Category Archives: Black humor

Israel Folau, revered rugby player, claims- sermonises- that unrepentant sinners are the cause of Australia’s forest fires. Where’s a bolt of lightning from above when you need one?

Jesus Wept.

So, high and mighty Israel Folau,
You’ve flaming gone and done it now,
Our devout Christian-cum-climate denier
Claims sinfulness leads to forest- and Hellfire.

My flagging faith won’t be restored
By this empty-headed vessel of the Lord,
I pray St Peter has this sermon on record
When Israel goes to his final reward.

But I’ve heard that God does love a trier,
So might this unrepentant soul enquire,
Oh wise and enlightened Israel Folau
Who made you mightier than thou?

Roger Stone, a loyal Trumpian Republican trickster who’s lies bullyings and intimidations have landed him in State incarcer- accommodation. So, who will he turn to?

The Company You Keep.

Alas, poor miserable Roger Stone,
Into the slammer he’s been thrown,
Another Trump flunky lies in the hole
Unless Don has mercy on his craven soul.

The cells are where many dodgy deals are done,
Will Don take Rog’s call, begging Dons pardon?
In some dark sun-baked states liars get stoned,
In Dons half-baked State is perjury condoned?

Losing faith in a tin potty mouthed God? Thoughts after Don went to the fight.

Revelation.

The mildest of gosh darned blasphemies
Once drove Right(eous) evangelists to their knees,
Now that they have accepted Trump as their Savior
They’ll have to accept his unpardonable behavior.

After Stormy they really needed Gods advice,
Should not an amorous adulterer pay a stiff price?
The true believers of Trump use that inspired line-
‘To err is human, but to forgive Don, divine.’

But have even the devoutest disciples begun
To question the veracity of their ill-Chosen one?
Good Lord, what would sweet Jesus do if he heard
Don tweet and repeat that Motherf***er of a word?

The President is known to speak forthrightly
But a drunken sailor could speak more politely,
Are a few ex-believers now feeling voters remorse
Hearing Dons rude attempts at social intercourse?

I’m of a Conservative mind,
In Gods words comfort I find,
But if I use my God given-brain
I can’t forgive Don the Profane.

Hallelujah, the scales have fallen from my eyes-
His words and (Miss) deeds serve only to demonise-
That Motherf***er word rings loud and clear,
I’m the victim of believing in a false profiteer.

Now Don’s tweets are down to another level,
He sounds less demi-god than foul mouthed devil,
It’s dispiriting to find Dons not a blessing, but perverse,
And hearing that Motherf***er is a God-awful curse.

The President steps up and strikes out at the Washington Nationals baseball game. At least he got a well deserved Bronx cheer.

Drop Out In Right Field.

Donald went out to the ballgame,
Up he stood, expecting wild acclaim,
But when they called him out by name
Back a chorus of disapproval came,
Don truly wondered who’s to blame;
The shame is, the man knows no shame.

The majority of the polls show most people believe Trump should be impeached. Don must feel the pain deep in his psyche, or deep someplace.

Slippery Slide.

Don’s approval ratings are worse than Tricky Dicks,
That other poor but dishonest Republican,
But Don does believe he’ll rise above it all, like a phoenix,
Not see his Great presidency slither down the pan.

If he fails, and too much of the smelly stuff sticks
Don can easily resort to his master plan,
Dig down into his deep and dark bag of tricks
And call on the base part of his loyal K- clan.

Wash away the Presidents half baked fake politics,
Wipe away the vaingloriously fake tan,
Peer into that chockablock box of Freudian neurotic tics
And behold the child inside the man.

Working through life’s surprising ups and downs, in a manner of speaking. Sadly, true story.

All (Out Of) Sorts.

I am never going to consume licorice ever again;
That sweet Dutch treat I can nevermore entertain,
Last night’s pack of All Sorts, now crumpled cellophane
Leaving me with cold sweats and cramping stomach pain.

I am never going to resume consuming licorice again,
This morning I daren’t stray far from my favoured domain,
My private retreat of stainless steel, white tiles and porcelain,
Were my cubicle further away I fear I couldn’t bear the strain.

I repeat, I’m never going to consume licorice again-
Every step’s a gamble between pot-luck and methane,
Now my appetite for Twizzlers I truly cannot contain,
Gimmie Montezumas Revenge and I won’t complain.

‘Tis a dark, even a black day for the most devoted devout and stout Irish sports fan dis sad day. Commiserations are all I can offer. So sorry. (All Blacks 46 Ireland 14 )

The Cup Runneth, Over.

In public houses up and down the Emerald Isle
There’s many a jar of good Guinness been drunk,
But there’s little good cheer, no, there’s nary a smile,
Only tears in the beer on seeing Cup dreams being sunk.