“A parrot has been reunited with its owner three years after it was stolen in France—
after shouting out its name to police. … When police seized the talkative bird… it began to squawk,
‘Jako, Jako, Jako’—a traditional name for parrots in France, like Polly. But one of the cops remembered
that a colleague who had lost his parrot with the same name in 2020 told fellow officers that
the bird would say its name if found…”
—The New York Post
A parrot foiled its thief by shouting, “Jako!”—
A tale which sounds to me completely wacko:
Gendarmes would surely mock that owner’s folly
Who chose to call his bird the French for “Polly.”
If I’d a parrot, I would have it listed
As “Thisbe Theft” or maybe “Iris Isted”;
Or (though the less articulate might scoff)
Another choice would be “I. Wanda Doff.”
I want a name a stolen bird would shout right:
Like “Rob Berree” or possibly “Nick Doutright”;
But—though I see the charm of “Don Ignoreme”—
I’d plump for “Ivan Ownerwaitingforme.”
“Todd Dillman [was in a Florida harbor] when he spotted a bear in the water…
He said the scene became even more shocking moments later… ‘I came back around
and looked over and he’s on the sailboat… walking back and forth, across the bow’
[attracting] a crowd of onlookers.”
one ursine prodigy
swam in the bay, raising
many a brow—
not only that, but this
proudly, before he was
through, took a bow.
The news is overwhelming, no?
I’m sure all readers feel it’s so.
But think of Aristophanes,
The dean of wartime comedies,
And Margaret Dumont and Groucho,
Freedonia’s patroness and gaucho,
Brecht, Shaw, Kubrick, Country Joe,
Joe Heller, Twain, Bierce, Chaplin, Fo—
Of all the choruses who wore
Wry faces in the face of war.
And never doubt the force of wit
To hug that beast and throttle it.
Speaker of the House, frantic for the job,
Clinging to my gavel till my fingers throb;
Cut a little deal, anything’ll do,
Sticking to the office like epoxy glue,
Teaming up with all who’ll have me,
Keeping scruples safe on ice;
What good are friends? I hate ’em;
Eight dumb votes, I’m pitched from Paradise!
Speaker of the House, shafted by the Fates,
Decommissioned, courtesy of Mad Matt Gaetz,
GOP forgets how I saved its rump,
Hammering those rioters but lauding Trump:
Everybody’s least-worst option,
Everybody’s empty suit;
Just mark my words verbatim:
Eight dumb votes, you all could get the boot!
“[Footage] appears to show a Russian soldier ranting about ‘brand new’ tank shells that arrived with no explosives
in them… Throughout the video, the commander can be heard repeatedly cursing in Russian…”
causes morale to be
lower than nil;
bombs and commanders work
One won’t explode? Then the
other one will.
“Voting is now officially open in the 2023 Fat Bear Week competition, celebrating
the ability of brown bears to pack on weight for their hibernation cycle in Alaska.”
The candidates are gluttons, sure,
But they need no excuse:
Bears sleep for months, in dreams of pure,
Fresh salmon, berry juice,
And honey. Politicians grub,
Meanwhile, for votes and cash,
The truffles of their tony club,
Where sweet dreams go to crash.