Breaking news; It’s a dogs life being a news-hound.

Poisoned Pen.

I started my days as a news reporter
Back in the days a paper cost a quarter,
Rarely did I step up onto the front page
But I had a fair trot in the pre-digital age.

I recall the first day I started my paper run,
Up bright and early with 'The Morning Sun,'
But I rose too fast, too high, pushed too far...
Seeing out my days at the fading 'Evening Star.'

But the sorry day that ended with my fall,
It's a sad story I'm not happy to recall,
The tale beginning with 'writers block,'
Ending with my resigned John Hancock.

Every wordsmith asks 'why oh why
Sometimes the words within up and die?'
Sometimes not 'coz the mind's crapped out,
Sometimes the lousy pen's just tapped out.

How can a poor reporter report
When ink and inspiration run short?
How can you stick your account in when
You're stuck with a washed-up fountain pen?

My cheap nasty pen, wot a waste of cash,
Now all it writes is lots of dots... then... dash-
While the words are dancin' in my head
It's lose the pen and get out the lead.

But a pencil is best 2B left for school,
Shorthand soon makes of it a blunt tool,
Plus a pencil has a built-in handicap,
When writing under pressure- SNAP!

So up my shitey pen I did take,
Gripped tight, gave it a mighty shake,
Another black mark for the newsman-
Tossed the bleeding thing in the shit trash can.

From its wretched twisted stuck-up tip
Black As Midnight ink began to darkly drip,
There it lay, its Guaranteed word broken,
A final message can take its time to soak in.

This pen then proved it hadn't dried out,
Silly me- I never clicked it hadn't died out,
My long-time pen-friend I treated so cruel?
Its lifesblood began to viscously pool.

But my fine story I would complete,
This Fleet Street journo won't be beat,
I tentatively asked my Boss for her pen to loan,
No mistaking 'no' when the middle finger's shown.

So I broke the Days story, thanks to a crayon,
Twilight came, I blinked, and the day's gone,
I'd written off the entire day!
Time to clean up, up and away.

My desk, in its usual state of disgrace-
And my Boss demands a pristine workplace,
When it comes to dealing with the crap trash
My method is a sweeping slap-dash.

I upraised the document recycling lid,
Of my balled-up confusions soon be rid;
One problem with the rubbish I write
Is I jam in all I can, bad, good and tight.

Gravity wouldn't empty this rubbish bin
And so, I put my left hand in,
I pulled my write hand out
And waved it drippily all about.

What I felt was more than an inkling,
In the bottom, more than a sprinkling,
I had a bad feeling, down to my fingertips,
And a bad banned word sprung from my lips.

Just as the Boss entered, her face went white-
I stood guiltily, hands up, black as pitchest night,
Potty mouth, filthy hands, dirtier than Monty Burns;
And here is where the sad story sinisterly turns...

She, the prissy mistress of clean and tidy
Told me to clean out my desk by Friday,
So I demanded to see the Department Head-
We'd see to whom the riot act would be read!

The rumours I'd so cavalierly dismissed-
That red hot tip about the Boss's secret tryst-
That cock-a-doodle tale came home to roost-
I leapt to the conclusion like I'd been goosed.

When your Boss's Boss has a bossy mistress
And she wears both the pants and the dress
How did this No-Shit Sherlock fail to understand
In this curly situation she held the whip hand?

Now she demanded a letter saying I'd resigned-
I tossed it off, left on her desk, but left it unsigned,
As I raised my pen, something penned-up released-
A red mist exploded as my high circulation increased.

Her desk was so scrupulously clean it was scary-
But then again, she dumped it all on her secretary,
I was young, impulsive, angry and foolish, I'll admit it-
I left her anally-retentive room like a hurricane had hit it.

I reported down town, showed the cops my guilty face-
I should've just signed off and not trashed the place,
I'd left a trail of destruction, burnt all my bridges,
A black trail awash with all my whorls and ridges.

Thats where my career started to run downhill,
Once blistering exposes- trotted out, run of the mill,
My days as a serious Sun scribe went down the tubes
When my page 3 story was covered by a pair of boobs.

Now my short sentence has finished long since,
For twenty years I've kept clean(ish) fingerprints,
Still I'm known as a Criminally Damaged Offender...
And I coulda shoulda been a Nobel Prize contender.

I've worked every dirty rag, at Times, in the Big Smoke,
I'm Ex-Press, past Post, your Standard journalistic joke,
I've hacked at the News Of The World, for what it's worth,
That mob, that job lot- I've toiled for the scum of the earth!

