Way Up Where Polar Bears Cavort

WASHINGTON—The Navy is planning to expand its role in the Arctic as climate change opens up more ocean waterways and the U.S. vies with great-power rivals Russia and China for influence in the far north.

WSJ

Way up where polar bears cavort,

where ne'er has ever been a fort,

fierce climate change has opened wide

a route for jingoistic pride.

Our Navy, manned by sailors true,

is gliding o'er the icy blue,

and spoiling for a fight with those

who bar their way with haughty pose.

Suppose a raft of penguins takes

an attitude to be headaches;

our doughty ships will slice right through

their ineffective, mangy crew.

Or should a walrus rear its head

and bellow loudly with dire dread;

would our brave Navy run away?

Not them -- that beast they'd gladly flay!

Of course if Russian trawler seems

set to collide abaft the beams

our naval forces will respond

with sang froid like the French beau monde.

They'll tip their caps and want to see

if Russians will come drink some tea.

And if the surly Slavic foe

takes cream and sugar in combo.

Or should an oriental craft

from China ding propeller shaft,

our admiral will go "Tut tut,"

continuing his practice putt.

For so superior are we

upon the icy Arctic Sea

that confrontation ain't allowed

with others who are not our crowd.

But should Norwegians venture forth

and impinge upon the North,

you can bet our battle ships

would be on them like umpteen thrips.

Or should a freighter from Peru

presume to hove into our view

our naval guns will show 'em who

is running things all tried and true.

So fear naught, all you landsman weak;

our Navy's dancing cheek to cheek

with icebergs and the Arctic gale --

and never will they lower sail.

Unless, of course, the Treasury 

does come up short quite suddenly --

and then our lascars, all unpaid,

upon the Capital may raid.

And finding those who closed the Bank,

will make each one to walk the plank.

(But hardly can that come to pass

while sailors swab and polish brass.)

And so the Arctic Seas remain

a part of Uncle Sam's domain,

protected from the thieving mob

by our devoted, gallant gob.

Postcards to President Trump

Ode to Reporter Leslie Scism

O muse, grant me a rainbow prism

to celebrate Ms. Leslie Scism.

Her piercing eye, her mighty pen

that always knows just where and when

Her subtle brain that does delight

in complications left and right

Her knowledge of insurance rackets

and CEO's high income brackets

In fact, unless I miss my guess

she's Frida Kahlo of the Press!

The Emperor's Great Wall

Administration officials on Thursday confirmed that they were looking at a range of government accounts that Trump potentially could tap into for the Wall, but would not comment specifically on which projects were being eyed.  LATimes.

Long ago in ancient lands an emperor decreed

that out of bricks and sticks and tricks a wall must rise with speed.

His counselors, they scratched their heads and faintly wondered why

such a wall must be put up until it reached the sky.

The emperor did not enjoy the doubts of any servant.

He kicked them and he cussed at them in language that was fervent:

"Don't you know that foreign hordes are right this minute waiting

to overwhelm my empire -- a nasty mess creating?"

And so the retinue of He Who Must Be Compensated

fanned out to find the manpower to make his project fated.

Any man found idling in doorway or saloon,

any woman peeling carrots or the sharp cardoon,

children playing marbles -- all were swept up in a trice

and put in cells of cockleshells, to live off prunes and rice.

Manacled together, they were marched out to the site

of the nascent border wall to work from morn til night.

 But where to find the funding for the bricks and thick cement?

The servants of the emperor did not have one red cent.

Deputizing publicans, they sent those greedy pigs

out to tax entire worlds of cloth and tools and figs.

But that's not all these creatures did, to finance that great wall;

they raided all departments of the government, y'all.

The navy lost its rudders and the army its puttees;

the scribes had no more pencils and accountants no more cheese.

All the schools were shut down, so their funding could be swiped 

for the emperor's great wall, which now was really hyped.

Calamity was prophesied if building was delayed;

recruiters signed up volunteers -- by using a sharp blade.

The towns were all deserted and the farms were fallow all --

just so that the emperor could have his toxic wall.

Commerce at a stand-still, and the temples in decay;

the land turned back to jungle in a verdant disarray. 

 Now while the people slaved upon the wall in subjugation,

strangers from the East and West began a sly migration.

Taking over farms and shops, restoring many homes,

they settled in quite cozily -- like little garden gnomes.

So set upon his sacred wall, the emperor ignored

his people's anger and their rising temper and discord.

At last full civil war broke out, and none were spared the sword --

so ev'ryone was gutted like an overripened gourd.

When the pall of battle cleared the emperor alone

survived upon his blood-stained and near-splintered royal throne.

The wall had tumbled down around his ears -- he gave a sigh,

and then far in the distance his new people did descry.

With a grave panoply of his solitary person

he marched up to his newbies (all their happiness to worsen.)

"I am your emperor supreme!" he gabbled at their faces.

"Full of strong authority and self-effacing graces."

The newbies didn't care a fig for this benighted dummy;

they kept on with their singing, swinging, and playing of gin rummy.

"I command you to begin the digging of a ditch . . . "

he cried, but then they cut him down -- that sorry son of a . . .gun.

  

Postcards to President Trump

Welcome to the Hotel Avaricious

The push by hotels to swamp travelers with fees is expanding: The fees you used to only find at resorts are moving downtown.

