Saturday

 

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In consequence of shortages that now have come our way
we announce with keen regret there'll be no Saturday.
Weekends now will be one day; so plan accordingly.
This is for the greater good of our community.
With the time that will be saved our calendars will shrink,
saving tons of paper and a lot of colored ink.
Those who hoard their Saturdays and do not turn them in
will be dealt with harshly, as will all their next of kin.

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Life & Death

The cheapening of government affects all walks of life
from little tykes who miss Head Start to cons who wield a knife.
Those cons who murder willfully have nothing much to fear;
states can't pay electric bills, so they won't get the cheer.
Gas is too expensive and the price of rope is high;
the guillotine's an import that they can't afford to buy.
So murder anyone you want; it's really not a crime.
Not when governments are keeping Gadianton time.
 
****************************************
 
Obama says we must endure;
that somewhere a financial cure
is ready to be
(not this century)
proposed to prosperity lure.
 
 

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FW: from tim torkildson

 

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Saving for a rainy day is what our elders said
would keep us going when we ran out of our daily bread.
But the banks and merchants have been selling pretty hard
to run us into debt by using Visa, Mastercard.
"Live within your means" is an American cliche.
"You can't take it with you" is what advertisers say.
Suddenly the value of our homes has gone to pot;
that is where we put our money, as our elders taught.
Highbinders who risked it all and borrowed heavily
get more cash from Uncle Sam for absolutely free.
In this topsy turvy world there's one thing that's for sure --
money is the cause of grief and also is its cure.
So if you haven't any you can thank your lucky stars
and if you have may you get piles from sitting on gold bars.

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Peacemakers

 

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Blessed are the peacemakers who strive to spread deep calm
instead of lighting fires and then setting off a bomb.
Those who can bring enemies together for a talk
deserve with saints and heroes to eventually walk.
Alas, my temper keeps me from believing much in peace.
When it comes to sympathy I think I've lost my lease.
Like Mark Twain I am lukewarm on the damn human race;
experience has taught me not to trust too much in grace.
 

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Drone

Battle by remote control leaves soldiers safe and sound;
too bad you can't say the same for civilians on the ground.
When the Drones begin their flight to track down a bad guy,
there is every chance that kids will also have to die.
A robot has no mercy, it cannot tell between
a terrorist in hiding or a pacifist serene.
Let soldiers take their chances to fight the enemy
and spare us the convenience of such grim technology.

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A Minnesota Nonsense Poem

Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee
decided they would fight.
Said Tweedle Dum to Tweedle Dee:
"I know that I am right."
Said Tweedle Dee to Tweedle Dum:
"You cannot get my goat."
Said Tweedle Dum to Tweedle Dee:
"I want another vote!"
And so with heavy armor on
and lawyers by the ton
they battled quite ferociously
beneath the setting sun.
The judges watched the battle 'til
they couldn't stand the gore
and then they went to Sleepy Eye
and there began to snore.
The media did egg them on,
just waiting for a scoop.
They got more than they bargained for
in hot air blasts and poop.
The lawyers threw their weight around
and then sent in a bill
that made T. Dum and made T. Dee
considerably ill.
Said Tweedle Dum to Tweedle Dee:
"I sure am strapped for cash."
Said Tweedle Dee to Tweedle Dum;
"My wallet is a hash!"
And so the two declared a truce
and took their trusty swords
and went out searching high and low
for golden treasure hoards.
And when they'd robbed the countryside
of every single cent,
they turned upon each other and
to battle gaily went.
But this time no one gave a hoot
about their great affair.
And so they simply stood around
exchanging a cold glare.
For all I know they're standing still
upon that field of green,
Subsisting on a bit of crow
and rancid jelly bean.

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Enhancement

 

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Everything's enhanced today, from athletes to our food;
"Supersize my whole dang life!" would seem to be the mood.
So baseball stars take steroids and we need more gigabytes;
we have mortgages so heavy that they ruin our appetites.
"Life Enhancing Moments" are the only things that sell;
the pharmacy has pills to cause our you-know-what to swell.
Our BlackBerries and iPods keep us going night and day,
and our lattes are not modest but must always be Grande.
I don't know when "enhancement" came to mean the same as "greed",
but downsizing expectations is exactly what we need.

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Republicans & Democrats

 

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Republicans and Democrats have never got along;
they always blame each other with the same old sad, sad song:
"The Democrats will spend too much!"  "Republicans are greedy!"
All of them say they will help the homeless and the needy
and yet the homeless multiply, the needy are neglected
while the parties squabble over who will be elected.
No shortage of vacations, fancy cars, and hearty meals
for Democrats, Republicans, while making shady deals.
Our young are dying overseas and epidemics rage;
Republicans and Democrats just want the full front page.
I know there is one banquet where these idiots will not
sit up near the rostrum and then play the smug big shot;
it's mentioned in the Bible as a parable so sweet;
the poor will do the feasting while the bigwigs lick their feet.
Until that day I guess we're stuck with politicians who
act more like the monkeys behind bars down at the zoo.

