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

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

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.

Fox News: ‘Merican as apple sauce.

Right Again!

February: Just mild flu!

I’m left in absolute awe at Fox”s GreaT news.
I can’t dispute their pure unprejudiced views,
See my jaw hanging ajar, see my bugging eyes
As Fox friendlily sets dumb guys like me wise?

March: Mild unease grew.

Seems somehow Donald was in control all along!
Trust Fox to finagle a done right from a Don wrong,
Even as Hannity looks down on a hushed New York
That Tucker won’t shut down Don’s sick crazy talk.

April Fools Day: Sad but true.

Still they’ll hail the Chief’s every off-the-cuff decision,
Smiling benignly, knowing the viral shit-show’s arriven,
Still the Fox hosts loyally proclaim Don cannot be faulted!
With the stable door still ajar and the pale horse long bolted?

 

©Obbverse

Who to best explain to us the the real reason for Wall Street crashing? Hey, at least let Don fake- sorry, take us through his reasoning. Gives us all a reason to believe, doesn’t it?

The Low Down.

When the stock market’s riding high
Who trumpets ‘that’s all thanks to me!’
Who’s the propheteer, who’s the Great guy
Who takes every credit, Hallelujah and praise be?

But when the market starts to falter
Like one dark wintry Wall Street afternoon
When stocks plunge, who is down at the alter
Demanding to know Who the hell changed his tune?

Now the Dow has taken a tumble,
Since his healthy markets caught a cold
Don’t expect Don to sound sorry or humble,
He has a whopping Great tale that must be told.

Since his Wall Street has fallen flat
And its hurt his vanity and bank vault
He’ll blame his ills on some sick Democrat-
If not Bernie or Bloomberg, then it’s Gods fault.

 

©Obbverse

The President has some reason to get angry. Its hard to reason with him when he gets angry. Now, you wouldn’t like him when he gets angry. So don’t set him off.

Stomping Ground.

Don sat in the Stateroom
Filled with impending doom.

He sighed, set down the remote,
Today even Fox sounded a false note.

He fiddled with a classified file,
Life’s becoming quite the trial.

He would find it hard to explain,
This bit of business in the Ukraine.

Now how he rued the day
Everyone heard what he had to say.

How Zelensky’s voice began to fall
When he got the message in Don’s call.

Zel’s tiny voice on the telephone
Till drowned out by his own.

Looking guiltily at the transcript
He wish he’d stayed tight-lipped.

He dropped that damning folder,
A righteous rage began to smoulder.

He’d dealt from a position of strength,
Their wanted arms he’d kept at arms length.

No guarantee of a shipments arrival
Till given ammo to fire at a political rival.

If a Biden took offence, Don meant none-
No offence, Hunter, you son of a – gun.

He thought he’d done the deal
Till some whistle-blower had to squeal.

He’d release the funds… given time.
Since when’s a white lie a capital crime?

So, Don had asked for a personal favour?
Rudy swears that ain’t criminal behaviour.

Still, there’s plenty left to impeach,
So how to cover (t)his unseemly breach?

How to take a Presidential stance
When filling your big boys pants?

His blue eyes cloud with dawning dread,
He alone has to own the words he said.

But a secret of this size…
All those accusatory eyes…

How to dim their focus?
Try a lil’ hocus-pocus.

It’s a well-worn trick
For a dealer who’s slick.

It’s been done before;
Instigate a bloody war.

He’ll kick his foot soldiers into action,
Smoke and mortars, a fine distraction.

He opens an Army Intelligence dossier,
Something therein might make his day.

He holds the answer in his hands;
Shift the blame on shifting sands.

But Donny sees time is short,
Let’s give it not a second thought.

With a bad man on the loose
Don needed no excuse.

He took what Intelligence he had
And took it out on Bagdad.

A little lacking in tact,
But hardly a war-like act.

Don don’t see it as an excursion
And hopes few see it as a diversion.

Yes, ‘Merica might lose a grunt or two,
But impeachment takes on a distant view.

And, what could go wrong?
We weren’t in Viet Nam long.

That little dust-up in Afghanistan?
That all went according to plan.

