Category Archives: Black humor

Donald takes a moment to deal with irksome issues. Well, it’s been a memorable week, for any number of reasons.

What Numbers Really Count?

Fly high that flag,
Strike up that band,
Don don’t wanna brag
But ain’t US grand?

‘Merica still is Number One
When totting up the covid tally,
But don’t sum up, the fun’s just begun
As Dons supporters begins to rally.

Combine Britain, Italy and Spain
And USA stays top o’ the heap,
‘Merica beats Brazil by twice again,
But that’s a record Don can keep.

He’s unbelievably willing and able
To show us he’s a gen-u-ine genius,
Red based and so rock solidly stable;
So he oh so incessantly tells us.

In Donald’s Disunited States
Since this ‘little flu’ took hold
US surpassing all mortality rates
Ironically left many Don supporters cold.

Respectfully dropping standards to half-mast
Don knew what he had to do,
Donald acted, and acted fast
By opening up and smiling through.

But don’t you feel danged proud,
Don’t it thrill  chill your mortal soul
To repurpose Old Glory as a funeral shroud,
Helping hide a Memorable veterans toll?

One hundred thousand covid dead,
And lo, that number’s growing,
Unmasked, unchecked, see it spread
Wither the fu fickle winds a’blowing.

Through Don’s impressive leadership
The sad bad numbers keep on rising,
Don won’t let his impassive mask slip.
Figures; he’s quite adept at disguising.

Donny has surpassed the highest test,
‘Merica must always takes first place,
Amongst Don’s GreaT people he’s the best,
Their truly exceptional special case.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Don stands shadowed by his flapping flag,
Teary of eye, tremulous of hand,
These numbers do  make his shoulders sag-
He’ll never get his ball out of the sand.

 

©Obbverse

Dominic Cummings; The myth, the man, the mealy-mouthed but not sorry explanations, and then, that high borne miasma.

The New Asstocracy.

Oh, how I long to be just like Always Right Dominic,
To fly in the face of rules, regulations and simple logic,
To ignore draconian strictures, to freely Range Roverly roam,
Really drive that massive sense of entitlement 420 miles home.

No ‘Hi Boris, bye, its bestie Dom, I’m blowing this town,
I’m driving up to the pater’s farm till my fever’s died down,’
No, Dom just upped and left his locked-down London precinct
Driving 420 miles fuelled on pure arrogance and ‘parental instinct.’

No Number Ten man can control Mister Cumming-or-going
for the man who advises the PM is so all wise and all knowing,
And the PM understands the ordeal poor Dom’s been through;
For the elite true blue few it’s always ‘Do as we say, not as we do.’

For the first time ever, Don faces a moral dilemma. (Hmm, that sounds a bit of an oxymoron, don’t it?)

Real Job Of Work.

With the Prez’s GreaT economy now tanking
And Donny’s once vaunted Wall Street taking a spanking
Don has had to choose what’s the most worthy case-
Reviving his ailing economy or his trusty old white base?

Surprise- Billionaire Don’s in for a penny!

Suddenly Don’s stocks are tumbling, even in Fox’s ranking-
Even with the Golden Oldie support on which he’s been banking,
Donald’s economy must open, poor oldies can shelter in place,
It’s high time some puzzled grizzled retirees saw Don’s other face.

Folks, that face is butt one of many.

How to not go shooting in the woods. Prompted by the Chelsea Owens Hilarity contest. Oh, and sponsored by Smokey the Bear.

Dumber Jack.

Jack the Lad could barely wait to turn twenty-one,
To cast his vote, to drive, drink, (legal-like) and tote a gun,
To pick the biggest baddest gun you’ve ever seen,
To play the part, just like in that Soldier Of Fortune magazine.

Off out to the woods he went to bag him a bear,
Or a boar, a deer, doe or buck- a duck, Jack didn’t care,
Through thicket underbrush and bosk Jack barged,
In his blundering search only his smart phone wound up discharged.

As the warm autumnal sun began to wane
Our hunter looked for any game, in vain,
In his ceaseless aim he couldn’t, wouldn’t stop;
Still as graceless as a bull in a china shop.

There wasn’t a critter to be found for miles around
As he trampled his way through his unhappy hunting ground-
Finding fording a stream is done at a huntsman’s peril-
A cruel cool baptism resulting in blown-out knee and twisted barrel.

So, cold, wet, lost in the woods as it grows dark,
Sat nav and phone flat, ah, but Jack’s quite the bright spark,
His safety match strikes, the dry leaves catch fire!
Remains to be seen, if anyone ever finds Jacks funeral pyre.

Sadly it’s time to roll the end credits for Little Richard and Roy ‘Vegas’ Horn.

Two For The Show- A Two Part Obit.

A Bit About Roy.

At seventy-five the show’s over Siegfried’s Roy
He’s been escorted upstairs by Gods winged envoy,
His rough reviews could have ended many years ago
But his bloody big beastly tiger went and let him go.

A Little Bit About Little Richard.

So, the legendary Little Richard’s also done his dash,
That Tutti-Frutti guy with the pencil-thin moustache;
The mascaraed showman with that touch of panache
Has been booked by Saint Peter for one last big bash.

Pete, toss those harps and flowers off Mr Richard’s cloud,
Pete, get that Baby Grand from under it’s funereal shroud,
Little Richard’s gonna kick ass in this conservative crowd,
Lawdy, he’s playing that ‘ol Devil Music, proud and LOUD.

 

©Obbverse.

There’s something amiss going on at the White House, and it’s getting closer to home every day for the worst- oops, First Family.

White House Woes.

‘Dear Mr President, it grieves me to say
I’m sick, so won’t be in to serve today,
I’m ever so sorry,’ your favourite valet-
‘It’s a case of Covid, I’m positively afraid.’

‘My dear Mr Vice-President Pence
I’m sick too, so you’ll have to dispense
With my dealing with the Press’s comments,’
Fake regards, Katie Miller, Press Aide.

‘Dear Ivanka, it’s your Personal Ass here,
I can no longer kowtow to your every need, I fear,
I do hope I’ve not spread more than good cheer.’
‘Good luck,’ your gofer/dogsbody/dress maid.

 

©Obbverse

Governor Kemp opens Georgia for business, and the hell with some potential irritating minor infections.

 
Brother Brian’s Economic Revival Show.

Governor Kemp’s sweatin’ on gettin’ Georgia’s economy going,
Some may even justifiably say Brian is in a damned awful hurry,
He wants to get cash flowing even as Covid cases keep growing,
Being morally bankrupt means spreading death’s less of a worry.

‘Buy that first Big Mac, spring for a tat, slug down that latte,
Go Mall strolling, go ten-pin bowling, grab that full massage,
Catch up with old friends, plan for a weekend long party,
Invite in-laws, outlaws, gather together the entire entourage.’

Governor Kemp’s decision has been peremptorily made,
Kemp’s health experts advised him to go slowly but surely,
But his wealthy cohorts exert the upper hand, I’m afraid;
Will Quickdraw come to rue playing his hand prematurely?

 

©Obbverse