Peter Sutcliffe, The Yorkshire Ripper dies in custody. Will Peter be missed? Don’t hold your breath, Pete.

Say A Spittle Word?

Today we're here to see Pete Sutcliffe go west,
The charitable say 'God only takes the very best,'
So, before someone sets down this thorny wreath
Who wants to pay tribute, before Pete's laid beneath?
     Or toss a clod on the casket, as per popular request?

Let us pray in the hope Pete has a long uneasy rest
In his interminable internment as Lucifer's house guest,
There's not a welcoming devilish smile, merely clenched teeth;
Pete promised the devil his due, but Pete had nought to bequeath.
     Poor Devil, getting stuck with an ass soul he forgot he possessed.

©Obbverse

Slowly the lights go on in the dim and gloomy White House.

Something's Going Off.

When the early election votes rolled in
Vainglorious Donald could not hold off,
It was a result he alone had no doubt in
So he prematurely started to spout off.

He'd felt a winner, right from the run in,
He'd never seen his term as just a one-off
And when Don's on a roll, don't dare butt in,
Like the polls Don has no automatic shut off. 

Oh, but what a dark day Don did waken in,
In the wee wee hours Sleepy Joe had taken off,
Since those blue post-its have begun to weigh in
Don demanded those accountable take the day off.

Now Don tossed every (ill)legal appeal in-
Forget due process, Don wants this deal off,
His base vote's left a hole big enough to piss in
And suddenly he's getting a democratic kiss off.

In Arizona and Nevada, states he gets flipped in
Don is sweating, steaming and feeling ripped off,
He'd been hoping for a red-hot Southwestern love-in,
Now even Sweet  Jesus Georgia's telling him to shove off.

From right to left, the tide and vote drifts in
Till Don's glowering towering rhetoric lifts off,
Language a drunken sailor would take delight in-
Don's script writers hear a screw up, a total write off.

Donald is in the White House and he's staying in-
It looks like finding that ol' safe room's paying off-
Ain't no better hidey-hole to hold out and obstruct in
Though millions have told him it's time he fucked off.

Where’s Whacky?

 

©Obbverse


It’s not easy getting into a Militia mans head- and when you do it leaves you queasy.

(A few thoughts from a member of Michigans moronic Militia while waiting on a lawyer.)

Just A Zealous Guy.

We can't have mobs roaming, owning the streets
Upsetting our noble brave boys in blue-
Unless they're brave knights wearing white sheets
Gathered there to protect the Right and true.

Unlike the good ol' ones these days are passing strange,
I see the sea change, it's blowin' a gale,
Seeing foreign faces not welcome in my home on the range,
They leave me looking a whiter shade of pale.

I don't want to hear or see all the signs of the times-
But I do hate to see Democrats legally elected,
I do believe in Mr Trumps brave assertion of ballot crimes
And that our Confederate flag is horribly disrespected.

I believe nowadays we hear too much colourful chatter,
I believe some folks just best shut their mouth,
I can't help but take a dim view of Black Lives Matter,
This proud North Michigan boy sez 'Go back South.'

So, since the law abiding Michigan voters don't know no better
And our redneck misogynistic feelings she's assaulting 
We're gonna go get Governor Gretchen, leave a ransom letter;
Surely our founding fathers wouldn't call this revolting?

Strange, now I'm down in lockdown but atop the FBIs hot list
Yet I'm Right and white, so it all feels grossly unfair,
I'm feeling uneasy about getting stuck in a cell with a real terrorist,
This could be this sad-ass Aryans worst nightmare.



©Obbverse





As a bit of silly fun there’s four song titles tossed into this. Artists are Bing Crosby (plus many others) Procol Harum, Harry Styles, Pug Jelly. If you’re bored, go figure. (Yes, Bonny Brian, a blatant musical rip-off; I feel no guilt…)





Neil Young sues Trump over use of his music at Don’s fist-pumping rabble-rousing rallys. Good luck on getting Don to hear anything about that, Neil.

A Kick To The Chorus.

Once again Mr Trump’s re-election campaign
Is giving Neil Young cause to legally complain,
Neil’s getting grumpy that his copyrighted songs
Are being illegally played to promote Don’s wrongs.

Shouldn’t one of Don’s army of attorneys kindly explain
To Don that old Young’s tunes ain’t in the public domain?
All the plaintiff Neil wishes is for Don to cease and desist
From ripping his songs off and on to Don’s lousy party list.

The Rolling Stones have led the chorus of complaints, in vain,
‘You can’t always get what you want’ remains Trump’s refrain,
Don, use Ted Nugent’s crap, Teddy loves you, or ask Kanye West-
No, mebbe not, the colourful Kanye mightn’t pass Don’s litmus test.

