Sojourns of the Trumpsmen. Canto Three. Stephen Miller.

CANTO THREE. STEPHEN MILLER.

Up above the clouds all stained, where crystal ozone swam,

Wafted demi-gods and nymphs just looking for a scam.

One of them, a doe-eyed sylph, descried young Stephen Miller --

And decided there and then to hoax the young joykiller.  

She drifted down and took the form of a hoyden brown,

Looking for employment as a maid in D.C. Town.

Young Miller hired her because her wages were so cheap.

She slaved for him and never spoke Hispanic in her sleep.

But as Miller shaped the immigration rules for Trump,

His doe-eyed maid had plans to give him such a wicked bump.

Her superhuman sex appeal got to this rabble rouser  --

Under her influence he became a sourcelled browser.

While telling Congress that a wall was needed for the Dreamers,

And making sure the public knew that immigrants were schemers,

His brittle heart went pit-a-pat each time he saw his maid,

And soon he was enamored of her skin and smell and braid.

He begged her to become his wife; he didn’t give a hoot

That she was a Latina -- she was just so doggone cute!

Said she: “If you would have my hand in holy matrimony,

You must run a race with me before I’ll be your crony!”

“If you win the race I will become your blushing bride,

And my empanadas and serape meekly hide.

But should I win the marathon, you must pledge to agree

To let my cousins, uncles, aunts, into this great country!”

Though he thought the Spanish tongue was traitorously thick,

And felt that good diplomacy was hefting a big stick,

He could never gainsay anything she asked of him --

Even if the Hellespont she bade him quick to swim.

And so it came to pass they footed it across the Mall,

To see which one was swiftest, and which one would take the fall.

Thimblerigged and conjured from the start, the magic nymph

Raced ahead of Miller, leaving him to sweat out lymph.

But he would not see females tending in the track and field

Were just as good as menfolk -- so the palm he would not yield.

And so he kept on running, till his body turned to toast;

He sprinted like a demon after giving up the ghost.

His magic affianced then took great pity on his pride,

And turned him into something that would keep immortal stride.

And that is why you see him rolling still along the Mall --

In the shape and size of a Trump Turnberry golf ball.

(to be continued)

Sojourn of the Trumpsmen. Canto Two. Mike Pence.

CANTO TWO. MIKE PENCE.

Among the councils of the trumpsmen hunkered Michael Pence.

His whited hair and candid smile hid feelings quite intense.

He felt his place as underling to Trump to be a farce;

His chance at reelection to be questionable and sparse.

From fabled Indiana, where the basketball is loved,

Pence into the broadcast field had impudently shoved.

He had been the governor, and legislator, too.

Now he just was stooging for his boss and toady crew.

The gods looked down upon him, and they laughed a bit to see

How much this Hoosier hustler did hate the word “VP.”

They seeded all his thoughts with dreams of travel to far places;

To press the flesh and meet with crisp admiring new faces.  

He took his entourage to Puerto Rico to survey

The tempest-tempered island (and to tell them they must pray.)

He wondered to reporters if a moonshot from St. Croix

Would help them to recover (while he stiffed a small bellboy.)

His retinue, like suitors to Penelope of old,

Devoured ev’rything in sight with appetites made bold.

The green and torrid boscage and the silver beaches groaned

As these interlopers ordered all their quail deboned.

“Begone!” the Puerto Ricans did at last demand of Pence.

“Take your tax reform talk and your mooching staffers hence!”

And so the VP, much chagrined, and all his hungry staff,

Departed from the islands like a cloud of windblown chaff.

Back into obscurity, as Senate President,

Ambitious Michael Richard Pence petulantly went;

Kept upon a leash so short that he can only trek

To a few selected states to beg a campaign check.

(to be continued)

Sojourn of the Trumpsmen. Canto One. (Loosely Based on The Odyssey)

“About half a dozen of President Trump’s past and present Cabinet members spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on charter jets, military planes, and other government aircraft for travel that often could have been undertaken much less expensively on commercial aircraft.”

