Postcards to the President

Verses from Stories in Today's New York Times -- Happy Friday! What if You Always Had It Off? Why Don’t You? -- Bolton Knows About ‘Many Relevant Meetings’ on Ukraine, Lawyer Says -- Trump Rules Out Complete Rollback of China Tariffs as Talks Continue.

@NirajC

Ah, to work four days a week!

Life would ne'er then look so bleak.

Three day weekends in supply

for long naps or some bonsai.

Friday is a waste just now;

no one comes in anyhow.

Think if Monday, too, were gone;

we would face a brighter dawn!

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@peterbakernyt

Mr. Bolton's playing coy;

he is such a clever boy.

Does he know enough to harm,

or is he just full of smarm?

Guess we'll never know, unless

he decides to up and 'fess. 

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@arappeport

Sweet and sour is our boss;

sometimes happy, sometimes cross.

Even China can't predict

are they winning, are they licked.

He might give them breaks galore,

or produce a mighty roar.

Trump can never much decide . . . 

is he Jekyll, is he Hyde?

Verses from Stories in Today's Washington Post -- House GOP looks to protect Trump by raising doubts about motives of his deputies -- Book by ‘Anonymous’ describes Trump as cruel, inept and a danger to the nation -- Commerce Department aides knew Alabama hurricane forecasters were not responding to Trump, but still rebuked them.

@karoun @rachaelmbade

When the people make a fuss,

throw your staff beneath the bus.

One by one they walk the plank,

so your record stays a blank.

This is how you operate

if your mind is second-rate. 

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@PhilipRucker

Anonymous, anonymous;

that word is sure synonymous

with sneaks and cheats and cowards, too,

who don't want their name you to view.

Such books, without a nom de plume,

have no place in a good newsroom.

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@capitalweather  @afreedma

Let's confess that when it rains

the White House man ain't got much brains;

he forecasts weather like a schnook

and never elocution took --

so when he prates of hurricanes

you'd best put on your tire chains,

cuz it gets deep and if you squawk --

or if you don't -- you'll get a knock.

Verses from Stories in Today's New York Times -- Trump Is Fighting So Many Legal Battles, It’s Hard to Keep Track -- Bernie Sanders Is Flush With Cash. Here’s How He Plans to Spend It. -- Queen Elizabeth II Will Go Fur Free .

@peterbakernyt

Trump has got more lawyer's fees

than a dog has ticks and fleas.

Soon the law schools will endorse

"Suing Trump" as a new course.

How much longer can 'il duce'

 circumvent the hangman's noose?

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

@reidepstein  @melbournecoal

Bernie Sanders, buddy boy,

how about you spread some joy

and share out a little dough

to the legions of the po.

Don't you buy more TV ads --

Pampers give to single dads.

Stay off Facebook for a while --

pay for dentures; make folks smile.

In the White House you can't git

if the humble you have quit.

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@gettinviggy

"We are not amused" she said

"that another fox is dead."

So the Queen by royal command

fur upon her person banned.

Now she dons long underwear

before she goes to take the air.

Crazy Henry and the Snow Boat.

"The Snow Boat's in town!" yelled Crazy Henry at me when I answered my door. He waltzed in and seemed to sizzle with childish delight as he bounced from the couch to the recliner to the coffee table and finally back to the couch. He shivered with glee.
"Cappy Rime just brought her in -- she's at the Saint Paul docks right now, taking on cargo and passengers!" 

"What, that old broken down paddle wheeler the city was gonna let the Fire Department burn for practice?" I replied sharply. I had been busy counting crab apples, and now I'd forgotten where I left off. "Your bread dough ain't got any yeast in it. Probably a nervous break up, that's what it is. Here, lay down and I'll bring you some crab apple tea . . ."

But Crazy Henry leaped from the couch to wave a newspaper in front of my face. It was the Minnehaha Nickel Shopper -- a very reliable rag.

"Here! Right here! Lookit!" he said urgently. And by golly, there it was -- an announcement that Captain Rime would sail with the Mississippi tide late that day for snowy parts unknown. Tickets were still available.