The lessons learnt a few years back,
Of riding in and razing Iraq?

After sifting through the smoking ground,
All those masses of weapons to be found?

Though they’d disappeared into hot thin air
Still Don has determined to go there.

Sad to think that, true to form
He’ll unleash another shit Desert Storm.

He’ll fight on until calls for his head cease,
C’mon, he’ll take on anyone who wants a peace.

Few allies want to join his charade  crusade,
How to extricate himself from the mess he’s made?

‘Merica’s allies now don’t think he’s so great,
They’re more concerned ’bout some mental State.

So who, truly, are his friends?
Pal Putin says, ‘that depends.’

And what happens when the dust clears
And his fear of impeachment reappears?

Will he tweet a sorry word?
Will further action be ordure-d?

Will others suffer from his wrath
Or can Don take the higher path?

Don’s more familiar with the low road,
But will his little fingers press the code?

Will Don dazzle us by doing right
Or frazzle us in a flash of light?

Don’s sins I must forgive and forget,
God, please let me live with that regret.

Don’s words are too toxic to call out,
What earthly good is risking his fall out?

A wholly righteous war is easy to start,
Surviving one remains the hardest part.

 

©Obbverse

Had your fill of FAKE News? Well, remember, you heard it here First.

Stand up Comic.

Funnily I never thought the President was a funny ha ha bloke
But now the laugh’s on me, heh heh, and, seriously, l get the joke,
Hee hee, he’s hysterical, he changes history with one Master stroke-
He gathers the gullible, has a giggle to himself, then simply says ‘I misspoke.’

 

©Obbverse

I guess I’m gonna have to eat my words. Don wuz right about this fake news stuff after all. Iran, citizenship, Obama, lies- hard to believe, I know!

Foxing Around The Edges.

From his Great nights sleep Don slowly stirred,
He switched on the TV, to the channel preferred,
Some find Fox’s hyperbole hilariously absurd
But the President truly takes ’em at their word.

What a fine story greets the Great One on waking,
A secret Obama/Iranian dodgy deal Fox is breaking,
What a deplorable dirty tale Don can see, in the making,
The candor of Fox’s journalism is, frankly breath-taking.

Ain’t it a pity for Don truth was all the fable lacked,
The news he gleefully Tweeted Fox can scarcely retract,
The whole sorry story was false, FAKE NEWS, in fact;
One wonders if Don wants those Fox fibbers sacked?

©Obbverse

If you pick up that remote you might click onto something, something perverse and sick. It might well shake a God fearin’ soul to their very bones. No, don’t go there! That channel will show you stories that will make your eyes pop and your poor head spin.

Faux News.

Here at Fox the truth is told,
We cling to the standards of old,
We ALERT you of freedoms under attack,
We’re proud to have our great Presidents back,
We mean the right one, not the one who’s bla… Barrack.

Some say we’re racist, but to be fair
Only poor folk benefit from Obamacare,
Now, under our highly esteemed President
That money that would’ve been poorly spent
Can go to tax cuts for Don’s deserving one percent.

Its for OUR flag and country that we stand-
For a place for (w)all in this, OUR Great land,
We listen- too patiently- to those who try us,
Damn loathsome Liberals, the unrighteous and impious,
Unpatriotic Lefty immigrant lovers who accuse us- US! of bias.

©Obbverse

The President takes a knee, where it matters, right in the Tweet spot.

Patriot Games.

Those who take the field, then kneel
Upset the mighty Chief a great deal.

It’s disrespectful to the ol’ red white and blue,
Some colours matter in his jaundiced view.

Those who don’t stand tall and proud-
Don glares incandescently at that crowd.

Watch how those baby blues of his smolder,
Seeing ’em, arms locked, shoulder to shoulder.

Don believes a servant/master relationship is required,
Kneel and stand every chance of the boss saying ‘you’re fired.’

Their lack of traditional respect is his darkest fear;
He gathers about him allies, friends, near and dear…

As Foxes fair and balanced report is repeatedly viewed
He feels some protesters have an uppit- er, negative attitude.

His flag not being revered is a sight Don really regrets,
A view shared by a veritable slew of his confederates.

©Obbverse