Verse from Stories in Today's New York Times -- Democrats Win Control in Virginia and Claim Narrow Victory in Kentucky Governor’s Race -- ‘Extremely Evil Misconduct’: Thailand’s Palace Intrigue Spills Into View -- Why $4.5 Billion From Big Tech Won’t End California Housing Crisis.

Democrats in old Kain-tuck

really got a piece of luck.

In Virginny they steamrolled

all that pachydermic fold.

This here country, I do think,

hopes to see Trump in the clink.

@jmartNYT

***************************************

@hkbeech

Aides to Thailand's newest king,

on a catapult do swing.

If they give him any grief,

he knows how to get relief --

sends them shooting off to space

(just to save a little face.)

And outside of old Siam

other despots play that scam.

I can think of one right here;

a Goldilocks that most folk fear.

But I very much exult

in his end by catapult!

*******************************

@ConorDougherty

Out in Cali - forn - eye - ay
 fat cats need their slaves to stay.
Building hovels for their serfs,
like the kind wherein live Smurfs,
eases consciences all right
and looks good in the spotlight.
But who needs more shoddy cages --
why not pay some living wages?

Verses from Stories in Today's Washington Post -- Rebuked for racial bias after trying a man six times, this Mississippi DA ran unopposed and will win -- Harvard Law School traces its origins to an Antiguan slave owner. Now the country wants reparations. -- Facebook reveals new privacy mishap involving apps for groups.

.

@thedeannapaul

Way down south in Mississip

they're electing such a drip.

Running unopposed is he,

though he's stupid as a flea.

Biased minds who think they're right

bring us all into the night.

***************************

@Meagan_Flynn

I thought we fought a Civil War

to settle up the blasted score.

But kibbitzers are still around

who want some money to impound,

because they think that they will be

enriched from shameful history.

I guess some folk you never please;

each sleeping dog has got some fleas.

***********************

@TonyRomm

Why is it I'm not surprised

that Facebook has been compromised

by another data breach

that may have a far flung reach?

Leaking like a rotten boat,

managing to stay afloat  --

wish I had their dad blame knack

of somehow staying in the black.

Verses from Stories in the New York Times -- Sondland Updates Impeachment Testimony, Describing Ukraine Quid Pro Quo -- Iran Steps Further From Nuclear Deal With Move on Centrifuges -- Swimming Against a Tide of Expensive Sushi.

@nytmike

I never knew that quid pro quo

could generate such massive woe.

The whole darn world is topsy turvey

as the Prez continues nervy.

'You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours'

is stickier than fresh s'mores . . . 

************************

@mwolgelenter  @SangerNYT

In Iran a promise made

is as weak as lemonade.

When the mullahs guarantee

anything, you'd better flee.

If fanatics rule the roost

they'll treat the truth like Monsieur Proust.

********************

@pete_wells

I don't see raw food's appeal;
damn the sushi -- give me veal!
Little bits of fish on rice,
coming at enormous price,
can't compare to cheap french fries
or some greasy pizza pies!

The Man Who Never Got Up Passes Away at Age 99. We think.

The 'man who never got up' (more properly 'the man who never got up again') was born on a farm near Sheldon, Iowa. Benjamin Jones Krumfeld, known to family and friends as 'Benny,' passed away on Tuesday afternoon at the age of 99, according to his CPA Ronny Kister, of natural causes. His exact age may never be known, because Krumfeld refused to use any kind of numbers or statistics or dates in his many conversations with reporters, friends, and family members over the years. In fact, he gave up talking altogether in 1999, after announcing it was too strenuous. After that, he wouldn't even write notes. He managed to nod for 'yes' and shake his head for 'no.' but otherwise remained uncommunicative but apparently happy until his demise.

Having no empathy for farm life, Mr. Krumfeld left home at age 16 and wandered throughout the Midwest for the next ten years, working under titles such as 'Benny the Boxer,' 'Benny the Bean Counter,' 'Benny the Bouncer,' and 'Benny the Blowhard.' Finally, at the age of 26 or thereabouts, he decided on a career path that brought him fame and apparently enough fortune to live comfortably in stasis for the rest of his life. 
With money inherited from his father Benny bought a front porch in Fanksville, South Dakota -- a small farming community just west of the Marmalade Fields. He didn't purchase the house that went with it, only the front porch. 

And then he sat down. And never got up again. 

There was no fanfare involved, no press releases or ballyhoo of any kind. He simply selected a bentwood rocker and then managed to placidly sit in it for the rest of his life. 

For the first two years no one seemed to notice, or care, that he remained fixed in the same place, slowly rocking back and forth with a placid smile on his friendly freckled face. The family that owned the house at the time were immigrants from Switzerland, and they always claimed that such behavior was commonplace back in Geneva -- so they never gave it a second thought. 

