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 Dons 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.

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Barnaby Joyce, once Deputy Australian Prime Minister, put in a hopeless position. However, there are two sides to every sad story. PS; This guy, being a dual citizen, can’t be elected in ‘Stralia.

Poor Relations.

I can but feel for your poor statesman Barnaby Joyce,
Being called a Fair Dinkum Kiwi leaves him fairly f… annoyed,
But PLEASE, give your ex second-in-command a second chance?
Him washing up on our fair shores doesn’t exactly leave US overjoyed.

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.’

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- negative attitude.

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

Getting wet and wild when Harvey came storming in.

Wherever The Wind Blows.

The great state of Texas has had the odd spot of rain,
So Don drops in, winging in on his Presidential plane,
He’s here to hear and feel those poor Texan’s pain;
What’s Washington’s loss is the Lone Stars gain.

Once the news cameras switch off his interest wanes-
The great man can’t play golf in 100-mile an hour hurricanes-
So away he flies, spouting hogwash ’bout swamping the drains,
Don’s poured oil on the waters, but that whiff of sewerage remains.

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.

Take this job and shove off; Shooing the messenger. After six months of spitting in the eyes of the closest reporters Sean’s been spat out.

Muttering Away.

What a pity for poor Mr Spicer,
All he got was pain and strife,
Will his sad life now get nicer
Now he can get a (quiet) life?

After all Sean’s double talk
Don has single-mindedly spoken,
Sean’s shuffled off for a quiet walk,
Oh, long may the silence be unbroken.