Category Archives: Black humor

Here comes Christmas, so dutifully we gather around the groaning table- and there goes the neighborhood.

Don’s Capital Idea.

Christmas approaches and we look to the sky
For a shining star to follow- but we get a wise guy,
We look for some sign to to celebrate a saviour’s birth
And we see a dolt in Washington arranging hell on earth.

The Prez, with his customary diplomatic grace
Wishes to move his embassy to a happier place;
Today even Solomon would’ve wisely stuck in Tel Aviv,
In Jerusalem Don won’t believe the welcome he’ll receive.

There will be wild celebrations in half of the town
But once the embassy settles in they’ll settle down,
Unless Don has a change of mind or a change of heart
A grand ground-to-air fireworks display is bound to start.

There are a few who look on from the Arab quarter
With long held grievances, whose fuse grows ever shorter,
From the movers and shakers Don gets their eternal thanks,
For those looking out of place, it’s yet more never-ending tanks.

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Christine Keeler, early sixties girl/woman who brought about the end to John Porfumo, Secretary of War in Britain, is laid to rest. Gone to meet her maker. Is there a subtle way of saying ‘dead’ without it sounding like a double entendre?

A Late Update.

In the obits I read
Kristine Keeler is dead.

What a naughty life she led
But she was pretty good in bed.

She could turn any man’s head.
Fare-thee-well fair lady in red.

Let’s look at all this tinsel and glad tidings, lords a’leaping and convivial yuletide merriment from a slightly cynical point of view. Hey, It’s all about the giving.

That Flippin’ Old Reindeers Tail.

As Christmas cheer and the shortest day quickly draw near
I sneer at those believers in Santa, presents, and flying reindeer,
In matters of Christmas spirit Scrooge and I are of the same view,
The seasons the reason for cold-hearted merchants to turn the screw.

The notion of presents coming in the night?
You’re either six years old or not quite right.

On Christmas Eve I cast a wintry eye o’er the holiday forecast,
News of zero and below brought on bad memories of Christmas past,
As I espied the first falling snowflale I was filled not with joy but sorrow
And the certain knowledge I’d be up to my a- ankles (or deeper) in it tomorrow.

The sight of the snow a’settling on my window ledge
And my cracked-soled size nines put my teeth on edge.

‘Twas midnight when I woke to something clattering on my roof,
Something was afoot, but I couldn’t believe it was something ahoof,
Right up till I stepped out onto the roof my doubts about Kris persisted,
But one look at my shattered shingles confirmed Dasher and Co. existed.

I stood, cursing the Christ…mas out of the falling snow,
Did I hear, up there,a tinkle, a mischievous Yo ho ho?

He had good reason to fly, without goodbye or by-your-leave,
So though I hadn’t actually SEEN him, you bet your ass I believe,
It takes fresh tangible evidence for this sceptic to change his mind,
Sadly Santa- or at least the reindeer- had left heaps of presents behind.

Now ’tis not the chill of icy snow I dread,
It’s that warm sinking feeling wherever I tread.

Little Willie poems piqued my interest again. Dark humour, grim grimaces, eye and stomach rolling four-liners.

Dropping The Act.

Did high-wire Little Willie live to regret
His ill-practiced half pike with a twist?
He should’ve had a little bigger safety net;
Brittle Little Willie will be sadly missed.

White Knuckled Little Willie.

Little Willie went into the freezer box,
Its door contained no interior locks,
Now every new kitchen hand who goes in
And sees Little Willie is left chilled and frozen.

The obituary pages rarely raise a smile, but what strange travelers wait uncomfortably beside the Styx this week?

Gone On.

What a weird week this past week has been,
What an odd mob have departed the scene,
Chuckles Manson, David Cassidy and Malcolm Young,
Two gone too young, one well and truly unstrung.