So Breyer will retire, and that means that POTUS
Must hire and acquire a judge to sit on SCOTUS.
Honest, fair and wise and pure just like a legal lotus
Behind her mask no hint or whiff of legal halitosis.
And that’s all fine, but there are nine, in case you didn’t notice.
So stuck at three are hapless we. The six will still outvote us
And wield the gavel, as before, the many times they smote us
We here below, all too well know: they have us by the throatus.
“We never advocate taking a life of an unborn child unless it is necessary to protect the life of a woman,” said Joe Pojman,executive director of the Texas Alliance for Life.
Even in cases of rape or incest, “we don’t advocate for taking the life of an unborn child for the crime of the father,” he said.
The law’s supporters say that it provides sufficient leeway for physicians to act if a mother’s life or bodily functions are compromised, and they insist those cases are rare.
Dr. Ingrid Skop, an obstetrician in San Antonio who belongs to the American Association of Pro-Life Obstetricians and Gynecologists, said that even a girl as young as 9 or 10, impregnated by a father or a brother, could carry a baby to term without health risks.–New York Times, Nov. 26, 2021
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“I have been in the situation of counseling young girls, not 13 but 15, who have had very at risk, difficult pregnancies. And my counsel was to look for some alternatives, which they did. And they found that they had made what was really a lemon situation into lemonade.”–Nevada Senate candidate Sharron Angle (R.) on her opposition to abortion in the hypothetical case of a teenager who was raped by her father. (July 8, 2010)
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You know that for a while there I was just a little down
After that thing with Daddy, while Mom was out of town.
The other kids in junior high can sometimes be so mean.
Like, I’m a slut? Give me a break. What about Charlene?
And Mom was all like, who’s the guy? Your Dad will go ballistic.
Which made me laugh so hard I couldn’t help feel optimistic.
I know that awful Mr. Reid would want me to abort it.
It’s cheaper for the taxpayers than having to support it.
But Daddy always taught us that we can’t turn to Big Brother
To help us out of trouble, so I just became a mother.
It’s just like Mrs. Angle told us, look up to the sky
Every lemon situation was decreed from way on high.
And every little citrus fruit was put here to be squeezed
Just add some ice and sugar and the angels will be pleased.
Serve it up with cookies and your biggest widest grin.
Your whole life has been ruined, but at least you didn’t sin.
“Turning Ahmaud Arbery into a victim after the choices that he made does not reflect the reality of what brought Ahmaud Arbery to Satilla Shores in his khaki shorts with no socks to cover his long, dirty toenails.” —From the summation by Laura Hoge, lawyer for one of the three men convicted of murdering Black jogger Ahmaud Arbery.
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“Everyone in Georgia knows
How to wash between their toes.
There are cells in Georgia’s jails
For those who fail to clip their nails.
Georgia says no sir and no ma’am
To feet with uncut nails or toe jam.
Justice should be swift and sure
For those who lack a pedicure,
Or go out running in all sorts
Of pants instead of nylon shorts.
My client didn’t want some tacky
Jogger wearing cut-off khaki
Running on his family’s street
With uncut nails on dirty feet.
If the sneaker doesn’t fit
The runner’s foot, you must acquit!”
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When the facts are on your side
Pound the facts. Or else elide
Inconvenient truths, or hide
That your client simply lied.
If all else fails, just be snide.
The metaverse is the next evolution of social connection. Our company’s vision is to help bring the metaverse to life, so we are changing our name to reflect our commitment to this future.–Mark Zuckerberg, announcing that his company is changing its name to “Meta.”
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Jeff Bezos wants to reach the sky
Mark Zuckerberg, instead,
Like a parasitic fly
Lives inside your head.
.
He doesn’t want to go to space,
So credit his intentions.
His master plan for saving Face
Exists in four dimensions.
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With goggles perched upon your nose
A bud inside your ear
The algorithm always knows
What you see and hear.
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Life creeping in its petty pace
Is overdue to get a
Jet-fueled ride to cyberspace
Your future will be meta.
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And so while other billionaires
Are probing new frontiers
Zuckerberg is like, “Who cares?
I’ll live between your ears.”
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And two can play this meta-game
So though it seems perverse
From now on, this blog’s new name
Is Jerry Adler’s Meta-Verse.
If they can force a COVID vax
Upon this once-free nation,
They’ll make you pay your income tax
And sneak in fluoridation.
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Proposals for the “common good”—
Democracy’s great curse
Liberals playing Robin Hood—
Will land us in a hearse.
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“Live free or die” is my war cry
It’s tattooed on my bicep
And as you see, “Don’t tread on me,”
Is on this flag that I shlep.
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A fully loaded M-16
Will take out social rot
Try and give me your vaccine—
I’ll match you, shot for shot.
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So if you go and get the jab
And let yourself get stuck
Your moral fiber’s turned to flab
You’re just another cuck.
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So go and beg and plead and wheedle
Argue, threaten, try to charm
You can stick your COVID needle
In my cold dead arm.
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*”Cuck” (n.colloq.): A slur, derived from “cuckold,” invented by right-wing macho assholes to impugn the masculinity of supposedly weak-minded liberals.
