“Where once people were duped by soft-focus photos and borrowed chat-up lines, now they have to watch out for computer-generated charm.” —The Guardian
“Mon cher amour,” exhaled the dying Cyrano, “There’s something you must hear tonight before I go: The tender words, the praise—all absolutely true— The love—” Roxane cut in: “I know all that was you: You hid your love, I know, and I’m aware of why: It was your nose!” “No, no,” he wheezed; “’twas all AI! I started, yes, but, though I lasted quite a while, I somehow lost my knack for précieux courting style: I didn’t sound like Christian—good; his stuff was twee; But by degrees I found I didn’t sound like me. And so I asked a bot, “Do Cyrano!” It did; And no one knew (till now) the sum of what I hid. Adieu, amour!” Roxane sat dazed. That wit! Those rhymes! “I loved one man,” she sighed; “I’ve lost him now three times.”
“They’re literally, you walk over from Iran to Qatar. You can walk it in one second. You go ‘boom boom’ and now you’re in Qatar.” —A noted world traveler fantasizing about Middle East geography. In reality, Qatar’s only land border is with Saudi Arabia. Iran is more than 100 miles away across the Persian Gulf.
Step literally off Iran, sink, sputter Until (boom boom) you’re all washed up in Qatar.
Time’s cover, a shot from below, Is one the Chief wants us to know Is not to his liking, Although it is striking For what that odd angle can show
As sunlight plays tricks with his hair: That one thing he simply can’t bear! For him, worst of all, His “crown” is so small We won’t even know it is there.
“The Tory peer Zac Goldsmith has submitted a new swift brick amendment to the House of Lords [that would require new buildings to include hollow bricks that swifts can nest in]…” —The Guardian
When approached for a comment, a swift shook her head and appeared rather miffed. “All this government fuss. No one ever asked us! Bricks indeed. Now, a cave? That’s a gift!”
“A family court in the central Indian city of Bhopal is dealing with an unusual case of marital discord, where a couple who married less than a year ago is now seeking divorce reportedly because their pet dog and cat cannot get along.” —The Independent
Messily, pettily, partners in India seek a divorce in the hope it relieves
tensions developing interspecifically, clearly fed up with each other’s pet peeves.
“Parents list top skills and traits they want kids to learn before they leave home” —The Mirror
You want your kids to learn to climb the ladder, And learn to put away a goodly whack Of everything they earn to stop them claiming They can’t afford a house and moving back.
“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.
