“When Elmo, the Muppet, innocently asked people how they were on [Twitter], thousands of users replied, sharing their grief and despair.” —BBC
How is everyone today?
Feeling hopeless, in dismay?
Elmo can relate to struggles.
Elmo offers online snuggles.
Muppets truly understand—
Inside, we all need a hand.
“The NFL is totally RIGGED for the Kansas City Chiefs, Taylor Swift, Mr. Pfizer (Travis Kelce).
All to spread DEMOCRAT PROPAGANDA. Calling it now: [During the Super Bowl]… Swift comes out
at the halftime show and ‘endorses’ Joe Biden with Kelce at midfield. It’s all been an op since day one.” —Mike Crispi, advancing one of many right-wing conspiracy theories involving Swift, Kelce and the Super Bowl
Our powerful forces are working in secret!
A handsome tight end and a popular singer
are clouding the minds and the hearts of the people
with phony romance and a vaccine humdinger!
To further our purpose of sinking the country,
we’ve rigged a whole season of fake competition,
propping up psyops to spread propaganda,
promoting our liberal plot of sedition.
Perhaps fans won’t notice in all of the uproar
the sinister message we Libs are promoting:
that justice and truth and humanity matter.
And they can insist on their freedom by voting!
“Andrew Scott: sex scenes less ‘embarrassing’ for audience if one actor plays both characters” —The Guardian
I cringe and furiously doodle
Whenever two on stage canoodle;
A pair of actors making out
Has all my blush-genes breaking out.
When was a more embarrassed wreck seen
Than I, before a four-hand sex scene?
Imagine, then, how I’m delighted
To find this situation righted!
Great Scott! by his exclusive antics,
Has saved the boards for shy romantics;
For none (save Governor De Santis)
Are shamed by solo in flagrantes.
“Brits investing in stocks and shares fell by more than five percent last year, study finds” —Daily Express
Investing for the first time is exciting.
You keep on checking markets on your cell.
Be careful not to do it while you’re walking,
’Cos if they aren’t doing very well,
You’ll likely stare in anguish at the figures,
And likely not be watching where you stroll,
And likely make your troubles even deeper
By breaking something falling down a hole.
“Trump Campaigns in Nevada, Where He Has Virtually No Rival” —The New York Times
It’s bound to be raucous:
Nevada’s one caucus
Won’t let voters pick Nikki Haley,
Yet Don still gets grumpy
And totally Trumpy,
Demeaning Ms. H on the daily.
His GOP rival
Now pins, for survival,
High hopes on her home state (Palmetto).
But win or lose badly,
By June she’ll be sadly
Consigned to the Never-Trump ghetto.
“‘This should not be ridiculed’: The link between hypochondria and early death” —The Guardian
Today I’m feeling all reflective
Based upon my new perspective.
Friends and fam I now see mourning
Disregarded every warning.
Tears and laughter as they grieve me—
Wish they’d chosen to believe me.
Sympathies expressed? They’re on it.
(Told them I was sick, doggone it!)
“’We won world wars out of forts,” [ex-President Trump] said at an event in Rochester, New Hampshire. “Fort Benning, Fort This, Fort That, many forts. They changed the name, we won wars out of these forts, they changed the name, they changed the name of the forts. A lot of people aren’t too happy about that.’” —HuffPost
We won our World Wars out of forts, many forts:
Fort Michie, Fort Ritchie, and forts of all sorts;
Forts Benning and Snelling, where heroes were at;
But best of them all were Fort This and Fort That.
Our enemies, lots of bad enemies, say
It scared them to hear of Fort Jay and Fort Ray;
Fort Petrie would petrify enemies’ ears;
But those two Fort Pronouns brought Hitler to tears.
And now we’re renaming them, changing the name.
Whatever they’re called, it will not be the same,
And folks aren’t too happy, they’re going to miss
The world-warring sounds of Fort That and Fort This.
“Potty-mouthed parrots rehoused to clean up their language” —The Times
This is Tyson, an African Grey,
And perpetual cause of dismay.
It is hard not to scowl
At this foulest of fowl
Squawking smut every hour of the day.
So we’ve put him with birds better bred,
In the hope they’ll get into his head.
Though today they were shocked,
When he told them, “Get flocked!”
(And that wasn’t the worst thing he said.)
We regret he’s just one of a group
That loves swooping around talking poop.
The same fate now awaits
These disorderly mates—
Though we’re thinking about parrot soup!