Category Archives: Black humor

President Trump seeks answers to the question HE poses about his own personality? Well, he did ask.

Pity Party At Egos Anonymous.

Sometimes when you wake up feeling sad and blue
On a rare blue moon when doubt bedevils even you,
When the wife’s heart feels cold, the future looks bleak
It’s time to lay your burden down and stand up and speak.

Don is prepared to bare his very soul- if he must,
Though heeding others opinion fills him with disgust.

‘Hello, my name is Donald and I’m a Selfish Neurotic,
Though those in my party prefer the term ‘quixotic,’
And now, as I think back on four hard fraught years
Thinking of a future past November brings me to tears.’

‘Why, suddenly no-one wants to be my Bestie?
Now all my good ol’ boys and Yes-men detest me.’

It’s a rare privilege seeing this side of Donald J. Trump,
In many a throat there his mawkish tale raises a lump,
There he stands, a broken man with his token friends
Ever deeper into self-pitying he maudlinly descends.

‘So, everybody dislikes me because of my personality?’
For once everyone freely agrees with Don, like, totally.

What thoughts spring to the Mighty Ones mind as we march towards the third of November?

Going Postal.

A day after another inauspicious red letter day-
150,000 Coronavirus victims went on their way-
Donald turns away from figures that make him squirm
And focuses his GreaT mind on securing a second term.

Dons polling is of concern, despite what he does say,
From where he sits perhaps its time to kneel and pray?
Or since Roger Stone’s now free to come up with a suggestion
He’ll open the whole Democratic Election system into question?

In his empowered position Don feels a powerful need to stay,
So now’s no better time to suggest just a slight election day delay,
An election free of mail voting, who could think of anything greater?
Like his Pandemic plan Don vows he’s bound to get to it, sooner or… later.

©Obbverse

Even among those who truly do believe it’s said that life ain’t fair. Now, from the depths of these dark Covid days, out of deepest Michigan, does one hear a faint forlorn ‘hallelujah?’ A warning: Very dark humour.

The Lords Calling.

This Coronavirus does not discriminate
Between the low sinner or the high saint,
For those shown the fickle finger of fate
Some truly believe they have reason for complaint.

In one Michigan nunnery the book tells a sad story,
Despite many a rosary rolled and crosses kissed
Thirteen nuns have been prematurely called to glory,
Thirteen unlucky brides of Christ, sadly missed.

A life of bending the knee to help fallen mothers,
A life where the Good Book is unfailingly right,
A life where sinful pleasures are reserved for others,
A nuns life is black and white and buttoned down tight.

Nuns who’ve spent many long years serving the Lord
In the hope of being taken- eventually- up to Paradise,
Vows of poverty and chastity for only promised reward?
Does ones poor grey short life seem one hell of a sacrifice?

Let us hope when one is consigned to earth
That ones belief remained eternally strong,
And let us pray, for what it’s damn well worth
That ones last thought ain’t ‘Jesus, was I wrong?’

(I do feel for the loss; Though I may not believe I can hope their belief is not misplaced.)

©Obbverse.

Don deigns to give an interview to Chris Wallace on Fox; This time Fox doesn’t roll over for Don. Bad Chris Wallace! Bad boy!

Wallace And Vomit.

Donald sat down to do another fawning Fox interview
But Wallace tried to keep Don on the straight and true,
Don responded with his usual pouting pique and rancour-
This was not the usual unctuous behaviour of a Fox anchor!

Chris had upset the finest of well-scripted double acts,
Swiftly Don back-handed Wallace his ‘alternative facts,’
Don was petulant, peeved pissed off and confounded-
No President willingly trots out onto Fox to be hounded.

Don doesn’t wish to to illuminate, he prefers dark misdirection,
To confuse,  obfuscate, divide and misrule to wangle another election,
Leaving Don sweating in the spotlight ain’t what Chris is paid to do;
Donald’s memo strongly suggests a change in Foxes personnel is due.

 

©Obbverse

In these touchy times the high-flying aviation-fuelled travel industry is whining down. Seems most people like staying safe and secure at home. Most.

Fly, My Pretties!

These are painful days
For those in aviation,
Passengers preferring home-stays
And stowing the vacation.

There’s hardly anyone flying,
There’s little cash flow,
Even with rebates applying
Where the Hell to go?

I’m not flying anywhere
El Cheapo fares or not
I daren’t fly Ryanair-
Certainly not fu- flying Aeroflot.

Thanks to Covid 19
People cain’t safely roam,
It’s weeks in quarantine
Or stay safe at home.

Littering up every airport,
Aircraft from every land,
Long haul Dreamliners, caught short
Flightlessly sit and stand.

Airbuses and Bombardiers abound,
There’s buttloads of big-as Boeings
Settling into the soggy ground,
ain’t no comings or goings.

Now travel’s reached an impasse
Retain all tickets and receipts,
Once the plane’s kicked off the grass
We’ll happily hold your seats.

Still, in the States
Passengers still take flight,
Despite soaring infection rates,
It’s their unrestricted Right.

There there’s no travel ban,
Fly off where’er you please,
Be a high-steppin’ travellin’ man,
Ignore that infectious sneeze.

