A bad day doesn’t rattle me.
It’s never a surprise, you see.
Each week before my Sunday dinner
I write down which day’s a winner
In the week ahead, and which
Will move on me like Donald’s bitch.
I try to mix it up, to keep
It interesting. I don’t lose sleep
Anticipating what might not
Occur because this plan I’ve got
Ensures that though it might be scary
At the time, it’s temporary.
Nothing bad is here to stay
‘Cause who would plan it out that way?
Well, me, on days I’ve marked as dumb
(Which tend to follow too much rum),
But soon enough we’re back on track
With badness popping off the stack
And making room for joie de vivre.
Bye, now! Time to spike a fever…
If Kim Jong Un is watching Don
And how he just un-dealt Iran
Then 45 just shot to hell
His chance to trump Barack’s Nobel.
Paul Ryan likely in his youth
Intuited that speaking truth
To power helps one keep in touch
With truth, but power? Not so much.
Dispensing with integrity,
However, paid off handsomely:
He nearly got elected veep!
Not bad for a mendacious creep
Whose claim of thoughtful wonkiness is
Based on incoherent messes
Gussied up as policy
That promise broad prosperity
For anyone who isn’t needy.
Pity, Pauly met a greedy
Opportunist less concerned
With all the facts he’d never learned,
To whom the truth is such a stranger
Even Ryan saw the danger.
(Nothing makes a liar madder
Than a dude whose lies are badder,
Bigger, bolder, worse than his!)
Paul Ryan sees the way it is
In Donald Trump’s America
And suddenly he’s homesick? Duh!
He’s seen the writing on the wall
Writ large (although the hands were small)
And knows he simply can’t compete.
He’s giving up the Speaker’s seat
In Congress and returning to
The Land of Cheeseheads. Is it true
He won’t be running anymore?
Too bad. He’s never broken four!
When critics carped that W.
Was worst, I’d ask them, “Surely, you
Recall the horrors Tricky Dick
Inflicted on us?” In the thick
Of Donald Trump’s dominion, though,
I can’t dispute we’ve reached a low
Congrats, DT: You broke the floor!
The depths you’ve plumbed make Nixon’s bummers
Almost quaint…and he had plumbers!
Nixon showed a sense of shame;
I doubt The Donald feels the same.
Chagrin afflicts the self-aware.
For Trump, there’s simply no “there” there,
Like California, per Ms. Stein.
Your views may vary; this one’s mine.
Georgie’s daddy had a tree
That got chopped down and George said he
Could not recite a lie: He’d done it!
(That’s how History has spun it.)
Donny T. in Georgie’s place’d
Have claimed the cherry tree’d been aced
By Isis-loving Mexicans
Then blamed Obama, just for grins.
Let us help rebuild this wall!
Mexico will pay.
It’s difficult maintaining rage
When every day we turn the page
From yesterday’s appalling gaffe
To one that’s new and worse by half.
Today’s atrocity grows faint
So rapidly it’s almost quaint
A week from now, like old invective:
Gable’s damn was more effective
In its day than pussy was
Just eight short months ago, because
Revulsion has a sell-by date.
Does clusterfuck offend you? Wait
A week, and if you’re still offended,
Great! That means the slide has ended–
No more depths are left to plumb!
But Trump’s too clusterfucking dumb.