From a story by Philip Bump in the Washington Post

CANTO ONE

Speak to me, my Muse and guide, and do not spare the flights

Of fancy for the men of Trump who all were errant knights.

Triumphant in the war against the azure-tainted foe,

They flocked around their leader to enjoy the afterglow.

He had led them when the chips were down, in fact extinct;

When there didn’t seem to be a single loyal precinct.

Bravely they had fought and fibbed to make the country great.

Stoutly had they written checks (without much int’rest rate.)

And then the gods of ballot box, of tally and of poll,

Had put their adversaries in a deep and slavic hole.  

The victory was so complete the troops of leftist teal

Were banished to the void to gnash their teeth and rudely squeal.

Fifteen met in council with their Chief to plan the peace.

Ten plus five, the number of those who would share the grease.

Blinded by their confidence, they worshipped the cash cow --

And left all other deities to hold their own powwow.

They would build a tower to reach profits in the sky.

And a hurdle that would make barbarians all cry.

Medicine would be abridged and lose its kindly gaze;

Only those with lots of gold could purchase real x-rays.

Wall Street would be idolized and fossil fuels acclaimed.

Those in welfare housing would be made to feel ashamed.

These, and other crude conceits, the trumpsmen gaily planned --

While the gods determined that their backsides should be tanned.

Their punishment was subtle and as wily as can be;

Each council member would regret their own trajectory.

Steamship, airship, choo-choo train, or limousine deluxe;

No matter how luxurious, each trip would end in flux.

And so the stage is set for tragedy and balderdash,

For detours and debacles, while a lot of things go smash.

Safe haven for these buccaneers is not at all assured,

As the siren song of loot to mishap has them lured . . .  

(to be continued)

The Rise of Emojis

Emojis, colorful and playful pictograms that are available on a range of devices, have altered the way humans communicate with one other and have become a powerful force in pop culture, both online and off.

From the NYTimes

Welcome to Emoji-Land, we hope that you enjoy

The symbols and the faces and will with them always toy.

The use of words is fading as these hieroglyphic doodles

Give us all a break from using any of our noodles.

The Smiley Face triumphant is our flag of victory;

No need to teach your children any A or B or C!

What need is there for books when an emoji tells the tale?

Why bother with discussion when you can text a whale?

We say “I heart New York” and other emoji-centric drivel;

No wonder our vocabulary now begins to shrivel.

Ideograms have conquered Western thought to such extent

That speeches and debates will soon become a nonevent.

The Coming Civil War Over Styrofoam

The civil war that pundits said was coming all along

Was not about religion, race, or weak against the strong.

Twas caused by plastic forks and spoons, and plastic bags adrift

Upon the land in such amounts that made some people miffed.

Each takeout order added to the trash that piled so steep

That mesas were created from the styrofoamic heap.

When city councils tried to stem the tide of plastic trash,

They were suborned by infusions of sub rosa cash.

And thus the vigilantes rode out in the dark of night

To torch the fast food franchises, and Holiday stores smite.

This in turn led lawmen to retaliate in kind;

Laying waste organic fields, with tree huggers confined.

This break in law and order swiftly sundered fam’ly ties;

Fathers fought against their sons on how to serve french fries.

Should they be inserted in a toxic plastic basket,

Or served up in an expensive organic bamboo casket?

Soon the country into chaos crazily descended,

And all the trash collection was immediately suspended.

While armies brawled across the land to save or crush the Whopper,

Our infrastructure, farms, and shops sadly came a cropper.

As soon as our poor country was brought down upon its knees,

We were infiltrated by the Russians and Chinese.

Now they run the government and  make us all agree

To the use of styrofoam and lots of PVC.

The Visit of Warden Are Hoidal

The metal gates swung open and then shut behind the man

Who managed Halden Prison with a compassionate state plan.

