When Trump is the President, oy . . .

When Trump is the President, oy . . . 
reporters will find so much joy
in being assigned
beneath all mankind,
ignored like a backward busboy. 

The Bagel

The bagel is a wonder bread, it has so much to offer;
offer number one is that it's tougher than a raw fur.
After you have bitten off a chaw, be sure to count
your teeth to make sure that you still have got the right amount.
Never use a knife to cut a bagel -- that won't do;
try a blow torch or a buzz saw or even a corkscrew.
Experts say a laser works quite well, but it ain't kosher
(that's according to the local rabbi, Irving Loescher).
Me, I chip away at 'em with chisel and sledge hammer;
it takes a little longer but it does provide less clamor. 
So what if bagels have an outer crust like granite rocks?
You won't care once you have had them with a slice of lox!

What if no one voted

What if no one voted come election time next year;
that would send a message to those shysters, crystal clear.
If ev'ryone did shun the polls and stay away in droves,
Trump and Mrs. Clinton could go suck on pickled cloves.
The White House would stay empty and we'd save on salaries,
and find some other ruckus that would burn up calories.
Oh, journalists would suddenly be out of work -- hooray!
Let 'em find some honest job, like laying down parquet.
Civil disobedience; that is what I'd call it, sure.
To keep future elections honest, peaceful, and secure.
Then maybe Congress would wake up and stir their stumps a bit,
instead of filibustering while on their rumps they sit.
So here's our motto to create a country that's resurgent:
"WE'LL NEVER VOTE AGAIN AT ALL -- IT REALLY ISN'T URGENT!"

Moroni, Chapter 9: 5

Moroni Chapter 9, verse 5:    For so exceedingly do they anger that it seemeth me that they have no fear of death; and they have lost their love, one towards another; and they thirst after blood and revenge continually.

How close are we today to this debacle and decline,

As hundreds murder innocents and think it's very fine?

Vast armies sweep across far lands, and blood is spilled by drones;

juggernauts mow down the crowd and crush their raging bones. 

Those who wield authority are Gadianton-bound;

shooting children, crushing widows down into the ground.

The holy places still remain, but few seem to desire

the safety and assurance of the Savior's cleansing fire.

How long, how long, the ancient question flares again today,

until the great Jehovah carries justice to the prey?

Save me from despair, O Lord, and quicken my weak trust,

so in your bosom I may hide when devils shove and thrust!

The Gualicho

The tiny arms of carnivores in Mesozoic ages

Puzzles scientific groups, where controversy rages.

The gualicho is a case in point – its arms were futile

When it savaged sauropods in a manner brutal.

I wish that Darwin were around so he could maybe parse

Why their arms were smaller than a fruit fly’s dainty arse.

Maybe creatures of this sort disdained to wash their hands,

And so they lost ‘em pretty much, as Nature so demands.

Or perhaps they wouldn’t shake hands with our Mother Eve,

And so were cursed to lurch around and sorrowfully grieve . . .  

Sealed Records

Moroni 10:2 -- "And I seal up these records . . . "

That which was long ages sealed
now at last has been revealed;
words of Christ and prophets bold,
writ upon pure plates of gold.
Put into our common tongue
by a prophet boy so young.
Heed the Book of Mormon stat
or your soul becomes a gnat.

Kevin Sieff Wants Out

I have compiled a list of around 75 professional journalists who enjoy my limericks. But sometimes one of them will ask to be removed from my email list.

Kevin Sieff of the Washington Post is one such reporter who no longer wishes to receive any more limericks.  The reason? I'll quote his email to me verbatim:

Hi man, I’m really sorry, but can you take me off this list? I’m running for cover in south sudan and emails are flooding in. sorry.

Kevin Sieff

Africa Bureau Chief

The Washington Post

Twitter: @ksieff

Naturally, I immediately took him off my list.
But I can't help wondering what kind of assignment he's on, running for cover and feeling threatened by emails.
Journalism is dangerous work sometimes, ain't it?

The Ordeal of Andre Saraiva (from Louis Sahagun)

An artless impulse moved Andre to scribble on a rock.

For that he has been vilified and made an awful gawk.

No one knew his folly, not until this little lamb

Posted it for all to view upon his Instagram.

Haled into court of law, Saraiva glumly stood accused

of raping Nature in the Raw and leaving it all bruised.

He paid a modest fine and left, defiant and unbowed;

Ignoring taunts and insults from the hiker’s roiling crowd.

But finally his conscience, or what passes for one now,

Made him change his heart and mind and brassy Gallic brow.

“Graffiti  should be sprayed on man-made items” he decreed.

“I’ll never raise my brush against another stone or weed!”

Eating my way through Iowa

You never have to punch a clock when indigestion calls;

You can find it day or night, in drought or when snow falls.

Each Kum & Go has greasy trays of food your mother taught

You never to indulge in to avoid the tummy rot.

At Casey’s there are donuts from the days of Watergate;

And wieners that the Civil War most certainly predate.

And Kwik Trip offers pizza slices baked until they’re like

Asbestos curtains or perhaps an iron railroad spike.

The land is bursting with abundant poultry, beef, and corn;

Yet Iowans  consume fried nuggets like it was free porn.

No one takes the time to cook, to marinate and stew;

They all run out to purchase schlock that tastes like Elmer’s glue.

It will not be our politics or wars that bring us down –

Our end will come from eating at the Git-N-Go downtown.

Frank Capra's reporters

Frank Capra's reporters were swell;
their stories were writ just to sell
a newspaper sheet
out on the loud street;
they grabbed you right by the lapel!
(So coatless, today's clientele . . . )