“The Penny Dies at 232: A long decline into irrelevance ended on Wednesday in Philadelphia.” —The New York Times
The penny drops. Its fall’s complete. It cost too much, the bankers bleat. You’ll have to junk your little stash; Though Hamilton might think this rash, Fiat and crypto have it beat.
The penny’s value was discreet: It could secure a little treat, Or, saved, add up to well-earned cash. The penny drops
Today, and in its brusque defeat I’m sensing something like a cheat; A humble item, lacking flash, Has gone, unthanked, like common trash: Without the tiniest receipt, The penny drops.
“Who is ‘fedora man’? Dapper French teenager in viral Louvre heist photo unmasked: Fifteen-year-old Pedro Elias Garzon Delvaux was captured looking suave in a picture outside the Paris museum on the day of a crown jewels heist” —The Guardian
He wore a brown fedora That flattered his physique, Bequeathing him an aura Of Raymond Chandler chic;
He made no crass maneuver To draw the crowding press, Just lounged outside the Louvre All weary knowingness.
Already thrilled and dizzy— The heist had been so bold— The world implored “Who is he?” But when the truth was told,
It felt somehow defective. His vita was so brief: French schoolboy, not detective, And (Zut alors!) not thief.
“Worth a shout? Yelling is the best way to deter gulls, UK study suggests” —The Guardian
It seems that shouting has deterred The crime of “robbery by bird,” But, when starved seagulls mount attacks On tourists’ chips and other snacks, The sort of yell the thieves might wish Is . . . Sorry that we stole your fish!
“I tried [soccer star] Erling Halland’s fitness routine for a day. I’ve rarely felt so smug” – The Telegraph
But even just a small amount of training Can leave you with a gratifying glow, As long as you are regularly checking It’s slightly more than anyone you know.
“President Trump’s Halloween party at Mar-a-Lago, set to the theme of ‘The Great Gatsby,’ re-enacted the decadence of that story’s licentious era … The revelatory moment says so much about where we stand today—and what we could be lurching into next.” —The New York Times
Gatsby’s back, alive and well. Let the country go to Hell! Drink and spend and have a ball! Who says rising things must fall?
Who says we can’t spend and spend? That “good times” are bound to end? That one can’t just say “Old Sport” and think that will hold the fort?
Party on, and bust, and break! All is for the taking. Take! Spoils are for the Well-To-Do. Raise your glass to You Know Who.
Raise your glass and fork that cash! Who says there will be a Crash? See that Oval Office gleam? Make a nightmare of the Dream.
Snatch huge profits from the loss. Then, pay homage to the Boss. Never suffer shame or doubt.
“Judge shocked as officer joins court meeting over Zoom without wearing pants” —Fox
His Honor grants a legal stay allowing press its exposé about an officer in court whose wardrobe choices came up short as long as no reporter probes what judges wear beneath their robes.
“Slang terms like ‘six-seven’ have no definition. But they’re loaded with meaning” —The Guardian
The kids who spout this gibberish today Must learn to speak in words both pure and true. If they should still refuse the proper way, Hey, 23 skidoo!
We’ll school ’em till the cows come home, for sure, In phrase and elocution while we can. Their slang and nonsense, no one should endure— Your father’s mustache, man!
“Tyra Banks is launching ‘hot ice cream’… a creamy, dreamy consistency that can be sipped from a cup…” —CNN
So, Tyra Banks announced her drink debut? But I’ve already crafted such a brew:
My mocha cappuccino with a hint of caramel, vanilla, peppermint, a healthy splash of heavy whipping cream infused with almond concentrate, then steam till just about a boil, with room for rice milk, sprinkled with a dash of pumpkin spice.
But I suppose I’ll try hers for a span, at least till Starbucks lifts my lifetime ban.
“New Jersey [police] officer charged after going out for pizza instead of responding to shooting” —The Guardian
Our officers are dedicated, to the nth degree. Okay, so Sarge Bollaro wasn’t right where he should be The night he stopped for pizza as two locals lay here dyin’, But hey, at least he didn’t order Cali or Hawaiian!