Here in Philadelphia he made a tour of cells

To sample all the sights and sounds (and maybe even smells.)

This Norwegian manager did not like what he saw;

“You isolate your charges for such minor breach of law!

In Norway we don’t use much segregation to hold sway --

We find that very few men benefit from such foul play.”

Norway has few prisoners, and none are in for life;

While Philly is so thick with bars you can’t insert a knife.

The contrast is so striking that professors scratch their heads,

And wonder if Norwegian crooks are given comfy beds.

Here in dear America we lock ‘em up so long

And punish them so harshly they forget the right from wrong.

In Norway, on the other hand, they’re treated with respect,

And go back to society not as a moral wreck.

Norwegians spend more money on their prisoners than we.

Their motivation to reform is built up constantly.

Perhaps if we fed prisoners a lot of lutefisk,

They wouldn’t come out hardened as a felonious high risk.

(From a story in the Philadelphia Enquirer)

Daily and Present Remembering

President Henry B. Eyring

“The blessings of daily and present remembering will come slowly and steadily as we serve Him, feast on His word, and pray in faith on His name.” Henry B. Eyring.

NOW is when remembering the Savior is essential

To my daily struggle to unearth my true potential.

Putting off the challenge of the Prince of Peace is vain

If I want His blessings and His mercy to obtain.

Sucking out the marrow of His words in scripture leads

To a better emulation of His kindly deeds.

Written with the blood and salt of prophets who endured,

Their testimony of the Christ leads to reprieve assured.

At this moment, in this time, with all my focus bent

On the Son of God I must kneel down and then repent

Of procrastination and a casual regard

For the Savior’s wounds that left Him suffering and scarred.

The Book Bogey

The book bogey likes volumes that are esoteric pearls,

Like “Shakespeare’s Second Best Bed” or else “Playing Rustic Churls.”

Best sellers and self help books are the banes of its existence;

It would rather chew on an old boot for its subsistence.

There’s very few book bogeys left among the elfin folk.

Because the franchise bookshops to them really are a joke.

Late at night when bogeys like the best to roam around,

You’ll find them making love to any book that’s leatherbound.

Thieves that try purloining a rare document will find

A book bogey is chewing on their sensitive behind!

A bookshop with due reverence for tomes is always blessed

By book bogeys who keep their charges sweet and coalesced.

What I think of MLMs

Elder M. Russell Ballard

• Today I repeat earlier counsel from Church leaders. Brothers and sisters, keep the doctrine of Christ pure and never be deceived by those who tamper with the doctrine. …
• Do not listen to those who have not been ordained or set apart to their Church calling and are acknowledged by common consent of the members of the Church.
• Be aware of organizations, groups, or individuals claiming secret answers to doctrinal questions that they say today’s apostles and prophets do not have or understand.
• Do not listen to those who entice you with get-rich schemes. …

In some places, too many of our people are looking beyond the mark and seeking secret knowledge in expensive and questionable practices to provide healing and support. …

M. Russell Ballard

The mountebanks and conjurers grow bolder all the time.

Through MLMs and nostrums they mix scripture with pure slime.

Their draughts are sweet and subtle, while their manner is sincere;

They’ll suck up your last dollar with alacrity and cheer.

Unordained, unlicensed, and behind ornate closed doors,

They preach a gospel knockoff as infallible mentors.

Tampering with doctrine like a child with matches playing,

They ignite but misery when for grace they should be praying.

Do not heed their siren call; let prudence be your guide.

The waters of delusion are so deep and cold and wide.

The simple truth will keep you high and dry without a doubt.

Don’t look beyond the mark if you would keep your purse strings stout.

ABC News' Howling Typo

Here is how ABC News reported General Conference -- can you spot the howling typo?

Cook reminded members that the religion's signature scripture, the Book of Mormon, declares that "we all are unlike unto God." He said anyone who claims superiority based on race, sex, language or economic class is morally wrong and doesn't understand God's purpose for his followers.