Dem 51
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A December to Rhymember, Part VI: Think!

That headline is meant ironically, as today's selections are both about people who don't do much thinking. First, from S.S. in Santa Monica, CA:

An Ode to Trump (Not Taylor's Version)

The New York judge assigned to me is simply quite atrocious
If I scream it loud enough, he'll think I have psychosis

Because I was afraid to grift when I was just a lad
Me father gave me nose a tweak, told me I was SAD!
But then one day I learned a word that saved me achin' nose
The bigliest word you ever heard and this is how it goes

The clerk she has it out for me and the judge is bogus
All those who love Sleepy Joe are likely to oppose us

I traveled all around the world and everywhere I went
I gave a fifth-grade nickname to everyone I met
But when Vlad or Xi or Orban invite me for some tea
I just say me special word and then they all bow down to me!

I'll never lose my business 'cause my defense is ferocious
And when I win in '24, revenge will be my bonus

(with apologies to Richard M. Sherman and Robert B. Sherman)

And now, from I.W. in Palm Springs, CA:

The Pompous Political Pundit Show

Another dull Sunday... rainy and cold,
sitting around and beginning to mold.
Turn on the boob tube; hey, whaddya know?
It's the Pompous Political Pundit Show!

These pundits are usually good for some laughs:
the ill-informed statements, the blunders, the gaffes,
delivered with such a self-worshiping glow
on the Pompous Political Pundit Show.

One is a geek, and the other's a blonde;
smugly convinced that they've got us all conned.
Never make sense but they spin and they snow
on the Pompous Political Pundit Show.

Eager by turns to go out on a limb,
prognosticating on aught but a whim.
Somehow I doubt that they'll ever eat crow
on the Pompous Political Pundit Show.

Hurling such rot from the left and the right,
ego-crazed puppets who just want to fight.
Being a jackass will get you a go
on the Pompous Political Pundit Show.

Yelled interruptions too garbled to follow,
twisted statistics a dolt wouldn't swallow,
bellowing facts that you know aren't so,
on the Pompous Political Pundit Show.

Clearly they don't believe viewers can think.
That's why they waste so much airtime (and ink).
I'm feeling ill. For the Maalox I go,
from the Pompous Political Pundit Show.

Hm, our spell checker does not seem to have "Supercallousfragileegoextrabraggadocious." Oh, well. More poetry next week, of course. If the muse strikes you over the weekend, you can reach us here. (Z)

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