogs, these two. It’s all downhill for Nick Timothy and Fiona Hill. And Theresa May.

A Shoe-in?

Who gave Theresa May such bad advice?
Nick and Fiona will pay the heavy price.

Though it;s true Theresa did not QUITE lose
There’s few who want to be in their shoes.

Two close advisors plotted her course;
Two total asses on their high horse.

They advised Theresa the way to win
Wasn’t to enter debate but woodenly grin.

So the Conservatives have them to thank
For a leader with the charisma of a plank.

Their clever strategy told voters they should
Vote for a woman rendered as dumb as wood.

Somehow a pyrrhic victory has been won
And the portioning of blame has begun.

Her gruesome twosomes long term plan
Has turned out short-sightedly myopian.

Their bone-headed blundering beyond dispute
They’re walking before they get Theresa’s boot.

Seven weeks ago Theresa May had it all;
Now, along with Don, its backs to the wall.

She puts up a a brave front because she’s painfully aware
Of all the toe tapping Tories waiting to kick HER derriere.


Awash with spatters of red, blue bloods running around in horror- Parliament Movies presents- ‘Fright Night’ in gorious Technicolor! See- Theresa May look aghast! Hear- the screams of battered backbenchers! Feel the angst!

Fright Night.

The sun rose bold and bright
After Great Britain’s polling day,
But all was not sweetness and light
In the Household of Theresa May.

As the race closed, Tess’s face pinched tight
when she saw the vote wasn’t going her way,
This poor PM looked a sad and sorry sight;
Ms May looked the very personification of dismay.

But who can she blame for her present plight?
Her once sunny future is looking grimly grey,
Who turned out to prove she was wrong- and Right?
Those Left, the hoi poloi, Corbyn’s oh-so common clay.


Rex spends four hours in New Zealand, Here spreading the love, Rex receives a great big hand- Or a part thereof.

A Little Birdie…

In Wellington Rex failed to see a single welcoming banner;
Still, the peasantry hailed him in a most singular manner,
The cheering crowd he’d thought he’d seen and heard
Turned out to be jeering and giving him the bird.

Wellington is where, for Rex it began to unravel;
Tillerson got their message about sex and travel.


Don Off On The Weather.

Inconceivable But True.

When it comes to man-made changes in the weather
Don doesn’t wish to be part of a global get together,
He believes emission wise America’s second worst,
Don won’t be happy until America comes first.

Trust Don to keep on doing what he’s good at doing,
Pulling out of Paris keeps Pennsylvania’s votes accruing,
For HIS America its great news, for Mother Nature- too bad;
Don kept his promise to withdraw- why didn’t his dear ol’ Dad?


Paris, city of romance, where the joys of spring wither in an old mans heart.

Don leaves the Paris Agreement, a true denier,
Another hope for change heaped on the bonfire,
Lets dredge up the oil, slash back the clean and green,
it’s back to the future time for Don in twenty seventeen.

When it came to Paris Don decided the Accord
Was a lot of hot air his Great State couldn’t afford,
After a little thought one conclusion was easy to find;
Don chose to close his ears, his eyes and his tiny mind.

In the Rose Garden his retorts and reports did resound,
The perfect setting for a crowd with heads in the ground,
Airy assurances won’t dispel those odious White house gasses,
Three years on let’s hope his painful flatu- oops, petulance passes.


Dang it, am I defending Don or the indefensible? Kathy Griffin out the door.

A Welter Of Criticism.

Yes, Kathy, you were wise to sincerely apologize,
Your truncating of Trump caused us to cover our eyes,
To see our poor Presidents pate so graphically debased
Passed past the bounds of satire into the depths of bad taste.

We ain’t agin the demagogic Don being comically depicted,
But we cannot condone your mocking the obviously afflicted,
Pushing what’s acceptable in comedy is tricky, so why abuse it?
Yes, he’s the complete big head, but you know he cain’t use it.