Monthly Archives: August 2018

The President honors one of his GOP fallen friends with a little flag waving. With friends like Don who needs eulogies?

True Colours.

When a mighty ‘Merican hero has passed
The White House flag stays at half-mast,
Till the last effuse eulogy has been expressed
And the fallen warrior is laid to his final rest.

It might fly for a day, could be a week
Before he goes to ground, so to speak,
But these days our bold new President
Is showing he’s above displays of sentiment.

Now, on Dons House, it flutters only half a day,
It’s petty and petulant, but ain’t that Dons way?
A new low, but the way this President’s carrying on
A dip of flag will do when it’s time up for Don.

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John McCain and the president. Never got on then, not getting on now, even with one gone. Though, for once, Don seems lost for words.

Edgewise.

With the sad demise of John McCain
The President made his feelings plain,
A White House tribute he will not entertain.

Oh, he sent out his condolences with a tweet,
His hoary old ‘thoughts’n’prayers,’ short and sweet,
But a busy President has plans, so message complete.

Johns untimely passing causes Don a pang of remorse,
Don’s brooding that time, like money, is a finite resource-
Johns going’s gone and ruined his entire day at the golf course.

Sliding towards the edge, and things are getting flaky at the edge. The hope is to try to hold on and get to the other side, not slip over the edge.

The Man In The Mirror.

It’s winter and I’m of melancholy air,
Summer, months away leaves me in despair,
Cold indifference abounds, no-one seems to care,
Yes, I know, no-one said life was fair.

The Good Book leaves me painfully aware
That God doesn’t think I’m worth a prayer,
Every night is a dark sleepless nightmare,
A sunny morning countenance, all too rare.

I stand before the bathroom mirror and stare,
Reflecting back is a madman’s maniacal glare,
See the troubled eyes, the twisted tousled hair-
Don’t we two make an unprepossesing pair?

Yet our problems are mine alone to share,
And that depressing bastard isn’t going anywhere,
My fear is if he stays I’ll go completely spare-
Please change the mirror, I don’t care to see him there.

Australian politics moves beyond a joke into the realms of farce. Australia fair to Aussie nightmare, overnight.

Pass The Chalice?

Of Malcolm Turnbull
They’d had a gutsful,
So Peter Dutton
Shoved his butt-in.

Then sweet Julie Bishop
Tried to wish up
Some more support
But came up short.

Late, late in the day
A joker came into play,
Dutton viewed with displeasure
Gods little treasure.

Grovelling promises made,
Old debts being repaid,
In this two horse race
Who’d wear the long face?

Thank God Barnaby Joyce
Was lost for choice.

So now who’ve they got?
Oh God, not-so-great Scott!

For Big Bad Pete
It’s ignominious defeat;
Don’t let the coup you mount
Leave you out for the count.

For Pete and his mate,
Time, again, to commiserate,
Back, back to the back benches
Shoveling shit deep in the trenches.

There slumps Pete Dutton
Career, hopes, dead as mutton,
Leaving frustrated Tony Abbot
Sadly saying ‘ah fuck it dagnabit.’

Now Mal’s bitten the dust
So in Scott we must trust,
Time to let our new PM speak;
He could be gone by next week.

The presidents lawyer pleads guilty, his campaign manager is found guilty all on the one day. So much guilt, so much association.

Moral Dilemma.

As the miserable and manacled Manafort leaves the Court
Donald offers this fine felon his sympathetic support;
Doesn’t offering comfort to a fraud set to serve a lifetime
Seem at odds with the presidents hard line on crime?

It depends if your collars
Lily white or sweat-soaked blue,
And if you have millions of dollars
And Don can forgive- or pardon- you.

But mention his cheap lawyer and Don has not a word,
No thanks to Mike for the good services he procured,
Shouldn’t Don be screaming blue murder and high treason?
Its so disquieting seeing Don display rectitude, with reason.

For what might Mueller’s mob learn
Should they happen to turn the worm?
Might Mikes words make Dons ears burn,
Or worse, lock in the Prez for another term?

Rudy Giuliani, Trumps lawyer, says of his oh-so-innocent client; ‘I’m not going to be rushed into having him testify so he gets trapped into perjury.’ Tell it to the judge, Rudy.

True Story.

Mr Giuliani, please tell us more,
Since you’re well practiced at law
Do tell us, how in your learned view
The truth appears to look to Don and you?

In all your lawyerly twists and turns
Are there times the ol’ truth still burns?
When did that fiery-eyed highly principled youth
Find cold hard cash trumps poor unvarnished truth?

Rudy’s found its quite a trial to remember,
In all conscience, when last stirred an ember,
The truth (and Don’s fee) weigh heavy on his shoulder,
But it truly pays to say ‘truths in the eye of the beholder.’

Should some shady lady claim an affair,
Feelin’ free to tell a tale the Media will share,
A gold-digger who’d delight in having her say in Court,
Don don’t lie, awake at night, her silence can be bought.

Any criticism Don finds unfair, unjust and tough to take,
So he he stretches facts by saying their facts are fake,
Till it dawned on Don ‘why not lie without shame?’
To him, truth or lies, they’re all the same.

 

The President might be thin-skinned but he’s a fighter. Now we sit back and see the shi… ahem, the fur fly.

Animus.

Omarosa was once Don’s dear and trusted adviser,
So what is it she’s done to make him despise her?
Well, since she’s been fired shes written a tell-all book,
A record of the colorful conversations in which he partook.

She says he used the nasty word, he denies all such dialogue
And now they’re rolling in the gutter fighting like cat and dog,
There sure ain’t no love lost between these old erstwhile friends
As manners go down the drain, into the swamp decorum descends.

Again the sly old dog digs into his trusty grab-bag of dirty tricks,
Don knows of old how to put the squeeze on low, lying chicks-
Yet his catastrophic brush with Bush on the bus gives him pause-
Best hope his big bad bark will cause her to withdraw her claws.

As Ivanka frenziedly re-edits every episode in ‘The Apprentice’
Shifty-eyed Ms Huckabee says Omarosa is non compos mentis,
But parroting weasel words leaves Huckabee unutterably sad,
She’s found it’s the old hound who is utterly barking mad.