Will Donald simply turn his back on all noisy complaints again?
Treat true legitimate protests with his usual dismissive disdain?
Well, the Rolling Stones have screamed at Don to stop for years-
It appears there isn’t a great deal resonating between dumb ears.

 

©Obbverse

What thoughts spring to the Mighty Ones mind as we march towards the third of November?

Going Postal.

A day after another inauspicious red letter day-
150,000 Coronavirus victims went on their way-
Donald turns away from figures that make him squirm
And focuses his GreaT mind on securing a second term.

Dons polling is of concern, despite what he does say,
From where he sits perhaps its time to kneel and pray?
Or since Roger Stone’s now free to come up with a suggestion
He’ll open the whole Democratic Election system into question?

In his empowered position Don feels a powerful need to stay,
So now’s no better time to suggest just a slight election day delay,
An election free of mail voting, who could think of anything greater?
Like his Pandemic plan Don vows he’s bound to get to it, sooner or… later.

©Obbverse

Donald Trump and the artifice of the Courthouse Deal. First, lean a finger on the scales, then give Blind Lady Justice a poke in the eye.

Dishonourable Discharge.

Roger Jason Stone, liar, dirty trickster and cheat,
Guilty of every damn charge on his long rap sheet,
Convicted of the sin of perjury by a jury of his peers,
A criminal who deserves to be sent down for years.

But no fear of confinement ol’ Roguish Roger faces
For Mr Stone has low friends in the highest places,
Although his complete culpability cannot be disputed
He just knows his just sentence must be commuted.

From looking at three years and four months in jail
Roger finds he doesn’t have to raise a sweat- or bail,
What a GreaT reward for the GOPs consummate liar,
Plucked out of frying pan, slithering back into the mire.

Now Don’s ‘Drain The Swamp’ cry has the ring of fiction,
‘Lock Her up!’ somehow lacks, unlike Roger, real conviction,
So run free,  mean moody and Machiavellian Mr Stone;
But Don, know it’s by your creepy company you’re known.

Still, it gives you pause
To consider what would cause
Dodgy Don to cut a crook a even break-
Double-dealer Don, for philanthropy’s sake!

Sooo, why does Don feel the unjustified need to intervene,
Help Rog the Rat, who’s spent his life nose down the latrine?
Does Roger have some dirt on Don in his deep bag of tricks
For Donald to forgive the most unconscionable of pricks?

©Obbverse

When you’re a Great – a really great, so unbelievably great- reality TV star, why would you hide your best asset?

That Open Infectious Smile.

Here’s a question too few Trump flunkies dare to ask;
‘Mr President Sir, why don’t you deign to don a mask?’

Even when Mr doting lap-dog Vice-President Pence
Says wearing a protective mask makes Great sense?

Now, covering up old affairs Don sees as only sensible,
No-one, certainly not Don, wants to look reprehensible.

Don believes his cherub-cheeked face is his shining glory,
That his sunny saintly smile can sell any half-assed story.

See, he wants his words to ring out strong and clear,
To spread his sick sad soliloquies into the atmosphere.

Ask about his taxes though, and he draws the veil,
When it comes back to taxes, privacy must prevail.

Don has facts he’ll openly doctor, and grudges to nurse
So why would he mask the brightest star in his universe?

Donald wants to show his public the full-frontal view,
The fake tan, the pearly white teeth, the eyes o’ blue.

Squint below the tinted TRESemme-ed locked-down hair
And see what cold soulless depths lie deep down there?

But, clothing his mouth… nope, Don could never embrace it;
He’d look even more like a bandit in a bandana, let’s face it.

 

(Background theme for this could be Frank Zappa ‘I’m The Slime’.  Just a thought, I’m in a whimsical mood today.)

©Obbverse.

I’ve been reminded lately of those misty-eyed memories of innocent school days. Lets start the lesson, shall we?

Done Learning.

One thing you’ll do as you approach a certain age
Is to take more notice of the ‘Family Notices’ page,
Though todays tabloid lacks yesteryears broadsheet heft
It’s a morbid pleasure checkin’ out who you know has left.

I like to read the morning paper before the afternoon
So one morn I ordered brunch and opened the Tribune;
The usual ho-hum news, more plague, pestilence and war,
Then I fell upon some news that shook me to my souls core.

The sweet mochaccino suddenly took on a sour taste,
The ever sunny tan faded as I sat staring, chalk faced,
For there, amongst the fine print writ bold in gothic font
Was news of a loss so heavy I dropped my damn croissant!

My old Deputy Headmaster of dear Hagleigh High- dead?
I raised my trembling hands up to hold my shaking head,
I thought of the lessons that Bertie had dutifully imparted,
How his role as leader was never less than whole-hearted.

