Category Archives: humor

Here comes Christmas, so dutifully we gather around the groaning table- and there goes the neighborhood.

Don’s Capital Idea.

Christmas approaches and we look to the sky
For a shining star to follow- but we get a wise guy,
We look for some sign to to celebrate a saviour’s birth
And we see a dolt in Washington arranging hell on earth.

The Prez, with his customary diplomatic grace
Wishes to move his embassy to a happier place;
Today even Solomon would’ve wisely stuck in Tel Aviv,
In Jerusalem Don won’t believe the welcome he’ll receive.

There will be wild celebrations in half of the town
But once the embassy settles in they’ll settle down,
Unless Don has a change of mind or a change of heart
A grand ground-to-air fireworks display is bound to start.

There are a few who look on from the Arab quarter
With long held grievances, whose fuse grows ever shorter,
From the movers and shakers Don gets their eternal thanks,
For those looking out of place, it’s yet more never-ending tanks.

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Christine Keeler, early sixties girl/woman who brought about the end to John Porfumo, Secretary of War in Britain, is laid to rest. Gone to meet her maker. Is there a subtle way of saying ‘dead’ without it sounding like a double entendre?

A Late Update.

In the obits I read
Kristine Keeler is dead.

What a naughty life she led
But she was pretty good in bed.

She could turn any man’s head.
Fare-thee-well fair lady in red.

Donald casts a speculative glance over Utah National Monuments and decides 2000 year old Native American sites are part of the past that’s hindering ‘Mericas future.

No Barriers To Progress.

A thought entered Donald’s fine entrepreneurial mind,
‘Why can’t the underdeveloped wilds of Utah be mined?’
Some like-minded friends took interest in what was spoken;
Who cares if a few old treaties or ancient artifacts get broken?

You know the drill,
They dragged out the rig;
Went from mountain to molehill
In one fruitless dig

Once every last inch has been turned over and no pay dirt found
Trust Donald to find these pitiful piles of dirt ARE holy ground,
Now he says ‘We’re leaving you, your land, and the mess.’
Is there no end to big Chief Donald’s largesse?

Let’s look at all this tinsel and glad tidings, lords a’leaping and convivial yuletide merriment from a slightly cynical point of view. Hey, It’s all about the giving.

That Flippin’ Old Reindeers Tail.

As Christmas cheer and the shortest day quickly draw near
I sneer at those believers in Santa, presents, and flying reindeer,
In matters of Christmas spirit Scrooge and I are of the same view,
The seasons the reason for cold-hearted merchants to turn the screw.

The notion of presents coming in the night?
You’re either six years old or not quite right.

On Christmas Eve I cast a wintry eye o’er the holiday forecast,
News of zero and below brought on bad memories of Christmas past,
As I espied the first falling snowflale I was filled not with joy but sorrow
And the certain knowledge I’d be up to my a- ankles (or deeper) in it tomorrow.

The sight of the snow a’settling on my window ledge
And my cracked-soled size nines put my teeth on edge.

‘Twas midnight when I woke to something clattering on my roof,
Something was afoot, but I couldn’t believe it was something ahoof,
Right up till I stepped out onto the roof my doubts about Kris persisted,
But one look at my shattered shingles confirmed Dasher and Co. existed.

I stood, cursing the Christ…mas out of the falling snow,
Did I hear, up there,a tinkle, a mischievous Yo ho ho?

He had good reason to fly, without goodbye or by-your-leave,
So though I hadn’t actually SEEN him, you bet your ass I believe,
It takes fresh tangible evidence for this sceptic to change his mind,
Sadly Santa- or at least the reindeer- had left heaps of presents behind.

Now ’tis not the chill of icy snow I dread,
It’s that warm sinking feeling wherever I tread.

Nothing to see, hear, nothing to speak of. So Don says.

Loud Crowd.

How Donald Trumps siren call rang out-
Hills was guilty, of something, anything, ain’t no doubt,
No need to fact check-
She looks a likely suspect-
‘Lock her up, lock her up!’
And his phalanx of feeb- free thinking patriots took up the shout.

Now how deathly quietly they turn and listen to hear if Flynn
Receives word from Don on high to speak no sin,
As the dots begin to connect
Might Don speak to Mike direct?
Do something, anything to shut him up,
Sternly advise him to take a deep breath and…… hold… it… in.

All you can want from your local restaurant- and more!

All-Nite Diner.

Looking forward to a bite to eat,
Ushered solicitously to a corner seat,
Enjoyed four fine friends good company,
Bided time imbibing a bubbling glass- or three.

There was nothing wrong with the house beer
We quaffed while waiting for a menu to appear,
But we’d be waiting impatiently for a waiter- still
Had we not served the Maitre De with a look to kill.