September’s song is sung at last
There’s time for one more glorious
Summer-ending binge and blast
On the Day Laborious
Come and join the big parade
It’s guaranteed to thrill ya
As long as you stand in the shade
So heatstroke doesn’t kill ya
It’s always fun to have a cookout!
Marking how the summer ends
To be safe, though, you must look out
And not invite your friends.
Come and see the fireworks!
As soon as it gets dark
With any luck, us hapless jerks
Won’t burn down the park
You can even take your boat out!
You don’t need a dock
From your front door, you can float out
And row yourself around the block.
And even though it’s kind of tough
Your whole house was destroyed
You can shop and buy new stuff
If you’re not unemployed.
The Fake News is pushing the narrative hard
A hurricane’s coming and flooding your yard
The Sound and the Ocean will turn Suffolk blue
Just Google “The Storm” (1) and the sayings of Q.
So listen up, Sheeple, before it’s too late,
Hurricane Henri: The next Watergate,
Created in China and launched in Caracas,
With hundred-foot waves, intended to knock us
Out of our houses, here on Long Island,
Making it cheap so the Clintons can buy land
And turn it all over for communal farming
Which is why patriots better start arming.
It’s all in a tweet by the guy from My Pillow
He showed me how hackers got into my Zillow
Like Tucker Carlson, it’s just that I’m curious:
Why are they calling the wind “fast and furious?” (2)
The hurricane “warning” is just a big hoax
To e-VAXX-uate you. Don’t fall for it, folks!
When all of our houses are just empty lots
They’ll round us all up make us take shots.
All these are questions that all should be asked.
The truth they are hiding will soon be … unmasked.
(1) “The Storm” was the imaginary operation in which the military and FBI rounded up a cabal of pedophiles associated with the Clinton and Obama administrations, a central prediction of the Q Anon conspiracy theory.
(2) “Fast and Furious” was the codename for a federal investigation of gun smuggling on the border with Mexico that went awry, a long-running obsession on Fox News.
Shortly after Jeff Bezos — the world’s richest man — completed his first spaceflight, Rep. Earl Blumenauer (D., Oreg.) announced he’s working on a plan for a new tax targeting space tourism. The Securing Protections Against Carbon Emissions (SPACE) Tax Act would create new excise taxes on commercial space flights with human passengers for non-research purposes.
Masters of the Universe!
Slipping surly bonds of Earth
Seeking to escape the curse
Of taxes based on your net worth.
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Space is just a cavity
For billionaires to fill,
Suspend the law of gravity
Or bend it to their will.
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And because it’s hollow
Different rules apply
The IRS can’t follow
You into the sky.
.
Since the time that man first knew
The night sky’s strange seductions
The dream lives on inside of you,
Of infinite deductions.
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And in the rocket’s bright red glare
Your glory is reflected
Hate or love a billionaire,
He doesn’t get elected.
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The rockets of Apollo
Opened up the door
To space. And as you follow
Just keep out the poor.
To the Editor:
I am writing to express my disappointment over Paul Krugman’s June 8 column, “Yellen’s New Alliance Against Leprechauns.” This is not the first time your columnist has used the word “leprechaun” when referring to Ireland, and I see it as my duty to point out that this represents an unacceptable slur. I do not go along with Mr. Krugman’s disingenuous excuse that “the Irish have a sense of humor” about his attacks on us...–Daniel Mulhall, ambassador of Ireland to the United States, New York Times, July 11.
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In Ireland they get the joke.
But nowadays, we all are woke.
They got their Irish up and spoke
On behalf of Little Folk.
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Sharing our weird obsessions:
With mini-slurs, micro-aggressions,
Seeking out those small transgressions
No matter how baroque.
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Now we all must watch ourselves
Not to speak ill of the elves
Always be alert and wary
For words that might insult a fairy,
Or any unintended slight
Toward a dwarf or gnome or sprite,
Meanly cast aspersions on
The iconic leprechaun.
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And so we come, on both knees bended,
To any creature we offended.
Just because you aren’t real
Doesn’t mean that you can’t feel.
Help us cleanse our hearts and souls.
We respect you even if you’re trolls.
The Centers for Disease Control warns Americans not to get intimate with their pet chickens
The CDC has spoken and the question must be asked
Is it safe to kiss your chicken if you both are masked?
Can you snog your poultry with relative impunity
If you’ve reached the threshold for achieving “flock immunity”?
If you’ve locked down your cages, then is it safe to sneak
A cuddle with your fowl, cheek to cheek and beak to beak?
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Home the chickens come to roost, but check to see they’re glatt
Do they all have feathers, or could one be a bat?
Make sure there are chicken feet on those chicken legs
And better look beneath them, to see if they lay eggs.
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So if your chicken has been called to heaven’s chicken coop
Rinse her off with Clorox first, before you make that soup.
And keep a social distance and enforce a quarantine
If you plan to serve her up as chicken Florentine.
Just take a little Q-tip to perform a rapid test
To look for antibodies in a drumstick or a breast.
And for your Caesar salad, you must boil your uovo
According to an order that comes straight from Andrew Cuomo.
Heed what Dr. Fauci says, make sure she gets her shot
Before you put your chicken in the oven or the pot.
‘Cause you don’t want your henhouse to be guarded by a Fox
You don’t want Tucker Carlson to give you chicken pox.
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