But one day a young reporter, named Lazlo Huzzard, who eventually changed his name and became Justice Antonin Scalia of the United State Supreme Court, began to wonder about this man who never got up as he passed him on his way to and from work at the Badlands Argus. On a warm summer day in 1959 he stopped by the porch and asked permission to talk to this man who never got up.

Benny said that was okay by him. He offered the reporter a wicker chair and a glass of lemonade, and history began to be made. Not History, admittedly, but history -- interesting enough to get Benny a long winded obit anyway. 

Huzzard asked him why he sat there day after day. Krumfeld said simply "I sat down one day and decided to never get up again."

The interview that followed was published in the Argus that weekend, picked up by the wire services, and shot around the world. After that, the man who never got up welcomed a steady stream of visitors to his porch. Some came to gawk. Some came to ask him questions. Some gave him food and drink. Others gave him warm clothing for the winter. No one ever figured out how he could stay in his chair and never use the bathroom. One theory was that he had at least one double, who took his place for bathroom breaks and the like. But when video cameras were secretly installed near his porch by the lilac bushes, they recorded nothing but a man slowly rocking and smiling to himself day and night. He. Never. Got. Up. 

He refused to let cults or political organizations exploit him in any way. He never endorsed any person, place, or product. In his final years, when he gave up talking, he would play cats cradle with a dirty piece of string for hours on end. The deadly tornado of 1989 that destroyed much of the surrounding area made a wide berth around his porch. He told astonished reporters he didn't even know about it until they told him. At night he seemed to sleep soundly in his chair, snoring lightly. 

His last known words, before he went silent, were "Life is like an inglenook -- some people think they know what it is, but nobody really does." 

He left no will behind, and remaining family members will take his remains back to Sheldon and have him buried in the civic cemetery. A spokesperson for the family says that they will lay him out flat in the ground and his rocker will be donated to a flea market in Napier, Illinois.  

When President Trump heard of his passing he immediately tweeted about him: "Nice Guy. I met him in Dallas in 1963."

Verses from Stories in Today's Washington Post -- At Japan’s dolphin hunt, a struggle between local traditions and global anger -- A conservative radio host compared ‘boomer’ to the n-word. Even Dictionary.com was appalled. -- More than 11,000 scientists from around the world declare a ‘climate emergency’.

@simondenyer

When the hungry Japanese/

sail out to the seven seas/

They're not fussy what they catch/

they'll eat dolphins by the batch/

If you should fall into their net/

humanity they might forget!

**************************

@TheArtist_MBS

Radio talk show hosts sure are

ignoramuses on par

with the monkeys in the zoo --

would you trust their narrow view?

When it comes to subtle jest,

they like throwing feces best.

***********************************

@afreedma

We are now a snowball, lad,

thrust into a Hades sad.

As the temp continues up,

we are effervescing -- yup!

Scientists may rant and rave,

but I doubt the day they'll save.

What we need are legislators

who don't act like alligators . . . 

Trombones have been known to sneeze.

"Trombones have been known to sneeze" said Crazy Henry to me last winter, while we were trapped inside a hollow glacier.
Since his comment had nothing whatsoever to do with our predicament at the time, I found it easy to ignore. 
After we were rescued and back home safe and sound, though, I brought the subject up again -- right after the banquet in our honor given by the Polar Club; they've got a nice dining hall that they rent out for weddings most of the year down on Central Avenue. 
"What did you mean when you said trombones have been known to sneeze?" I asked him while we rode home in a taxi.
"I never said such a thing, I'm sure" he replied, stifling a belch. There had been barrel-cured sauerkraut, loaded with fennel seed, at the banquet. 
"You most certainly did, you dingbat!" I replied, getting heated. If he was trying to pull that old 'memory lapse due to trauma' monkey business on me I was having none of it. I fought off the ice panthers with my bare hands right next to him back in that hollow glacier, and I remembered everything crystal clear.
"Did I?" was his only reply. Then he lapsed into intolerable silence. Ever since our triumphant return, Crazy Henry had been somewhat withdrawn, not to say gnomic, in his dealings with me. Certainly a man changes after he has lived on nothing but icicles and frozen lichen for weeks at a time; but I always credited Crazy Henry with an unbeatable ebullience that would keep him happy-go-lucky all his life. But nowadays he would smile cryptically and remain quiet like Buddha, instead of caroming around like a Jerry Lewis movie. I missed the old Crazy Henry. 
"You've changed" I told him quietly.
"Have I?" he replied. Then he went back to his silent brooding.