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The Phone Book

 

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The phone book is an item we can do without, I scold;
it's heavy and it's awkward and it's worth its weight in mold.
The last time that I used mine was to squash a centipede
that was strolling 'cross my kitchen floor at irritating speed.
When seating junior members of the family for a meal
the phone book comes in handy, otherwise I truly feel
those yellowed pages are absurd and just get in the way;
you just might get a hernia from lifting it some day.
I can think of better ways of using up a tree
than printing scores of pages that no one will ever see.

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Deodorant

 

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The secret's out, a real sure bet --
when you are stressed you start to sweat.
The ad guys go to any length
to market stuff with super strength;
deodorants that plug those leaks
so underarms stay dry for weeks.
I wonder, though, what we will do,
when that stuff hardens into glue,
and bonds our arms unto our sides --
how will we hail our taxi rides?
We'll look like penguins on a stroll.
(Admittedly that could be droll.)
I think I'd rather take a chance
on perspiration when I dance.
 

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DATA

 

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Every time you go online you lose a little more
privacy as others keep a calculating score
of where you go and what you see and when it is you do it;
put together, it is sold to those who want to view it.
Nothing is anonymous upon the Internet;
think of that the next time you check how far you're in debt.
Companies who know you to the tiniest degree
will send you offers triggering a gorgeous spending spree.
You might as well surrender every moment of your life;
every foible has been marked and sent to your ex-wife.
Every single thing you've ever written, said, or thought,
is up for sale -- and be damn sure it's likely to be bought.
So unplug every modem and all fiber optics shred;
it's the only way to keep the man from messing with your head.

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FW: SAVE THE LIBRARY

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A fortress of knowledge, of comfort, of cheer;
the library nourishes year after year.
The heft of a book that is well-read and tart
is joy to the smallest and humblest heart.
A dusting of quiet pervades every room,
while something heroic lays just past the gloom.
No one is turned back from its beckoning halls,
from elegance, science, and fairy tale balls.
Its portals, when open, will bless everyone;
a library closed is a good deed undone.
 

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65

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Retiring at 65?
Man, you're full of deepest jive!
Pension plans are down the tubes;
wrecked by greedy Wall Street boobs.
How about at 66?
Brother, you're still taking licks.
House won't sell and car won't start;
you're a pauperized old fart.
Any chance at 68?
Only if your wealth is great.
Otherwise, don't stop to whine;
head back to the old salt mine.
Probably at 69?
Not with prices out of line.
If you want three squares a day
keep on working, start to pray.
Certainly at 82?
Hey there, Jackson, who told you?
No one cares how you might feel,
keep your shoulder to the wheel!
Giving up at 93?
Now you think your lunch is free!
All your debts still grow for sure.
Six feet under is the cure.

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The Dumpster

Dumpsters made of sturdy steel make good homes for the needy.
When they're emptied and scrubbed out they do not look too seedy.
A coat of paint, a roach motel, and you have got a winner.
Park it by a restaurant and each evening you'll get dinner!
There's no need to pamper welfare cases seeking shelter.
There are dumpsters for them all, scattered helter-skelter.
Everybody has to tighten belts in these lean days;
the poor can go in cages like all other curs and strays.
Do not call this heartless, it is only common sense
to give the unproductive motivating recompense.
But do not be surprised if all these welfare projects fail
because the bread we cast upon the water is so stale.

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Charles Darwin

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Charles Darwin was a modest man who didn't like to see
the controversy stirred up by his new-fangled theory.
To this day scientists insist that Darwin's speculation
is proven fact, while others brand it moral peculation.
Modern churches want to be accepting and wide open,
but Darwin leaves their members often scowly-faced and mopin'.
Bible-huggers think of Darwin as a bearded thug
who beat up on the Gospel with a bunch of pure humbug.
He's taught in schools, and then he's not, and then he's reinstated;
leaving students puzzled, not to say a bit frustrated.
The longer evolution is debated unresolved
the more it makes a monkey out of everyone involved.
 
