“More rice, bigger chairs and reinforced toilets: sumo wrestling comes to London” —The Guardian
When sumo comes to London’s Albert Hall, Enormity recalibrates all norms In weighty matters: toilets on the wall Get reinforced, big chairs are bought, and dorms Have stronger beds for crucial post-lunch naps— These beds must take the strain of quite a hulk, Yet manage for three hours to not collapse. Men apt to find their monolithic bulk Abruptly thrust upon close ringside seats To squash their biggest fans, inflate the charge That guarantees insurance cover meets Expenses from their surgeons’ ultra-large Repairs. But every ticket has been sold— So sumo wrestling’s worth its weight in gold!
Drop all the lox, cut out the cheesecake cone, Brush the last dustings from the pizza stone, Box up the last precious scraps of crumb. Bring out the menu with a sigh of “Yum!”
Set special grains on the last true bread, Spelling the words “What a splendid Spread.” Put Brie below and pastrami above; Set it on tablecloths the gods might love.
Anyone who has a mouth will here attest: His schmear was peerless, his babka blessed, His challah golden, his coffee strong, His Reuben paninis a full foot long.
The stars are hungry now; they’ve had their final bun; Pack up the spoons, see, the long shift’s done; Save your mementos, dream of all you’ve chewed; For nowhere now will ever serve you real food.
“The Blessing of the Animals service at Washington National Cathedral has seen people bring reptiles, birds and a misbehaving hedgehog…” —The Washington Post
Of course bring your dog or your cat.
Your spider. Your bunny. Your rat. You’ll quickly forget All ills of your pet.
Our blessing will take care of that.
What works for a gerbil or mouse,
And even, perhaps, for a louse, Won’t work for an Ass Or any—Alas!—
Who are there from the Senate or House.
“Travis Kelce couldn’t help but smile when asked how he felt about Taylor Swift’s NSFW song ‘Wood’ off of her new album, The Life of a Showgirl“ —E! News
Would you be Taylor’s latest prize? You would? Would you feel special when the guys Post-game began to harmonize To tuneful lines about her thighs? You’d feel your manly spirits rise And seize the chance to advertise A magic wand of super size— You would?
“Burning down the house: Milei plays rock star as Argentina economy crashes” —The Guardian
Since economics clearly ain’t his thing, One head of state can’t wait to strut and sing; He somehow still has time to chase his “art” While Argentina stalls and falls apart.
Supporters pack the house. That’s not a shocker— This rogue can rock (he’s also off his rocker). His cover of the Who gets folks excited: Hope I die before I get indicted.
“Though cute, the ‘mob’ of wallabies (as they are collectively known) poses a threat to the Isle of Man’s ecology… [T]he Isle of Man’s mob is almost certainly the biggest in Britain, [but] it is not the only one.” —The Economist
Feel mobbed by small marsupials? You have a good excuse. From Devonshire to Nottingham the wallabies are loose.
A thousand in the Isle of Man are visible from drones. (A few escaped from wildlife parks, and multiplied like clones).
They nibble vegetation and perhaps a fence or so, but look into their wistful eyes and gently let them go.
O do not cull the wallabies! Let them keep passing through. Perhaps in love and politics they feel the same as you. The world has room enough for all, if all mobs want it to.
“Topless butler firm seeks to strip rivals of ‘buff’ branding” —The Times
Buff butlers point fingers of blame, In a feud over what’s in a name. Who’ll prevail in this fight? I suspect that it might Be the one with more skin in the game.
“Sultry Penthouse Pet accused of wooing love-starved older men online—then robbing them blind” —New York Post
Geezers on Tinder, don’t gripe if a model declares you’re her type as you shamelessly tout all your wealth, then find out that the fox was just swiping to swipe.
“Pubs to stay open until early hours in push for UK growth” —The Guardian
Exchequer mandarins, in need of cash, Collude with pubs to raise it from more sales Of alcohol at nighttime, when a bash Need never more break up too soon in Wales Or England. Longer opening hours mean both More opportunity to be pie-eyed In public and more “economic growth”— Consumption with taxation on the side. Great Britain’s not for temperance if booze Revives its fortunes: Rachel Reeves’s vows Of no new taxes mean tax revenues Will have to come instead from old cash cows: The more you drink, the more taxation will Have drained your wallet, paying Reeves’s bill!
“More than 145 people in a wide range of occupations have been fired or disciplined after they made statements about the assassination of Charlie Kirk.” —The New York Times
They lost their jobs when set upon by mourning MAGA minions, Since nothing says “free speech” like getting sacked for one’s opinions.