Many big-city hotels are adding mandatory facility fees or urban-destination fees to hotel bills, hiding the add-ons, which sometimes reach $50 a night, from advertised room rates. The Boston Park Plaza adds a required $22 fee per room per night. The St. Regis in New York, often more than $800 a night, now adds a $50 mandatory destination fee.

There’s a $25 a night resort fee at the Radisson Blu Aqua in downtown Chicago. Same at the Hilton Anatole in Dallas. Neither are what most travelers would consider a resort.

WSJ

Make your time away from home relaxing and auspicious;

come stay in a luxurious suite at Hotel Avaricious.

Reservations guaranteed, as long as you book early.

(So many people have 'em now, twould make your bald head curly!)

Accommodations are deluxe; we never let you down.

Our lobby's so decorous it could pass for a ghost town.

 Conveniently located, next to stockyards and a mill

that quaintly grinds fish bladders into such a healthy pill.

We're happy to take credit cards, or debit -- even cash.

We don't ask many questions (like "How did you get that gash?")

Our gift shop is amazing, full of overrated rubble.

And if you show them your room key, all prices they will double.

Our staff is very helpful and have trained to serve you well;

 if you neglect to tip them large they'll give you bloody hell.

The desk clerk's ever ready to provide you with a smile.

The maids will sweep the bedbugs up with hardly any guile.

We have a troupe of bellboys that know how to get things done;

when they see Immigration you will see how fast they run.

We've tour guides by the dozens, who will lead you far away

to caves that are storm sewers when we have a rainy day.

Our coffee shop is splendid, and our grill is never closed.

We serve organic burgers (if the meat ain't decomposed.)

The cocktail lounge invites you to sophisticated gab;

their bar brawls are quite mannerly -- no shooting, just a stab.

Come swim in our Olympic pool, or sunbathe if you like;

you can fish for dinner, cuz we stock the pool with pike.

The tennis court is lively, since it is a parking lot.

(Avoid the deck chairs, buddy; they are more or less dry rot.)

And when you come to pay your bill we think you'll be surprised

how every stinking item has become so fertilized.

We gonna gouge you, sweetheart, and there's nothin' you can do;

it goes on your expense account, so watsa matta you?

If you have trouble paying we will be most understanding.

Guido will arrange for you to have a neat crash landing.

Be sure to tell your friends about the Hotel Avaricious.

Cuz if you don't we've video that makes you look suspicious.

Postcards to President Trump

The New Rumplestiltskin

DUBAI -- There are gold-flaked pizzas and gold-injected soups, gold-dusted french fries and gold-infused Bloody Marys, cakes and pies topped with gold frosting. An Italian restaurant offers gold flakes in lieu of Parmesan cheese. In the past year, several major hotels have begun offering cappuccinos infused with gold.
WSJ

Inside the hotel dining room

loud voices could be heard to boom;

rude tourists with their manners bold

demanded biscuits dipped in gold.

The chef did not know what to do.

He turned to his loyal kitchen crew

and said he had no gold to spare,

and then began to pull his hair.

"Oh woe is me!" said he in grief.

"What shall I do to find relief?"

"My customers will surely leave

if something rich I can't conceive."

Just then, through noisome kitchen drain

a little man popped up quite plain.

His nose curved down to meet his chin;

he had a leering wicked grin.

"I'm at your service" he began,

this tiny little homely man.

"I'll spin you gold from yonder heap

of plastic spoons and forks so cheap."

"And you can do this?" asked the cook,

as with great sanguineness he shook.

"If this is true, just name your price --

I'll give you wine or meat or spice!"

The little homunculus bowed

and gave an evil laugh aloud.

"Please keep your foodstuffs, cuisinier;

I only want what's truly fair."

He sidled up to the sous chef

and murmured in a low bass clef:

"I want your mix for vichyssoise

so I can have the world's applause."

"Mon Dieu!" the chef cried mournfully.

"That is my cherished recipe."

"If I should give it up to you

I'd be in such an awful stew!"

The little man, he shrugged a bit

and waited as the sound waves hit

from customers whose chant was brief:

"Now give us strudel with gold leaf!"

The chef, he was a beaten soul.

He threw down his clay batter bowl

and made a bargain with the imp,

although it left him feeling limp.

The little man said "By the way

if you should guess my name today

I'll forfeit that there recipe

and all your gold will be scot-free"

And so that wicked little rogue

put all that plastic through a drogue,

and out came gold dust by the ounce --

enough to make the chef's eyes bounce.

Handed quietly a locket

when the busboy picked his pocket,

the chef now knew the wee man's name,

and made of him a silly game.

"Your name must be Sir Himmelfarht"

did say the chef, "or Miss Descartes?"

"Pooh! Pooh!' the imp replied with pride.

"Your feeble guesses I deride!"

"And now I'm done, as promised I --

the recipe you will supply!"

The chef looked up, the chef looked down;

he mimed a most dolorous frown.

"Oh very well" he sighed at last.

"Dear Rumpelstiltskin, write it fast!"

"Say what!? Have you discovered me?"

shrieked Rumpelstiltskin angrily.

Then Rumpelstiltskin stamped his feet

and turned much redder than a beet.

  He ground his teeth and shook his head

so hard that he fell down, quite dead.

Now hotel patrons dine on quail

wrapped in gold foil as thick as kale.

And for dessert their hot cross buns

with molten gold so gaily runs.

And with the gold dust left behind,

the chef and all his crew have lined

their pockets with a goodly sum --

Thanks, Rumpelstiltskin . . . you old bum!