by Clyde Always
“Investigators say [a student] got a hold of some marijuana edibles at home and brought them
to school. The child shared them with other students, causing more than 15 to become ill at
school on Friday.”
—ABC News
Stoner kids
in all my classes
come to school
baked off their asses!
Easy, now,
have you forgotten?
We, as teens,
were just as rotten.
Teens you say?
I beg your pardon—
I’m in charge
of Kindergarten!
by Bruce Bennett
“Anglo-Saxon Kings Made Sure to Eat Their Vegetables, Study Shows”
—The New York Times
Egbert, Aethelwulf, that crew
ate the same as me and you.
Though they craved some special dish,
they didn’t always get their wish.
Though at holidays their feasts,
like our own, were filled with beasts,
ordinary days they’d eat
vegetables instead of meat.
Hollywood had got it wrong.
Royals, large and loud and strong,
gorging out on what they’d please?
No, they ate their beans and peas.
Maybe scenes should be reshot?
Focus on the fork and pot.
Show how they were just like us,
nibblers on asparagus.
Think of how our kids would gape.
No more sword fights, orgies, rape!
Peaceful men in quiet rooms,
smiling, as they ate legumes.
by Steven Kent
“KFC’s £198 Twister holder touted as next It bag—except among vegans”
—The Guardian
Chanel, Hermes, Vuitton, and Prada—
Handbags I’ll have none of, nada.
So long Coach, goodbye to Fendi;
Now a brand-new name is trendy.
Who’s the hottest? Fashion branders,
Listen up: It’s Colonel Sanders.
by Dan Campion
“Maradona’s ‘Hand of God’ shirt fetches $9.3M at auction, a sports memorabilia record”
—NPR
When soccer feels the “Hand of God,”
Though cloth is cheap as dirt,
Trust auctioneers. They’ll wink and nod
And sell the blessèd shirt.
by Iris Herriot
“Three-legged dog with cancer saves baby otter in Minnesota river drama”
—The Guardian
If you don’t love a three-legged dog with cancer,
You don’t deserve the title of a man, sir,
And if your heart is cold to baby otters,
You rank among this generation’s rotters.
(About the rivers, though, of Minnesota,
No gentleman need bother one iota.)
by Brian Allgar
“Amber Heard Claims Putting Poop in Johnny Depp’s Bed Was a ‘Horrible Practical Joke,’
Employee Testifies”
—Us Weekly
Oh, let it not be said that Amber Heard
For Johnny Depp just doesn’t give a turd.
by Clyde Always
“Google is pausing a controversial ‘inclusive language’ feature that …
proposes gender-neutral alternatives to words like ‘policeman’ or ‘housewife’
in a manner similar to the way that other software services correct spelling and grammar issues.”
—The Washington Times
I’m here to confirm the new headlines are true:
although they’re still tracking near all that you do,
Google, no longer, will seek to eschew
words of the gender-specific taboo.
They also have scrapped
this slogan most apt:
“BIG SIBLING IS WATCHING YOU!”
by Alex Steelsmith
Vladimir Putin “attended an Easter mass conducted by the Russian Orthodox Church… (He) stood to one side… holding a lit red candle,… crossed himself several times during the ceremony… (and) joined the other members of the congregation” in prayer.
—Reuters
Jiggery-pokery,
Putin the slaughterer
holding a candle and
praying? Egad!
Many a monster of
Mephistophelian
infamy can’t hold a
candle to Vlad.
Doubledy-troubledy
Putin the slaughterer,
tyrant who rules at a
terrible cost,
trying his best to seem
unhypocritical,
crossed himself—and, to be
sure, double-crossed.
by Steven Kent
“Capitol Rioter Caught After FBI Finds Recording of Him Boasting to Uber Driver”
—The Guardian
Hey buddy, I don’t mean to boast,
But history was made today!
And in the future I can say
I served where I was needed most.
A Minuteman, to be real blunt,
Might look and act a lot like me.
I strode with purpose valiantly
When I got summoned to the front.
We knew our chance would soon be gone;
The time had come to fight like men.
We smashed our way inside and then—
Hey buddy, is that camera on?
by Julia Griffin
“Bigger classes? Yes, but pupils have got bigger too, say UK teachers
Union delegates say walking into class is like entering the land of the giants”
—The Guardian
I press my shirt, I pack my bag,
I clasp my parking pass,
And off I set for Brobdingnag
To teach my morning class.
A kindly pupil picks me up
And sets me on my chair;
Another lifts my coffee cup,
With admirable care.
I thank them (through my megaphone),
Then raise my yard of chalk
And write a quiz (which means, I own,
A rather dusty walk).
They rarely sulk or answer back:
They fear to make an F;
And thus they’re careful not to snack
On chips that make me deaf.
What souvenirs (conceive the size)
I’ll have when I retire!
—Though when I do, I will advise
A somewhat higher hire.
—Molly Roberts in The Washington Post
by Barbara Loots
Twittery-quittery,
moving to Canada’s
smugly ignored by a
primitive tribe—
People of Email, the
antediluvian
techno-refusniks who
didn’t subscribe.
by Bruce Bennett
“I’d also like to come up with a new breakfast strategy.
I was cutting chunks of cold navel orange into plain yogurt
throughout citrus season, then scrambling eggs to eat on buttered
floured tortillas, then daubing apricot preserves onto store-bought croissants.
All that eventually grew tiring, as can happen when you eat the same thing
every morning…”
—Sam Sifton in The New York Times
My strategy is simple.
I down some coffee, black,
then maybe gulp a second cup.
I leave and don’t come back
Till dinnertime (I skip my lunch),
then pour myself a drink
and wolf whatever I can find
while standing at the sink.
by Eddie Aderne
“‘Fictosexual’ man married hologram bride, but now struggles to bond with her”
—New York Post
We shared a page; it isn’t hype,
Though cynics thought our tale a sham:
We found we were each other’s type,
As hollow heart met hologram.
Our love was deep: we went beyond
The bounds of the conventional,
But recently I’ve found our bond
A little two-dimensional.
by Chris O’Carroll
Cynthia Albritton “gained fame making sculptures of male rockers’ genitals,
an attention-getting gimmick that she grew to regard as art
and that became part of rock ’n’ roll lore.”
—The New York Times
The cast of stars she cast was semi-vast.
Their music and their horns were such a blast,
She loved them and she made their manhood last.
She lived life wild and free plus hard and fast.
At leaving culture warriors aghast
Her upright groupie craft was unsurpassed.
by Julia Griffin
One wicked man is all it takes:
One appetite that nothing slakes,
Which somehow went unseen before.
Now Europe shivers to its core
To see such elevated stakes.
Some horror every morning wakes
The Western conscience till it aches,
And nobody can now ignore
One wicked man.
Though all his promises are fakes
Exposed by every move he makes,
He has ensured we can’t be sure
He won’t begin atomic war,
So we must heed, for all our sakes,
One wicked man.