I didn't see him again for several months while I dictated my "as told to" book to a retired journalist from the New York Times. He got the thing edited and to the publisher in record time, and I fully expected to have a bestseller on my hands by Arbor Day. But then the PETA people got wind of the ice panther episode and began agitating against me and the book -- so, as far as I know, it's never going to see the light of day. Thanks a lot, Ethical People. 

And then one day as I was taking a walk in Van Cleve Park I saw Crazy Henry sitting on a bench, feeding popcorn to the birds.
"I don't think that's very healthy for 'em" I said as I sat down next to him. "The popcorn expands inside their guts and they get constipated or something."
"You're thinking of chickens eating grit" he said to me. Then smiled that old silly smile of his at me -- and I knew that my old Crazy Henry was back.

In the following weeks we tried to invent dehydrated dill pickles in Crazy Henry's kitchen -- the market for such an item was bound to be tremendous. Or so Crazy Henry thought, and I was happy to go along with him, since I really like dill pickles. But in the end you really couldn't tell our invention from dill pickle flavored potato chips, so we gave up on it. And then it happened . . . 

"Did you know that trombones have been known to sneeze?" Crazy Henry asked me as we were watching Teen Titans Go on Cartoon Network. 
"Aha!" I jumped up from the couch, waggling my finger triumphantly in his face. "Aha" I repeated, suddenly losing my enthusiasm for the whole subject, deflated and exhausted. "Do they?" I said quietly, then lapsed into a gnomic silence -- wishing with all my soul that we were watching some original Tom and Jerry cartoons instead of Teen Titans Go. The animation today is cretinous, and the humor completely referential and isolating. An idea came to me.

"Hey" I said to Crazy Henry. "I bet you could do a better job at making cartoons than these guys . . ."

Verses from Stories in Today's Washington Post -- Trump is changing his residence from NYC to Florida. ‘Good riddance,’ New Yorkers say. -- Trump abandons proposing ideas to curb gun violence after saying he would following mass shootings -- Think you’re anonymous online? A third of popular websites are ‘fingerprinting’ you.

@ReisThebault

The Big Apple sighs with relief

as they lose Commander-in-Chief.

In Florida, pain

as that hurricane

arrives -- causing nothing but grief.

**************************

@jdawsey1

The President derives no fun

from any kind of smoking gun.

His people want him to prepare

to go to Congress and forswear;

And so there's little time to strive

to banish any forty-five.

*********************************

@geoffreyfowler

Think you're snug with firewall,

that all hackers you can maul?

Are you sure your info's safe

and secure from pry and strafe?

Maybe you should moan and wince

over cyber fingerprints

that your phone or your pc

gives to that big company

that will haunt you with their ads

and so many sly doodads

that before you can say 'boo'

make you feel like stomach flu.

If you would be off the grid,

denude yourself just like a squid

and dive to depths where CNN

cannot find you out again.

Postcards to the President

Verses from Stories in Today's Washington Post -- North Korea fires two missiles after warning it is losing patience with the U.S. -- An ‘extreme’ haunted house requires a 40-page waiver. Critics say it’s a torture chamber. -- Twitter to ban all political ads amid 2020 election uproar.

@simondenyer

North Korea wags the dog, if it's Uncle Sam.

Being bullied by a shrimp is the new program.

They forget new presidents may someday change their tune,

and give 'em something that will send them winging to the moon!

**************************************

@marisa_iati

The only haunted House I fear is right here in DC.

It's spooky and it's creepy and as scary as can be.

Cuz when those ghouls and goblins get together for a talk,

they can pass a bill that sends the country into shock!

****************************

@TonyRomm  @isaacstanbecker

Ads by politicians are an entertaining scam;

wolfish office seekers masquerading as a lamb.

Since Twitter will not run them, I assume somehow they'll creep

onto skim milk cartons and our pillows as we sleep!

Verses from Stories in Today's New York Post -- Customer tips bartender with Powerball ticket worth $50,000 -- Kate Upton jumps right into Trea Turner’s World Series controversy -- Attempted murder suspect told cops victim tried to feed him to zombies.

@joshuarhett

Let me pour you one more shot/for that ticket you have bought/Leave it here, you barfly dear/If I win, you'll get free beer.

*************************

@jmhendricks88

How I love World Series games!

Dignity goes up in flames.

Experts pop up ev'rywhere,

full of nonsense and hot air.

But, of course, if you're a beauty,

we'll listen as you shake your booty!

****************************

@LeeBrown1273

Zombies as an alibi

with the cops will just not fly.

You may pout and you may whine,

but don't tell them it's Frankenstein.

Dracula's a load of crap

when you murder some poor sap.

So remember, stupid ghoul,

good policemen you can't fool.