New Yorkers pushed back at Cruz on “New York values” 

Start spreading the news:

This Senator Cruz

Is one who eschews

Those liberal views

Those girls with tattoos

In old New York!


They don’t play horseshoes,

Don’t have barbecues,

Drink imported booze

In old New York!


He’s putting the screws

To guys who say “youse”

Who hondle and schmooze

And never eat pork!


Those New York values

He considers suspect:

Does he mean Hindus?

Or some other sect?

Inspired by seeing The Big Short, here is a repost of a Newsverse from 2009:


It is an ancient stockbroker

He’s drinking Coke and Jacks.

“Hey, I know you,” the banker said.

“You worked at Goldman Sachs.


“You swung a big one, so I heard

Way back in the day.

But here I came to watch the game

And now you’re in my way.”


The stockbroker held up a hand

And ordered J&B

He fixed the banker with a stare

“There was a bond,” quoth he.


“Something called a CDO

A total sack of doody

But anyway, a Triple-A

From S&P and Moody.”


“I fear you, ancient stockbroker!

I fear you’ll get me fired!

You’re in the tank with Barney Frank.

I think you might be wired.”


“We flogged it up and down the Street

And lots of other places

And no one thought that what they’d bought

Might blow up in their faces.”


“Chill out, ancient stockbroker!

Get up off the floor!

Why look’st thou so?” “That CDO—

I sold to my brother-in-law!


“And when the housing boom went bust

I had nowhere to hide.

Instead of a bow, the CDO

Around my neck was tied.


“Houses, houses everywhere

And the market sure did stink

Houses, houses everywhere

I had to see a shrink.


“And now I go from bar to bar

From Greenwich to Penn Station

And I try to steer, for the price of a beer

Young bankers from temptation.”


The banker stared into his glass

“I hope you get some takers,”

He slowly said, then shook his head.

“Now, let me watch the Lakers.”

 Dr. Jonathan Zizmor, famous among New Yorkers for advertising his dermatology practice with subway placards, has retired. 

Dr. Zizmor calls it quits

He will leave us to our zits

Having reached the very acme

In the field of treating acne

Now in golden years desists

From a life of draining cysts.


And so for us, our imperfections,

Show up in our rude complexions,

Reflected in the grimy glass

Of the subway rushing past.

Humanity was born in sin

And ever strives for clearer skin.


Looking up, we met his calm

Visage, like a holy balm.

He saw us warts and all, our souls

Freckled, wrinkled, full of moles.

God extends to us his gracious

Love, but our vile, sebaceous

Nature clogs our every pore.

Salvation came from Doc Zizmor.


Sing we then the Doc’s doxology:

A hymn to subway dermatology.

Zizmor never chose to answer

The call to seek a cure for cancer,

Hypertension or dementia,

Would find him mostly in absentia.

He fought the other things that blight us–

Psoriasis and dermatitis–

And lived a life of humble, simple

Service fighting every pimple.

Hark, the music of the spheres,

To which we dance, to mark the years–

As this year’s song begins its coda,

Let’s all boogie down with Yoda.

And celebrate (within sane limits)

2015’s fifteen minutes.


At midnight let each aging Boomer

Get a kiss from Amy Schumer,

Pass a shrimp or canape

To Taylor Swift or Tina Fey,

Or share a glass of something bubbly

With someone rugged, manly, stubbly–

David Beckham, Bradley Cooper–

Not to be a party pooper

A certain Vermont socialist

Whose name I see here on the list,

Will speak from twelve to half-past one,

–Adding to the frantic fun

The general frivolity–

On income inequality.


So pour a punch and fill the urn.

It’s thirsty when you Feel the Bern.

And tip your homburg or sombrero

To Caitlyn Jenner, American Pharoah,

Jeff Bezos and Serena Williams,

Mark Zuckerberg and all his billions.

On the rocks pour out four fingers

Of vodka for Kristaps Porzingis

He is very nearly tall

Enough to dunk the Times Square ball.

Mix Manhattans by the gallon

For Adele and Jimmy Fallon,

And toss the maraschino cherry

At former Texas gov, Rick Perry.


With a quote from Janet Yellen

Toast your favorite Wall Street felon.

We’re proposing Martin Shkreli,


Sorry, fella, it’s your karma:

If you wake up with a belly-

Ache, tomorrow, feeling dismal,

We’ll pour you out a Pepto-Bismol.

Drink it down, and then refill!

We’re sending you a giant bill.


And for 2015’s sequel

Let us hope that we are equal

To that which history will task us:

Saving those who flee Damascus,

Making sure that black lives matter,

Helping others up the ladder

That leads them out of deprivation.

And live in peace with all creation

Donald Trump, that giant putz,

Going postal, going nuts,

We went through this with Earl Butz.

It leaves us thunderstruck.


Hillary–he did her wrong.

He thinks it came across as strong

When he pulled out his little schlong

But in his fly it stuck.


It amused, but hardly shocked her.

We think he should see a doctor.

Is he totally ferkockteh

Or is he just a schmuck?

Last night I smashed a mosquito

Splattered it flat on the wall,

The Book Review paid it finito:

The last dead mosquito of Fall.


My eye was precise, my nerves steely,

But here was a troubling thing:

Could it instead have been, really,

The first-hatched mosquito of Spring?


The night-siren sound of its buzzing

Was giving me all kinds of reasons

To worry that mankind is fuzzing

The normal progression of seasons.


I lay awake scratching my cranium

Listening to Limbaugh and Beck.

Why is there still a geranium

In the window box out on the deck?


The fall of each insect or sparrow

Like the sea creeping up on Cape Cod

Chills me right down to the marrow

It’s a signal that comes straight from God.


But waking this morning, the arras

Was pulled back, and lo and behold,

They brokered a treaty in Paris:

I’m hoping the future is cold.

Gov. Chris Christie on Monday said the United States should not admit any refugees from the Syrian civil war — not even “orphans under age 5.”

Remember when we warned you of the existential threat

Of Ebola germs arriving here from Africa, by jet,

And spreading on the subway, by way of tears and sweat?

Remember all the folks who died? How quickly we forget!


Remember when we told you that we had to get Saddam

Before he finished building missiles and an atom bomb?

It could have been a holocaust, a nuclear pogrom! 

You’re better safe than sorry, just like you were told by mom.


We hope you’ve learned your lesson and from now on you’ll beware.

You didn’t pay attention when we said Obamacare

Was a plot to send your grandmother to the electric chair

And ruin the economy by making it too fair.


And so today we face another existential crisis

Listen, or you’ll someday have to pay the piper’s prices:

Those little kids from Syria are coming to join ISIS

And blow us up with terroristic blowing-up devices.


We know those little Arab kids can look so sweet and cute

But terrorists are planting them as seeds that will take root.

Just wait until they’re all grown up and they learn how to shoot

Turning all our cities into suburbs of Beirut


Every little one of them’s a terrorist supporter

Plotting every awful kind of terroristic slaughter

Planning to decapitate your mom, your dad, your daughter

So leave them on the beach or throw them back into the water.


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