“Roger, the Ripped Kangaroo and ‘True Icon,’ has died”—CNN International
Today we said a hushed adieu
To Roger, called the Alpha Roo:
His weight was 89 kg,
His fans 1 million point 3,
His height six foot, unbowed his head,
His neck appropriately red
From rubbing trees—thus making known
That all his wives were his alone.
Oh Roger! You would flex your pecs
As few marsupials could flex;
No less impressive were your abs,
Which stood out proud like hairy slabs.
Before your bold and beefy stance,
The toughest types would turn askance—
Or else they’d rapidly intuit:
Risk rudeness with ripped roos, you’ll rue it.
“A 2,000-year-old Roman statuette of a silver-eyed goddess Minerva that for more than a decade was kept in a plastic margarine tub is among a record number of treasure discoveries made by the nation’s army of metal detectorists.”—The Guardian
How long had she been waiting, far from home,
Proud posture and immortal silver stare,
When an enthusiast trepanned the loam
In a dim Oxford field, and struck her there?
He brushed her gently: from her leaden dress
Dropped years of earth. How many, though? How long?
Resisting hope, he made a prudent guess
And called her Modern Copy. He was wrong.
He put her in a plastic tub, once packed
With Flora margarine; her moment past,
She lay forgotten, verdigrised and cracked,
For ten more years, till somebody at last
Glanced in and found her—this unlooked-for prize:
Flora-Minerva, of the silver eyes.
“We have now found juvenile seals with eels stuck in their noses on multiple occasions.” —Facebook page of the Hawaiian Monk Seal Research Program
We find this week that youthful seals
Have taken to inhaling eels—
Or else we’re seeing eels spelunk
Their way through seals’ phlegmatic gunk.
There’s photographic evidence
Of something’s loss of common sense,
As humankind (for once some use)
Does all it can to tug them loose.
What is the cause of this new fad?
Perhaps the beasts are going mad;
Or maybe it’s a staged tableau
To show how far both kinds will go.
Remember, though our race supposes
There’s something gross in eels-up-noses,
We’ve found no universal rule
For what the young believe is cool.
“In a dazzling discovery, fossils brought up from a mine in Wee Warra, near the Australian outback town of Lightning Ridge, belong to the newly named dinosaur species Weewarrasaurus pobeni. The animal, which was about the size of a Labrador retriever, walked on its hind legs and had both a beak and teeth for nibbling vegetation. A type of dinosaur known as an ornithopod, Weewarrasaurus may have moved in herds or small groups for protection.”—National Geographic
The climate’s shot:
The poles are hot,
The seas are spoiled and yeasty;
What have we got?
A knack, that’s what
(More sciency than priesty),
For bringing round
From underground
The dead and gone—at least, we
Out back have found
This fossil-bound
Weewarrasaurus beastie!
“Ornithopod!
If I were God,
You’d live,” I sighed; then smarted
As, with an odd
Sarcastic nod
He spoke, like one re-started:
“Your grief is worth
No more than mirth:
But if you’re tender-hearted,
And long for dearth
To pause on earth,
It’s time your kind departed.”
“New pot shop’s neighbors say traffic jams are awful”
—The Boston Globe
If you run a store that peddles pot,
You’ll need a bigger parking lot.
It seems the high demand for grass
Is causing traffic jams in Mass.,
And those who live close by the store
Are more than just a little sore.
Here’s my advice to those fine folk:
Just join the crowd and have a smoke.
“Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell says ‘some kind of response’ is needed from the United States for the Saudis’ role in [Khashoggi’s] gruesome death”—AP
“Early in its history, Mars may have looked a lot like Earth. … But the last 3 billion years have been a slow-motion disaster…” —The Washington Post
Though Mars is a wasteland of dust,
There’s no sense in making a fuss.
Slow-motion disaster
Will never go faster
And nothing will happen to us.
We seem to have frequenter bouts
With hurricanes, blizzards, and droughts.
But weather is iffy,
Can change in a jiffy,
And science is nothing but doubts.
Forget about climate-change fears.
Our planet is fine, it appears.
So no one need worry
Or be in a hurry.
We’ve still got three billion more years.
“Renoir Estimated at $180,000 Is Stolen From Austrian Auction House”—The New York Times
Who saw, who saw, the small Renoir
Snatched from the auction house ce soir?
The forms were signed, the t’s were crossed,
The auctioneers were toasting Prost!
Now everybody’s mood is noir.
Did some gendarme (affreux à croire!)
Slope off for quelque chose à boire?
There is no way this can be glossed.
Who saw, who saw?
Someone has failed in their devoir,
And lost the house a deal of gloire,
At serious financial cost;
Besides, of course, the painting’s lost,
And like Renoir, that maître d’art,
Who saw, who saw?
Trump pardons turkeys. Murder, though,
is something we can just let go.
The Saudi Prince has crossed no line.
The Saudis buy our arms. It’s fine.
We’ve made a deal. Why make a fuss?
What matters is the U.S. Us.
But one day soon the ax will fall
on what makes turkeys of us all.
