Category Archives: gun control

The President comes back from meeting with some of the finest minds in the world and his first order of business is- a beastly business.

Blasted Conservation.

If you’re in the hunt for some good clean fun
Dig out your passport and grab your elephant gun,
Now, thanks to what Don has gone and said and done
You can blaze merrily away ‘neath the Zimbabwean sun.

Don has duly given his licence to a blood sport
And the NRA give him their wholehearted support,
It’s the product of a mutual disregard for logical thought,
But elephants are on the brink of being extinct, so time is short…

Fly direct to Zimbabwe
And land in festive and restive Harare,
Say you will pay handsomely to go on safari
(But better not say Grace or Robert Mugabe.)

Get over there before the climate here becomes too hot,
It just takes a little money and you can be a real big shot,
Some say big game hunting’s cold blooded killing , but it’s not,
But hurry, if you’re lucky you might even plug the last of the lot.

So take aim, squeeze your trigger, watch another fall,
Bringing down something so big makes a little man stand tall,
So bring back that brainless stuffed head, mount it on the wall;
Perhaps Dumbo Don has left us a perfect and lasting legacy after all?

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More with a sigh rather than a scream of frustration after yet another assault on the senses.

Once More, With Feeling.

This week it’s been in a dusty little Texas town,
There half a congregation were gunned down,
Another week, another maniac with a gun,
And next week there will be another one.

Our betters wring their hands once more,
Much like last week, and the week before,
Another abomination, another crazy crime,
But DON’T mention gun control at this sad time.

Soon in Sutherland Springs they’ll bury their dead,
A stirring never-to-be-forgotten speech will be read,
But thinking a lesson’s been learned would be a mistake-
Not with Freedom and a high-powered Amendment at stake.

Our fine leader wears a face wreathed in sadness
But he shows no will or want to rein in the madness,
So, next week when some gung-ho gun nut goes insane
We’ll send our condolences and hopes and prayers- again.

Welcome To Las Vegas, where good fortune and good luck finally ran out; Thank God the NRA have an arsenal of explanations and the bucks to explain it all away.

A Word In Your Shell-like.

‘My NRA comrades-in-arms, times are fraught,
Rally to this call to alms, hand us your support,
A certain someone’s turned to Vegas as a last resort
And left us with the repercussions and a nasty report.

So, with wounds still raw and feelings overwrought
Now it’s time to practice what our forefathers taught,
To cherish old traditions for which they slaved and fought,
NOW is not the time to talk Control, perish (ahem) the thought.

Now you take your time to reflect, maintain silence and comport-
As the painful headlines fade, the peoples memory grows short;
Then we’ll be spendin’ time at Congress and the Supreme Court,
Every gun totin’ donation helps prove justice can be bought.’

Chancing your luck or chancing your arm in Las Vegas? Sadly this was bound to happen. Will they learn? Ever?

Real Bad Deal.

The House always wins, that’s what they say,
Yet you’re free to drink, whiling your money away,
But this sombre October morn may mark the destitution
Of the tucked away-in-a-quiet corner Mandalay Bay;
Surely too many have lost today?

So it’s in God we trust, and pray
We can live with the price we must pay
For retaining an old hide-bound cast-iron Constitution,
And a President who aims to make a Great USA,
But doesn’t care or dare to take on the NRA.

When you’re Blue, you don’t sing; For this copper, silence IS golden.

Part Three: Who Do You Protect And Who Do you Serve?

The case of Justine’s shooting moves funereally slow,
Have the Polis closed ranks lest their Apprehension show?

In high summer the skies of Minneapolis look gray,
Up there, there may be a break of blue, but who’s to say?

How difficult getting Officer Noor’s testimony is proving,
Just as Justine lies silent, so too his lips remain cold, unmoving.

No apology, no point, no reason of why he shot that night;
Hoping to ride it out, hide out till the Press switch their spotlight?

Had it been one who administers the law who’d died
Would not the shooter already be tried or at least inside?

As time trails by, in a chill alley, shadowed, dark,
The trail goes cold, fading like a forgotten chalk mark.

Messy Christmas.

The time of year for Lords a’leaping. Time to spread a little joy and happiness to those of us who love the season with all our hearts. Carol singing, bells ringing,
Etc etc.

Messy Christmas.

At long last the Yuletide season has arrived,
Its been a bad business year but I’ve survived,
I unlocked my cabinet, poured a wee tipple-
What the Hell, might as well, I made it a triple.

Nowadays a tumbler of Tullamore Dew
(When I say one, I really mean two,)
Helps me to sit back, relax and unwind,
Put the pain of the past year from my mind.

I know its best to sup it nice and slow,
Savour that flavour, enjoy the warm glow,
But lately I find I crave the comfort it provides,
And now that first sip rarely touches the sides.

That drop of the Dew had me dropping off to sleep,
Then from above I heard someone stealthily creep,
A heavy boot scraping up on the second floor-
Every year those old boards creak a little more.

In an instant I was wide awake,
Some burglar was making a bad mistake,
In the cabinet my hand searched for and found
Something comfortably heavy and cold and round.

In a voice that shook with righteous indignation
I asked the interloper upstairs for an explanation;
‘Better make yourself known to me , friend
Or else our meeting’s coming to a nasty end.’

Up the stairs I crept, and I found my proof-
A burglars boot disappearing up on the roof,
So I did what any pissed homeowner would do-
I’d take it back in a minute if I were able to.

Lord knows I’m sorry to have been the cause
Of ruining Christmas for both kids and Santa Claus,
Santa could’ve kept on delivering to a ripe old age,
But he’s not, since he got in the way of my 12 gauge.

Wildest Dreams.

Waking up in a cold sweat late in the night. Yes, it is Halloween but there are limits, surely?

Wildest Dreams.

Up on to his gilded throne King Donald the First climbs,
Tossing his blue collared followers a few nickels and dimes,
Threatening the unRighteous that she’ll pay for her crimes,
And sending some off on vacation to more hospitable climes.

When I voted I didn’t think… I’d live in such excitng times.

He’s going (or gunning) to make America great once more,
With Donald negotiating, who needs the Diplomatic Corps?
He may be slow on the uptake but he’s quick on the draw.
I wonder what wonders Donald and Vladimir have in store?

Now don’t you wish you didn’t get what you wished for?