"Wow!" I couldn't help exclaiming. I didn't want to believe it was true, because everybody knew Cappy Rime and the whole Snow Boat thing were just a pleasant wintertime idyll told to kids by a warm fire while they sipped hot chocolate. But if it was in the Nickel Shopper it had to be true.

And suddenly the old snow lust was upon me. As a son of the Upper Midwest I needed to hear the hiss of snowflakes rubbing together in companionable riot as they fell across the tired brittle autumned-out land. That first heavy snowfall always felt like baptism into a crisp new cult promising endless possibilities.

"Okay" I said, throwing all the crab apples into the trash. "Let's go!" 

Cappy Rime welcomed Crazy Henry and me on board personally. He was tall and thin, with a short white beard and kinky white hair. His dark blue officer's blazer was spotless and fit him snug and trim. On his shoulder sat a snowy egret. 

"Where to first, Cappy?" I asked him. He seemed to encourage familiarity.

"Frostbite Falls, matey" he replied. 

We left the dock, churning up the water, flinging carp and bullheads from the paddle wheels onto both shores with a merry plop. And out of the double smokestacks came a pure white mist that spread all around the sky. Soon it was snowing thick and fast.

"I'm glad you talked me into this" I told Crazy Henry, who was trying to catch snowflakes on his elbow. 

Have you ever noticed how everything looks better through a curtain of chastely falling snow? The grubby shoreline, made up of hopeless derelict barges and crumbling warehouses, suddenly took on the appearance of  hopeful derelict barges and crumbling warehouses with redemption at hand.

But I noticed Crazy Henry had that dreamy look on his face -- he was presently going to be up to something amazing and ticklish. I can read him like a Kindle. 

And so it came to pass while I was enjoying the slow easy glide of the winter river, Crazy Henry went to ask Cappy Rime if he could steer the Snow Boat for a while. And Cappy, the genial old fool, told him yes. 

That's why Crazy Henry and I were holding onto a single cork life preserver in the middle of the chill Mississippi, while the old Snow Boat sank quietly with all hands. Crazy Henry had steered the paddle wheeler right over a drifting creosote telephone pole and ripped a hole in the hull big enough to drive a Humvee through. 

I could think of no comment deep or stinging enough to throw at him, as the river current carried us silently down to Iowa. We eventually made it to shore and were taken in by a family of kindly corn chandlers. 

Winter never came to Iowa that year, and all the Turkey Red wheat rotted in the ground. When April rolled around Crazy Henry showed me an ad in the Keokuk Nickel Shopper about an ethnic banana pudding bake off to celebrate the birth of Hanuman. Then he asked me if I wanted to go. For reply, I chased him into the sunset with a pea flail. 

Verses from Stories in Today's Washington Post -- This tiny rural town just repealed its dry laws — 86 years after Prohibition ended -- Alabama warns against ‘disruptive behavior’ during Trump visit to LSU game -- An elderly man in Hawaii died after falling into a lava tube hidden in his backyard.

@thedeannapaul

If a village does not choose

to allow the sale of booze

who are we to scoff and sneer

that they never drink a beer?

What's the point now, after all,

to our love of alcohol?

Headaches and a breath so sour

you gotta give your throat a shower.

Though demon rum is here to stay,

I hope for sober joy some day . . . 

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@jacobbogage

It is now a trend, I fear,

to give the Prez a big Bronx cheer

when he goes to football game --

now isn't that a dirty shame?

We ought to reverence his worth,

and not give in to boorish mirth.

What would Putin do if he

were put to such hilarity?

(Siberia would see a spike

in those dumped off to take a hike.)

I hoping that it's still way too soon

for students here to shoot the moon!

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

@Meagan_Flynn

Life some cherries in a bowl?

Not above a lava hole!

Keeping Death at bay and foiled,

only to be quick parboiled?

Such injustice I decry!

(And I hope I never fry.)

If my backyard isn't safe,

then God is dead and I'm a waif.

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

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@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!

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@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.

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@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.

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@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."