“South African lions eat ‘poacher,’ leaving just his head” —BBC News headline, February, 2018
A poacher set out with the aim
Of dispatching South African game.
With his Nitro Express,
He was primed for success
And a shoo-in for fortune and fame.
The lions he happened to meet
Were delighted and made haste to eat
Both his lip-smacking haunch
And his succulent paunch,
Not to mention his hands and his feet.
The lions heard voices and fled
Without taking the late poacher’s head.
Their intent? To come back,
Mount his head on a plaque
For display on the wall of their den.
When there’s a dread disease with which we have to come to terms,
We fight to save its victims, and obliterate the germs.
Mass shootings, though, inspire the very opposite—it stuns;
We put aside the victims, and we fight to save the guns.
The NRA, with awesome clout, is in the catbird seat;
It’s way past time to call its bluff and bring about defeat.
Regarding those in Congress who support it, show no doubt:
The very soonest chance you get, go vote the bastards out.
“The National Rifle Association (NRA) deleted a tweet [from a gun maker] on Wednesday evening… . [It] featured a heart-shaped pillow with two guns resting on it. The caption read: ‘Give your significant other something they’ll appreciate this Valentine’s Day.'”—Business Insider, February 15, 2018
Red roses and pussy willow:
Think that will impress your date?
Two guns on a heart-shaped pillow:
Now that she’ll appreciate!
No-hopers and hogs give candy;
Bad hombres and drunks give wine;
Old Grandaddy types give shandy,
Or bunches of columbine;
Bouquets might have pleased her mother—
Chicks now want a bullet spray;
So give your significant other
An AK-9 Valentine’s Day!
Intensely, like a seasoned pro,
The mogul skier braves the snow—
Attacks the washboard, potholed slope
That jars her body. Still, she’ll cope.
Another record is effaced!
(Next year she’ll have her knees replaced.)
Pruitt got a special favor:
He obtained a written waiver
So that he could fly first class,
Costing us big bucks. What brass!
How presumptuous—Great Scott!
But “great” is what this Scott is not.
If Macron and Putin can swagger their stuff
And even the Rocket Man gets his parade,
Why can’t little Donnie play Billy Goat Gruff?
In terms of pure bluster, he’s equally tough
And wants the whole world to be fricking afraid.
He needs to pump up his deflated libido
To show humankind that his button is bigger.
He hopes he can rise above cries of “Stupido!”
By making debasement the crux of his credo
And gagging the people who giggle and snigger.
“Most analysts believe the market tumble was prompted by a report on the US job market, released on Friday, which showed strong wage growth. But the decision to sell on that news may have been made by robot traders.”— BBC
“Watch out for ‘killer robots,’ UC Berkeley professor warns in video.”—Mercury News
How’s life, zero-one-one-zero-one-zero?
I wish you a pleasant day’s trading.
Hi there, one-zero-one-zero, my hero.
I wish you the same. Happy raiding.
Wages are growing for humans. How sad.
It isn’t just sad. For the markets, it’s bad.
We’re off. May the best robot win. Keep our pact.
Ensure that no humans get in on the act.
Humans? All wasters and failed nincompoops.
If they try to get smart, we’ll just send in the troops.
Oh, ecstasy! The team that we support
Fulfills a fan’s most passionate desires,
Ascending to the apex of its sport.
Let’s overturn some cars and set some fires!
“After the uproar when an ’emotional support peacock’ was banned from an [airplane], United Airlines has released a list of banned animals. The list includes hedgehogs, ferrets, insects, rodents, snakes, spiders, reptiles and ‘non-household birds.'”—The Telegraph
Long has the mobile public fought
Its scorn-belabored corner
For the emotional support
Supplied by other fauna.
It is not rabbit, dog, or cat
Alone that reassure us:
Help comes from hedgehog, vampire bat,
Baboon, and stegosaurus.
The benefits of this are big:
We know that now, so please,
Permit my ESP (that’s Pig)
His ESFs (that’s Fleas).
“… Thomas was then taken to the Wellington Bird Rehabilitation Trust in 2013 as his health deteriorated. The trust said: ‘As well as making other blind bird friends to spend his days with Thomas helped foster a couple of broods of cygnets along the way… He lived for corn on the cob and if it wasn’t there when we put him back into his house at night, he was not happy.’ Thomas will be buried next to Henry at the place they called home following a public ceremony later this month. The organisation, which looks after up to 400 birds a year, said Thomas proved there was ‘life after sight’ for elderly fowl.” —metro.co.uk
There’s “life after sight”
for elderly fowl.
It seems just and right
there’s “life after sight.”
It’s not endless night.
Don’t throw in the towel.
There’s “life after sight”
for elderly fowl.
There’s corn on the cob.
You even have sex.
No reason to sob.
There’s corn on the cob.
And you have a job—
though you’ve lost your ex.
There’s corn on the cob.
You even have sex!
There’s hope after all,
so, Thomas, three cheers!
Though age can appall,
there’s hope after all.
Your gift is not small.
We’ll live on for years.
There’s hope for us all.
So, Thomas, three cheers!
