by Chris O’Carroll
Freedom for trolls with their birther-style lies,
For loud anti-science conspiracy guys,
For tweetstorms that help keep America great
By telling God’s patriots who they should hate,
For Joy speaking out in her stars-and-stripes dress,
But not for that anti-Trump hit squad, the press.
by Marshall Cobb
“Bear breaks into car, butt-shifts vehicle and drives downhill.”
— KMGH, Boulder County, CO
Remember that old question
That’s puzzled man for years?
With claims on either side,
We’ve argued over beers.
This daring bear in Boulder
Has given us the goods;
At last, we’ve solved the riddle,
“Does a bear shift in the woods?”
by Jerome Betts
“Boris Johnson has already won” the Tory leadership contest.
— The ConservativeHome website
If the buffoon’s balloon really flies
With results at once comic and sinister,
Blessed by Trump of the ten thousand lies,
Should his title be changed? Sub-Prime Minister?
by Dan Campion
Whoever leaked Sir Kim Darroch’s comments on Donald Trump should be “run down, caught and eviscerated.” — Boris Johnson
Sir Kim Darroch is out, poor sod.
Such mundane fates befall us.
But, Boris! Here’s an angry god
Who craves his William Wallace.
by Julia Griffin
“In an extraordinary letter, [Marc Veyrat, chef of La Maison des Bois] railed against his demotion [by Michelin Guide inspectors] … . ‘I have been depressed for six months. How dare you take the health of your chefs hostage? … [The inspectors] dared to say that we put cheddar in our soufflé of reblochon, beaufort and tomme! They have insulted our region; my employees were furious. When we have eggs from our chickens, milk from our cows, and two botanists collect our plants every morning!’
Eating at La Maison des Bois … is described on Veyrat’s website as ‘a veritable pastoral and
mineral symphony in which nature’s bounty is displayed in each and every dish.'”
— The Guardian
They dared to say there’s cheddar in our soufflé!
Our soufflé, coaxed from tomme and reblochon
On which, for sheer douceur, the fragrant hoof lay
Of one whose coat I’ve personally shone!
The miserable frauds detected cheddar!
And yet they flaunt themselves as critics still!
They hoped to put my feelings through a shredder:
Are they content that I’m depressed and ill,
And all this region wounded and offended
By imbeciles deserving to be sued?
My restaurant should not have condescended
To offer such a symphony of food,
Such hymns to Nature, bountiful and tuneful—
Like prawns in pine sap, served on bits of shed—
To those more aptly serviced with a spoonful
Of fat-free processed mild Velveeta spread.
by Cody Walker
Kirsten E. Gillibrand?
Amy J. Klobuchar?
Feels like I’m missing one.
Liz! That’ll work.
Joe, Your Bus Is Waiting
Harris is smiling—so
Nothing to fear.
Pleasantly saying you’re
Not quite a racist, she
Ends your career.
by Nora Jay
“Hong Kong marks anniversary of Chinese rule with protests“
Carrie was a little Lam:
They loved her in Beijing,
And anywhere that Jinping went,
He led her on a string.
Extradition was his wish,
So Carrie did her best,
Bleating her commitment to
The public interest.
But the people of Hong Kong
All stamped and chanted, “No!”
To the slaughter in Beijing
They did not wish to go.
Extradition’s now on hold
(No one thinks it’s gone);
In Βeijing they bide their time,
Keep calm and Carrie on.
by Julia Griffin
“I had a teardrop that floated in front of me”
—Astronaut speaking to The Washington Post
I had a teardrop that floated in front of me:
Dear little bauble that sparkled with hope.
“Crystal,” I called her, and gladly I followed her,
Charmed like a child with a bubble of soap.
Sadly this morning I learned the true cost of this:
Here in Deep Space it’s as cold as you please,
And, since there isn’t a smidgen of gravity,
Now I’m behind the results of a sneeze.
by Brian Allgar
My tanks make the day, though it rains and it rains,
But where is my fly-by? I’m very distressed;
I said there should be Revolutionary planes,
But them DoD traitors turned down my request.
by Ruth S. Baker
“Find out when Live Women’s Ashes is on TV”
O tennis is turgid and baseball’s a bore—
Those tedious catches and smashes;
There’s one sport alone has me thrilled to the core,
And that is the Live Women’s Ashes.
O Novak’s no Djoker and Freeman’s no fool:
Their victories nobody hinders;
But—call me a zombie or call me a ghoul—
I’ll only watch Women’s Live Cinders.
So whack all you want to, or go take a dive
(I’m no more enthused about swimmin’):
Until you are truly extinct (while alive),
I’ll stick to my Live Ashen Women.