Donald takes a moment to deal with irksome issues. Well, it’s been a memorable week, for any number of reasons.

What Numbers Really Count?

Fly high that flag,
Strike up that band,
Don don’t wanna brag
But ain’t US grand?

‘Merica still is Number One
When totting up the covid tally,
But don’t sum up, the fun’s just begun
As Dons supporters begins to rally.

Combine Britain, Italy and Spain
And USA stays top o’ the heap,
‘Merica beats Brazil by twice again,
But that’s a record Don can keep.

He’s unbelievably willing and able
To show us he’s a gen-u-ine genius,
Red based and so rock solidly stable;
So he oh so incessantly tells us.

In Donald’s Disunited States
Since this ‘little flu’ took hold
US surpassing all mortality rates
Ironically left many Don supporters cold.

Respectfully dropping standards to half-mast
Don knew what he had to do,
Donald acted, and acted fast
By opening up and smiling through.

But don’t you feel danged proud,
Don’t it thrill  chill your mortal soul
To repurpose Old Glory as a funeral shroud,
Helping hide a Memorable veterans toll?

One hundred thousand covid dead,
And lo, that number’s growing,
Unmasked, unchecked, see it spread
Wither the fu fickle winds a’blowing.

Through Don’s impressive leadership
The sad bad numbers keep on rising,
Don won’t let his impassive mask slip.
Figures; he’s quite adept at disguising.

Donny has surpassed the highest test,
‘Merica must always takes first place,
Amongst Don’s GreaT people he’s the best,
Their truly exceptional special case.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Don stands shadowed by his flapping flag,
Teary of eye, tremulous of hand,
These numbers do  make his shoulders sag-
He’ll never get his ball out of the sand.

 

©Obbverse

A prompt on Towel Day. Thanks, Douglas Adams, a one of a kind author. He’s up there, laughing at us, at least cosmically speaking. Thanks too, to Chelsea Ann Owens for the promptings.

Big Bang, Bath Towel And Beyond.

Irate ratepayer Arthur Dent was confoundedly annoyed
To find his house and home planet completely destroyed,
Luckily, the one poor excuse of a man Arthur had befriended
Was the perfect guy to accompany him when his world ended.

Ford Prefect was Arthur’s odd friends imperfect name-
A moniker once written oft on many an insurance claim-
Art never imagined his friend to be a bona fide illegal alien,
Born somewhere near Betelgeuse, not remotely mammalien.

Ford, once a wanderin’ scribe before his gig began to unravel
Knew his tenure on Earth was terminating, it’s nigh time to travel.

Ford had an inkling about this harmless planet he was stuck on
That in a twinkling Arthur would ask ‘where on Earth has it gone?’
Intergalactic Developers Inc saw Earth as an impediment to progress,
In their Universal view what harm is there in one itty-bitty bit of dirt less?

Ford, our hapless Intergalactic hitchhiker, earthbound and lost
In desperation stuck out a digital thumb, plus all fingers crossed,
Finding on wakening they had been both uplifted and stown away                                                    And all Arthur’s earthly goods had been spectacularly blown away.

Now all Arthur possessed was his towel slippers and tatty bath robe,
Scant protection for a mere human going up against an alien probe.

 

 

(Hmm, barely made it past chapter one;
Guess Doug’s tales and mine are done,
For to 250 words I’ve been constrained;
Read Doug’s book and be better entertained.)

©Obbverse

Dominic Cummings; The myth, the man, the mealy-mouthed but not sorry explanations, and then, that high borne miasma.

The New Asstocracy.

Oh, how I long to be just like Always Right Dominic,
To fly in the face of rules, regulations and simple logic,
To ignore draconian strictures, to freely Range Roverly roam,
Really drive that massive sense of entitlement 420 miles home.

No ‘Hi Boris, bye, its bestie Dom, I’m blowing this town,
I’m driving up to the pater’s farm till my fever’s died down,’
No, Dom just upped and left his locked-down London precinct
Driving 420 miles fuelled on pure arrogance and ‘parental instinct.’

No Number Ten man can control Mister Cumming-or-going
for the man who advises the PM is so all wise and all knowing,
And the PM understands the ordeal poor Dom’s been through;
For the elite true blue few it’s always ‘Do as we say, not as we do.’

An ode to our odd old cat. Hey, it makes a break from dealing with all this gloomy covid crap! (And thanks to Lucys Works for the prompt.)

Old Gold.

From break fast through to sunset
Our gilt-flecked precious amber pet
Takes sole possession of our coverlet.

What deep dark thoughts prowl and creep,
In what feline fantasies does he lightly leap
As he lays his days away, fast asleep?

 

©Obbverse

On the road again; let’s follow as the Prez speeds recklessly on to open up his stalled economy. Arriving at a hushed Ford assembly plant Don gets out and starts to push his well worn agenda.

Thing’s To Do In Ypsilanti When You’re Don.

Go up to Michigan,
Speak at some Ford plant,
Blame some Democrat, bitch again;
Usual unhinged rave and rant.

Typical meet and greet,
Broadly mug and smugly beam
While firing off another Waspish tweet;
Don’t my pearly wisdoms gleam?

Won’t wear no mask
Though it’s obviously more hygienic,
But this GreaT President’s overriding task
Is to remain nakedly photogenic.

 

©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.

The United States Space Force is all set and ready for launch and take off. It’s the latest fantastical episode of the Donald Trump Show. Warped Reality or a re-run?

Set Phasers To Stun!

As he watches his United States Space Force flag unfurl
The High Commander pats in place a stray blonde spit curl,
A proud Donald John Trump sits imperiously at his desk
Trying so vainly to appear James Tiberius Kirkesque.

Hmmm, there’s one troubling thing about Don’s ensign,
Say, a certain something all too familiar in its design?
Hey, looky-see, it’s the old Star Trek logo, in all its glory!
Don’s set his standard on the retelling of a faded old story.

Cap’n Don wasn’t satisfied with what Ron Reagan began,
To be masters of one little world was only part of the plan,
Sure, Guardians of the Galaxy sounds grand Don will admit
But does not ‘To infinity and Beyond’ have a GreaT ring to it?

Donald is here to inform us all about his ‘super duper’ missiles-
That comedic line in ‘Galaxy Quest’ had ’em rolling in the aisles,
But one dreck of a President wanting to reboot ‘Star Wars’
Is causing millions of us muggles to cling on to our drawers.

 

©Obbverse