I've written reams of rubbish I'm not proud of
For fu- folk I never dreamed I'd be in a crowd of,
I've had a dab hand in fiction passed off as fact,
But today I've resigned again rather than be sacked.

The bad news was- our little paper has been sold-
My new manager- that stone cold fox bitch of old,
I already knew 'to know her is to loathe her,'
But the company she keeps is even lower.

               _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

So now I'm working for peanuts, for a free giveaway,
Honestly, I put in a big days work for a wee day's pay,
But it is reward enough to be just a poor wordsmith
If the face I see in the morning mirror I can work with.

My past Press Associations still sadly lingers,
People still point at me with shaking fingers,
Asking me if it's true, just what kind of twisted views
Do I hold to be too damn good to report for Fox News?

©Obbverse

After a week of sulking, Don does the write thing. Sorta.

Please Explain Letter.

The Republicans received this letter, signed and sealed,
Its creased and crumpled contents can now be revealed;
A missive from the President that actually appealed?

'My loyal friends, some think Your President may have erred,
Given a speech that rabble-roused, not patriotically stirred,
It's my sworn duty to tell you 'That's not what I heard."

'My Great impromptu speech fairly rattled along,
It's possible I may have come on a little strong,
But dare I say, few with me will say I did anything wrong.'

'I'm obliged to say I did not rashly stir up that crowd,
But Boys, if you do trash talk let's make it loud and Proud,
And everyone knew I meant 'Only peaceful protesting allowed."

'Some days when my loyal crowd is baying
'Midst the banners waving and the spittle spraying
They might not hear my plea- hear what I'm saying?'

'Naturally, I'd like to say I filled a Presidential role,
I even said I'd join em on a quiet downtown stroll,
I'd heard that mob was well acquainted with Con/troll.'

'I thought at the Capitol they were bound to halt;
Words failed me when I saw 'em up and revolt,
Anyways, what I can say is 'That ain't my fault."

'As they slid into anarchy so did my heart  lift sink,
After years of dog-whistling and tipping the wink
Who am I to call out that mob, tell 'em what to think?'

'We all know when I go off my Scripts I tend to be blunt
But the backsliding from you I take as a personal affront,
C'mon, we know I've still time to conduct my own Witch Hunt.'

'So, my trusted friends, lets laugh off this vote to impeach,
I'll try to clean up the excesses of my all-too free speech;
Since you all swallowed that joke I injected about bleach.'

'Once we all sang from the same song sheet,
Your constant chorus of praise rang so sweet,
Now I don't hear a peep, not one damned tweet.'

'Sorry if my sorry speech caused you sorrow
But I hope 'n' pray you'll say Right by me tomorrow,
And by the way, anyone got a Bible I can borrow?'

As Don's  'unlawfully dishonourable' judgement nears
By a jury of, Donald could never say, of his peers,
Another letter of explanation- in Capitals- appears...

'My Followers, though you and I are Much Maligned
NO Lawlessness, NO Vandalism NO Violence of Any Kind.'
A better letter would have simply said he's resigned.

If there's one thing Don can still flat-out refuse
It's believing in a crazy world  where he can lose,
He remains deeply, thickly fixed in his fake views.

'Nancy's talk of impeachin' me is nasty, not nice,
MAGA friends, might this half-hearted apology suffice?
Or must I humbly beg your pardon twice?'

‘Householder, Payment overdue!’

©Obbverse

The media says President Trump is keen on obtaining a GreaT exclusive Coronavirus vaccine from his good friends in Germany. As always, with Good Deal Don, there is a catch.

The GreaT American Hero.

With the world awash with Covid nineteen
PresiDon wants to buy his very own vaccine,
In Germany they’re making progress on a cure-
Now there’s a Company Don wishes to procure.

It would be for the US and us alone,
And with stocks dropping like a stone
Don knows there is a deal to be made-
Well, ain’t that just Don’s stock in trade?

While the whole world reels as the killing virus bites
Don sees a great deal of potential in world-wide rights,
Don doesn’t want a single red voting ‘Merican to get sick,
In Don’s world he’s quite immune to consciences tiny prick.

 

©Obbverse

Great minds sit and ponder whether the President is worthy of impeachment. Wonder no more. Though some might prefer the graphic version.

Mythical Creature.

Donald has learnt true friendship cannot be bought,
That life’s real heroes offer friends their full support,
When your pockets are deep but your arms are short
He’s heard cheap talk means a long time spent in court.

