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.

Yahoo News asked Trump whether this level of tracking might require registering Muslims in a database or giving them a form of special identification that noted their religion. He wouldn’t rule it out.

“We’re going to have to — we’re going to have to look at a lot of things very closely,” Trump said when presented with the idea. “We’re going to have to look at the mosques. We’re going to have to look very, very carefully.”

Attention Muslims! There’s a meeting

At City Hall tomorrow night.

Donald Trump will be there tweeting

Out his views on civil rights.

Afterwards we’ll have inspection.

Take a moment to attach

To your shirt, for your protection

This yellow star-and-crescent patch.

Every Muslim now will need ’em

We’ll check for them at traffic stops

They signify that you hate freedom

To our friendly local cops.

And in the subway, street, or mall

If someone curses, yells, or teases

Here’s a number you can call:

It’s 1-800-Come2Jesus.

And we’ll be happy to escort you

As long as you’re not coming back

To an airport, to deport you

To Syria or to Iraq.

 You’re going off where you can live

According to your sacred text.

No need to thank us, or forgive.

And you can guess who’s going next.

Memo to:  Governor Bush

From: Stanley Whittington III, coordinator of voter outreach

Subject: Halloween costumes

Referencing your memo of Tuesday last, staff has assembled the following list of possible Halloween costumes for the Palm Beach Republican Ladies’ Auxiliary Halloween Ball and Fundraiser. These have been chosen to reinforce the campaign message of a “new” Jeb! who connects with voters in the millennial, ethnic, female, and lower-middle-class demographics (see graphs 3 through 14). All have been extensively focus-group tested and scored particularly high in the categories of “fun,” “irony,” and “not exactly what I expected.”

1. Jeb! the Reb

Research indicates that youth

Identifies with what’s uncouth,

Rebellious, noisy and haphazard.

They’re all about The Dukes of Hazzard.

Be a good ole’ boy hell-raiser

In your boots and jeans and blazer,

You could go as Jeb the Reb.

2. Jeb! the Bleb

The next idea is really simple:

You could dress up as a pimple.

Showing off ironic wit

By looking like a giant zit

Explaining, with your trademark grin:

“I get under Donald’s skin!”

You could go as Jeb the Bleb.

3. Jebbie! the Rebbe

Or you could pull a switcheroo

Pretend to be a Lubavitcher Jew!

Kids will think it’s cool and weird

To see you with a long black beard,

In a coat and beaver hat

Irony is where it’s at!

They would see a whole new Jebbie!

When he’s dressed up as a rebbe.

The pine nut industry may be contributing to the crash of an ecosystem. According to the International Union for Conservation of Nature, a majority of pine nuts imported into the United States come from the Korean pine tree, a keystone species found primarily in the southern parts of the Russian far east.–New York Times, Oct. 19.

Humanity, voracious beast,

Gobbling up the whole Far East,

Salamanders, rhinos, chimps

And everything from whales to shrimps.


So here’s my eco-manifesto:

No more pine nuts in my pesto!

I’ll mash up chickpeas ‘til they’re tender

In my pedal-powered blender 

Local-source my olive oil

From olives grown in Brooklyn’s soil

And, to make it Genovese,

Add a cup of tofu cheese.

(Cutting down on greenhouse gas

Emissions from a bovine ass.)

Get the water nice and hot

In my solar pasta pot

My carbonara footprint’s teeny

For my eco-fettucine.

“Just the way the Earth rotates on its axis, how far away it is from the sun. These are all very complex things. Gravity, where did it come from?”–Dr. Ben Carson, as part of an answer to the question “Do you believe in climate change?”

There’s a warp in time and space

A slope, or a declivity.

It wasn’t put there by God’s grace–

But relativity.

Explaining how the planets race

In orbit; the proclivity

To trip and fall flat on your face–

It’s relativity.

And if into a cavity

By misstep or passivity

You sink, it’s caused by gravity

And relativity.

And following that brief exchange,

Einsteinian digression,

Do you believe in climate change?

Answer the fucking question.

John Boehner Resigns as Speaker, Will Leave Congress

Who just did that nice half-gainer

Off the plank? Why, it’s John Boehner!

World-class crier and complainer

Did he foresee some entertainer-


Would suck the party down the strainer?

Anyway, it’s a no-brainer

Who follows him–could not be plainer–

Will be someone way insaner.

After great pain, a formal feeling comes,” although

I’m not sure how one would ever know.

Pain does not wear away with time

Evaporate, or (like dry ice) sublime,

It diffuses, like water poured in wine,

Inseparable, each molecule of time

Bound to an atom of sadness.


There is no after, there is only before.

And what is now and forevermore:

A life diluted by grief.


Suffering doesn’t make you strong.

It is only and ever in vain.

But it’s not entirely wrong

To think a certain acquaintance with pain

Is a useful attribute–nothing more–

A certain familiarity with grief

Can’t be bad for a commander in chief

With the power to start a war.

William McKinley–

Remembered, if dimly,

For the Spanish-American War–

Mouth clamped shut primly

Frowns darkly and grimly

‘cause his mountain’s not there anymore.


We looked, and by golly,

Up in Seward’s folly

We found a big space on the map.

In a landscape by Dali,

What’s now called “Denali,”

Fills a McKinley-sized gap.


While back in Ohio

The question is whio

Their presidents all get the shaft

After they dio

They get a black io

Like Garfield and Harding and Taft.


It’s not such a mystery

The judgment of history

The principle’s simple and basic.

Somehow democracy

Resists mediocrity.

Are you listening, Governor Kasich?