I recalled the angles and planes of that indomitable face,
All those deep-seared lifelong lessons time cannot erase…
My concerned wife said I appeared to be the picture of grief,
She handed me some tissue, which I took with tearful relief.

The old Alma Mater had supplied a glowing obituary
For one most considered Hagleigh’s highest luminary,
The tale they told of this sainted man of the highest order
Compelled me to compile my thoughts on the Tribunes border.

In my day, at Hagleigh High the most I hoped to achieve
Was to gain School Certificate and honourably leave,
Unfortunately, to gain this certificate one had to pass
Both English and Mathematics- a step too far for me, alas.

To fail in either one meant one hadn’t made the grade,
You’d be cast off to the Armed Forces, or off to get a trade,
And the Deputy-Head taught my class Mathematics- of course!
One lousy week in his class saw him flogging this flagging horse.

I was made painfully aware I had deficiencies to overcome,
Not heeding screamed instructions? to him I’m deaf or dumb;
In my first month I knew mathematics could not be mastered
Thanks to a sneering confidence-sapping bat-crap crazy bastard.

I was left an an utter loss by Berties scrawlings on the board,
The answer I came up with was ‘shut up, pray to be ignored,’
Yet my English improbably improved with every word I wrote-
Penmanship forging ahead; I forged a most convincing sick note.

Pre-math class every morning you’d find me sitting, sweating
In the toilets, relieving myself of any chance of pants wetting,
Every other cubicle engaged by four-fifths of the Fifth Form,
Every coughing, wheezing weedy Kool kid smokin’ up a storm.

I do still recall those chill mornings, getting my knickers in a twist,
All I need is to roll the Rolex up, count the livid scars on my wrist.

So, to end my little bye bye Bertie story, I’m glad he’s gone to Glory,
But first, let’s hope, like me, he does three full years in Purgatory.

 

©Obbverse

As the eyes of the watching world turn on a nation that is painfully- but finally- seeing a great history in the making, the President only looks to turn back the clock.

Faking History.

By mid 2020 Don’s cozy world felt more like Lost In Space,
All manner of irritations Donny finds he’s forced to face,
Covid deaths are on the up yet Wall Street keeps falling,
Employment’s soaring but work on his great wall is stalling.

Since George Floyd’s filmed death he/we can’t ignore
Police protestations of pure angelic innocence anymore,
Now innocent protesters can’t be bashed and battered?
Suddenly Don’s expected to believe black lives mattered?

Now racial profilings wrong, so’s a ‘random’ pat down search?
A Prez cain’t just gas it down his streets to some saints church?
All these twisted changes are apt to confuse a traditional man,
Soon they’ll be banning the Stars’n’Bars and the Ku Klux Klan!

Don yearns for the bad old days when places were segregated,
When cops pounded the beat and the streets were dominated,
Now strange changes seem to be happening at a gay old pace;
Sexist money honey grabbers now look obseletely out of place.

The idea of uniformly crushing discontent has GreaT appeal
But now even Generals want to bring the dogs of war to heel,
Even the Mighty Military now recommend a conciliatory tone,
Though they all know the one voice Don can hear is his drone.

Don had once heard that every argument should be two-sided
But since he always knows what’s best for all he’s long decided
To gather round him that guns’n’glory armed mob he Rightly favours-
His one change is ‘this speech ain’t free till ya’ll sign them covid waivers.’

It’s time to rally the dupes, to blow the dog-whistles, drop the wink,
To ramp up the racist rhetoric, ain’t no time to change minds, or think!
To call a rich Damn Yankee the Mouth of the South sounds a misnomer
But his sick message is bound to resound in unchanging Tulsa, Oklahoma.

©Obbverse

What, another dose of nasty medicine Don prescribes to fix what ails us?

Imperfect 2020 Vision.

The bright new year started with a descent into sickness,
But never fear, not when we’ve our Doctor Don on your case!
Don dispensed with any treatments with breath-taking quickness,
Doctor Don’s considered response took up too much breathing space.

After all, his diagnosis was Mild Chinese Influenza,
He couldn’t imagine it would settle in these here parts,
For the Genius who’s applied for membership of MENSA
Admitting making such a dumbass decision definitely smarts.

Dimly Don saw poor common people being sorely afflicted
Then, hot on the heels of covid came the stock market crash,
Mortality rising, property falling means he’s personally affected,
Don sobs at seeing the figures, the senseless loss of cold hard cash.

But now, with masked criminals roaming the dark streets
Generallisimo Don’s response is sure, swift and mighty hard,
Now its time for cool heads, Big Whopper Don turns up the heat!
Soon you literally won’t be able to breath for all the National Guard.

©Obbverse