Don sees a Marvel, a universally acclaimed Great ‘Merican,
Not a Dark Knight under Bannon’s shadowy Master plan,
Lurking beneath the hollow words, the deep golden tan
Lies a shallow, guilt-edged thin-skinned wretch of a man.

Back in the Senate, where the battle for the truth is fought
Red eyed good ol’ boys pray they can believe the Fox report,
Lucky for Don, within his base, where reason is a last resort
It’s a case of case closed, to believe Don requires no thought.

 

©Obbverse

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.

 

©Obbverse

Sarah Huckabee Sanders holds her final Press conference. No, this is not FAKE NEWS.

Redundant.

Sarah Sanders is leaving her position,
Huckabee’s leaving of her own volition,
After two long years of trying to explain Don
Now, along with Press conferences, she’s gone.

Sarah has served her President well,
A two-year sentence is one lengthy spell,
But Sarah feels it’s high time she retired,
As Spicer said, ‘Can’t wait to be fired.’

Sarah has agreed to answer to the media, at last,
All those questions she’s long ducked in the past,
But the query that troubles the media the most
Is ‘Can she retire if she’s abandoned her post?’

 

©Obbverse

Isn’t it sad to find one of your ‘heroines’ has feet of clay, and a lazy eye. Oh, Wonder Woman, where are you now?

Not Of This World.

I foolishly half-believed Sarah Huckabee Sanders
Tried to rein in the raving of the High Commanders
Litany of half-truths, obfuscations lies and slanders.

Did I not see a flicker of humanity, a mere trace
As she leant on her lectern, wishing to be in another place
Far far away from this time, this space?

But it seems I gave sweet talkin’ Sarah too much credit,
When you see the ‘Acosta Accosting Intern’ Directors edit-
She didn’t just say Fake News, she liberally spread it.

Sad… now she can’t find the fortitude to recuse
Herself from trolling the depths of the Fake News
And wallowing in those Far-Right-Out-There views.

Now she’s gone from being a Fake News nay-sayer
To gleefully being the Dark Arts leading purveyor-
All she needs is an indecent video to become a player.

She could and should have taken a moments pause
And pondered the source and the effects and cause
Of relying on the fantasy films from Infowars.

Now Sarah Huckabee happily trots out her own lies,
She seen what she wants to see with her own eyes;
Press Secretary, Propagandist and Goebbels in disguise.

That Sarah is a stout and loyal trooper can’t be denied,
But look into those eyes now, and see, she’s dead inside;
Hope Huckabee Sanders is happy on the Dark Side.

©Obbverse

When Don read the opinion piece about his dysfunctional workplace he wanted answers, not anonymity.

There’s Where The Answer Lies.

Don heard reports his House was in a chaotic state,
News guaranteed to make him rail and fulminate,
So now Donald’s mulling over lie detector tests
To truly protect the priviliged Presidents interests.

Don wants a full and frank confession on record,
Either via the lie detector or preferably, water board,
And once he he finds out who is his anonymous source
It will all end in a tirade, tears, and then… in divorce?

 

©Obbverse

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.

 

©Obbverse

Strange how what is just and right evolves in the modern Trump world. I suppose it must be all a matter of perspective, or do we rely on blind faith? Sweet Jesus, who’s to know?

Above And Beyond.

Lawyer Mike Cohen was, confidentialy, not just a Donald fan,
When it came to private peccadilloes he was Dons Mr Fix-it Man,
But his quietly recording Don’s costly affairs wasn’t part of Don’s plan,
Poor Don, its hard to believe a lawyer  could be so Machiavellian?

To Donald’s defence the Righteous leap-
His learned counsel should his counsel keep.

His year-long tryst with Karen old Donald can richly afford-
Two hundred grand, another Playboy plaything cheaply scored,
On Don carried, the same year Melania had baby Barron on board,
There’s no more damning words of a cheating bastard on record!

Fox TV showers invective on Mike, ‘he’s a deceitful creep’
While Trump treads water in the swamp, so dark and deep.

But twenty years ago you should’ve heard their moralistic mewling
When slick Willy left Monica high and dry by saying they weren’t fooling,
While the twists and turns of Billy-goats oral gymnastics were unspooling;
Funny how now fiery talk of a flesh new Hell for adulterers is cooling?

Now for the Right God fearin’ folk, talk is cheap,
About today’s gross infidelities, not one damn peep.

 

©Obbverse