Mr Giuliani, please tell us more,
Since you’re well practiced at law
Do tell us, how in your learned view
The truth appears to look to Don and you?
In all your lawyerly twists and turns
Are there times the ol’ truth still burns?
When did that fiery-eyed highly principled youth
Find cold hard cash trumps poor unvarnished truth?
Rudy’s found its quite a trial to remember,
In all conscience, when last stirred an ember,
The truth (and Don’s fee) weigh heavy on his shoulder,
But it truly pays to say ‘truths in the eye of the beholder.’
Should some shady lady claim an affair,
Feelin’ free to tell a tale the Media will share,
A gold-digger who’d delight in having her say in Court,
Don don’t lie, awake at night, her silence can be bought.
Any criticism Don finds unfair, unjust and tough to take,
So he he stretches facts by saying their facts are fake,
Till it dawned on Don ‘why not lie without shame?’
To him, truth or lies, they’re all the same.
Tough Times For Tiny Tim,
What a cruel and tragic tale the floor supervisor had to tell;
There’ll be no overtime in this sweatshop for quite a spell;
Poor Bob Cratchit choked back the tears and his face fell,
Back to breadcrusts and gruel for Tiny Tim and Little Nell.
Jesus told Preacher Jesse Duplantis to get
A fifty-four million dollar Falcon jet,
Jesse wants it to spread Gods word
But that Falcon’s one big flipping bird.
So Jess kneels humbly down and makes his
Prays to his poor congregation to contribute, monetarily,
Jesse will all too gladly take you- by the hand,
Even kiss your cheek should you give ten grand.
‘Twill enrich your future prospects in the eyes of the Lord,
But it is a promise, at present, all too few can afford
When Jess possessed three other jets in which to sally forth
By what God given right has he got to go buy a fourth?
I awaited the New Press with eager eyes,
They looked, downcast, at its meagre size,
I’d heard there’d be much content within;
That argument is most evidently paper thin.
Apart from yesterdays news or next weeks TV guide,
My purchase of the Press can no longer be justified,
Claiming ‘less is more’ does not jibe with this scribe;
This is a poor wee paper to which I cannot subscribe.
At Plato’s Closet, where thrifty bargains abound
Dad shopped while Mom waited in the car with the kid,
Whatever is this heavy metal thing the kid found?
Could it be something silly Daddy should’ve hid?
Dad, your handy handgun shouldn’t be left lying around,
It may lead to a bloody unfortunate accident, God forbid,
Some do argue a gun with Safety on is safe and sound,
But Dad, leaving it on- and loaded- is, put simply, stupid.
When one itchy-fingered but innocent kid let loose a round,
Towards the warm Indiana earth Mom gracelessly slid,
Has a little kid ever taught Dad a lesson more profound?
You bet your ever-lovin’ wife’s life this kid did.
A Simpletons Mistake.
A teacher at Stoneman Douglas High School
Felt the call of Nature something cruel;
If experience has taught Sean anything at all
It’s not to try to forestall Natures call.
The Glock 9mm he’d bought to protect himself
He laid, Safety off, safely on a handy shelf,
And once his ruminations were done
He left with much relief but sans his gun.
There may well be need to vacate the latrine
For Sean to speedily, as it were, vacate the scene;
But for the benefit of the next occupants peace of mind
Please, Mr Simpson- doh!- don’t leave your piece behind.
My old school pal Robin has gone, God knows where,
He’s been gone ever so long, and I never knew,
The longer I live, the less this life seems fair,
And its too late to say ‘Robin, its been good to know you.’
Don’t Call Us.
When your iPhone takes a swim
Chances of it working are pretty slim,
Water sure does take its toll
On an Apple bobbing in the bowl.
The insurance company took the call,
They heard the story of your iPhones fall,
Though insurance is so damned expensive
It sure do pay off when it’s comprehensive.
The cheque for a replacement is in the mail,
Ah, but hold on, this isn’t the end of this tale;
Your tenure with the new Samsung was all too brief
Due to the gall of some light-fingered French thief.
The insurance company took the call, again,
Second time around the loss was easier to explain,
The first one might have taken quite the while
But this time the details were fresh on file.
Then came another whirlwind dash to the continent
Where crashing to the terrazzo the Samsung went,
Another call is made on a phone that’s literally cracking up;
My, aren’t the numbers on these new phones backing up?
Another cheque arrives, with a covering letter
Advising one to look after ones new phone better,
With thanks for making full use of your comprehensive claim
But asking you to please- please not renew it, if its all the same.
In Full Flight.
Sixteen hours of fractious flying
Next to a baby who won’t stop crying,
How sweet it will be to hear the sound
Of lips on tarmac when I kiss home ground.
O, the joy of being able to sleep in peace,
To surrender to Morpheus’ sweet release,
Far far away from a cry baby that won’t quit-
And a mom who invests in diapers that fully fit.
Head Banging Stuff.
Sat waiting at the terminal, interminably bored,
Then came an announcement for the last passengers to board;
‘This is your last and final call,’
Rang round the Customs hall
‘We’re waiting for passengers Yang Tang and Wang,’
Sounded like like the chorus from some 70s song ABBA might’ve sang.
(And I quote- true story, that.)