Some  refuse to be tied down,
Some have deadlines to meet,
At another place, another town,
Scything down from 20,000 feet.

So, fasten your safety belt,
Breath that recirculated air,
Offer up a prayer, heartfelt
That you’ve packed clean underwear.

Only a brave foolhardy few
Spread wings and fly,
If that someone is you
Good luck, and goodbye.

 

©Obbverse

 

 

 

Donald Trump and the artifice of the Courthouse Deal. First, lean a finger on the scales, then give Blind Lady Justice a poke in the eye.

Dishonourable Discharge.

Roger Jason Stone, liar, dirty trickster and cheat,
Guilty of every damn charge on his long rap sheet,
Convicted of the sin of perjury by a jury of his peers,
A criminal who deserves to be sent down for years.

But no fear of confinement ol’ Roguish Roger faces
For Mr Stone has low friends in the highest places,
Although his complete culpability cannot be disputed
He just knows his just sentence must be commuted.

From looking at three years and four months in jail
Roger finds he doesn’t have to raise a sweat- or bail,
What a GreaT reward for the GOPs consummate liar,
Plucked out of frying pan, slithering back into the mire.

Now Don’s ‘Drain The Swamp’ cry has the ring of fiction,
‘Lock Her up!’ somehow lacks, unlike Roger, real conviction,
So run free,  mean moody and Machiavellian Mr Stone;
But Don, know it’s by your creepy company you’re known.

Still, it gives you pause
To consider what would cause
Dodgy Don to cut a crook a even break-
Double-dealer Don, for philanthropy’s sake!

Sooo, why does Don feel the unjustified need to intervene,
Help Rog the Rat, who’s spent his life nose down the latrine?
Does Roger have some dirt on Don in his deep bag of tricks
For Donald to forgive the most unconscionable of pricks?

©Obbverse

Colourful character Brazilian President Bolsonaro contracts a Covid cough; Sounds like a case of Karma to me.

Sniff.

So, the Brazilian President has a teeny touch of the flu.
Boo hoo.
Both green and red-faced, but consumptively battling through.
Aaaatishoo!

‘Simply donning a mask could’ve protected me- and you?’
WHO knew?
Now he thinks wrapping a mask over his mouth is the right thing to do?
Waaaaay overdue.

He could have picked the itchy nose he had as his first clue;
It grew.
He sees the look in the grave eyes of his masked medical crew.
Code Blue.

©Obbverse

A slightly perverse offering for Lucy’s Works/ Horror House Wednesday flash fiction #4. (Another one to toss into the Shlock Mock Horror vaults.)

(The prompt as supplied; ‘Isn’t this… romantic?’  “You’re a psychopath.”)

Work In Progress.

‘Isn’t this… romantic?’
You’re a psychopath.”
‘I’m trying to be empathic
So let’s not make this a bloodbath.’

‘What my psychiatrist proposes
Is I indulge in empathetic thinking-
So here’s a bunch of wine and roses
For your nose and for our drinking.’

‘Your eyes look wary and distrustful
Even as my finest Cabernet you sup,
Do my cold eyes turn red and lustful
As I see scarlet dripping from your cup?’

‘I’ve prepared a five-star meal,
Fois gras, truffles and sirloin steak,
My culinary eye can scarce conceal
The chef’s made an all too rare mistake.’

Her sweet face taut with leaden lividity,
Her tender mouth ceases its idle talk,
My eye falls with a dreaming avidity
Upon her gleaming knife and fork.

‘I swore I’d strain to show restraint
But you see the truth, you know I lie,
Now you look like you’ve seen a haint-
Now the knife points out your blind eye.’

It’s the nature of the beast
To take a lamb to slaughter,
My famine has turned into a feast
And my loves blood flows like water.

 

©Obbverse

Beneath Mount Rushmore Donald Trump looks up from his speech, stops talking and takes a moment to think…

Big Bust.

Don longingly looks up at Mount Rushmore,
At that monumentally stone-faced famous four,
Musing that it’s high time to make room for one more,
Who’s fine face would be a Great fit in this al fresco decor?

Not Obama, not Clinton, someone less blue, more red,
But it’s a ‘no’ too to two-term Reagan, too long dead,
Someone with stone-cold business smarts instead?
Well, he comes complete with rocks in his head.

 

©Obbverse

Donald J. Trump, or in his mind, the Lone Ranger; The latest mutterings and musings from behind the mask. Hi-Yo psychosis away!

Who Sees A Problem?

Has our unmasked hero decided to stand up?
Donnny says he has masked up and manned up,
He says that mask makes him look like the Lone Ranger-
No more will he be laughing loonily in the face of danger.

But the Lone Ranger wore his mask to cover his eyes
Not as a medical protector but as a personal disguise,
Then, Don feared wearing a mask wouldn’t look Presidential, right?
Pushing a mouth mask up over his peepers, now don’t he look a sight?

Hey, even getting Don to consider any mask ranks as a bonus-
As his long-standing contemptuous sniffing at Corona’s shown us-
So even if he stumblingly emerges from the darkness, dimly blinking
At least it’s one baby-step on his journey out of blind blinkered thinking.

©Obbverse