Tim Torkildson
St Anthony  MN

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TP

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In solitude I contemplate my roll of soft tp;
without it I would leave this room in total misery.
It's quilted and it's scented and it comes with little patterns.
It separates me from the beasts and all of Nature's slatterns.
Why they perforate it into dinky little sheets
is something that the wisdom of the ages still defeats.
I wonder what the Romans used in spartan days gone by?
Probably their togas -- they were never very shy.
How about Egyptians who had access to the Nile?
Perhaps they used papyrus while avoiding crocodile.
The ancient Chinese Mandarins took care of things with silk
and then they rinsed their hands off with a squirt of mermaid's milk.
The ancient Persians used a bit of fancy peacock tail.
A cruel people; if in need, they also used whole quail.
The Incas used a llama's tongue, which doesn't bear much thought.
The Aztecs were ferocious and they used live ocelot!
Columbus and his nimble crew did use the ocean waves.
Dracula would steal the shroud from out of fresh dug graves.
Shakespeare used a sonnet on a sheet of parchment rough.
Russians, until recently, would use their own ear muff.
Eskimos used blubber, which sure made for slippery seats.
Farmers up in Idaho still use small sugar beets.
But there's no use in bragging that we have a better way --
not until the whole world switches to a warm bidet.

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The Trillion (a nonsense poem)

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"Daddy, what's a trillion?" the little girl did ask.
Her father hesitated, deeply troubled by the task
of answering her question in a way that would explain
a concept giving millions now a great big deal of pain.
"Does it have big floppy ears and feet with twenty toes?"
"Will it fly away with me if I still pick my nose?"
"Tell me, Daddy dearest, just what can a trillion be --"
"does it live on mountains or deep underneath the sea?"
"My daughter, no one really knows" he father so began,
"what a trillion looks like,whether purple, green or tan."
"You cannot find them anywhere except here in the States,"
"where jillions and gazillions are their only known playmates."
"Their appetite's enormous and they never stop to sleep
and into many houses they are bound to surely creep."
"Oh father I am sore afraid!" the little girl did sob.
"So am I" her father said, "cuz I just lost my job."
And so the two are huddled, and they still might be there yet;
a trillion isn't something you can easily forget.

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Russian Roulette

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Every time you sit down to enjoy a little meal
you're playing Russian roulette with your spinach or your veal.
That peanut butter sandwich may contain a real surprise,
a salmonella flavoring that knocks out both your eyes.
Our food is canned and frozen while no one is too alert
about contamination from a peck or more of dirt.
The FDA is absent or is somnolent at best
and seems to be reluctant about running any test.
The hygiene in the factories that process all our food
would alarm a billy goat and make him come unglued.
The wages are just awful and no English there is spoke
and if you saw their fingernails you probably would choke.
Adulterated foodstuffs come direct from overseas
in everything from chocolate to a slice of cheddar cheese.
Surrounded by this menace, there's not much that we can do
except to wear a blindfold when we order Irish stew.

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Indulgences

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If you are Roman Catholic and do not want to stay
in Hotel Purgatory even one more extra day
then find yourself a bishop who will make your wish come true
by granting an indulgence quicker than you can say "boo".
These mitred wiseguys have an in, so they can intercede.
(They also would be happy to explain the Nicene Creed.)
Of course old Martin Luther thought indulgences were crap;
his anger tore the church apart like some great thunderclap.
Protestants and Catholics to this day can't agree
on whether mortals have a say about eternity.
I hope that in the next life we will live in peace that's grand;
but only if religions will forever remain banned.

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Valentine

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Send a valentine to all the people that you hate.
This will sure confuse them and their sleep disintegrate.
Your enemies will wonder what it is you plan to start
by giving them some candy in a satiny pink heart.
Many fruitless hours oh so anxiously will pass
as they check your flowers for anthrax and poison gas.
Take 'em out to dinner and of terror they may die,
thinking there is cyanide inside their apple pie.
Do good to them that hurt, as the Good Book doth command
and so destroy your enemies with kindness out of hand.

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Toxic Loan

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Once there was a toxic loan, all by itself and small.
It huddled in a corner and would make no noise at all.
Shunned by prudent bankers and investors who were keen
to keep such noxious riff-raff far away, a sight unseen.
It asked for understanding and a little bit of hope
but in reply the zealous warned: For you there is a rope!
But then one day a banker took some pity on that loan
and sold it to some customers while chatting on the phone.
At last in a portfolio it quickly grew in stature
and it lost its label as worse than a baby-snatcher.
Somehow it brought in money, though I cannot tell you why,
and suddenly the whole wide world wanted a supply.
Its cousins and its uncles crawled from out of the woodwork
and went to bed with everyone from plutocrat to clerk.
Forgetting that just recently they were terrific shams,
everybody closed their eyes and scooped 'em up like clams.
But every bubble soon must burst, and this one gave a pop
that left the bankers speechless while their clients called a cop.
Now the toxic loan is once again a foul pariah,
the only difference being Uncle Sam's its biggest buyah.
 

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Christian Bale

Christian Bale has got a mouth
that makes a toilet blush.
Next time that he opens it
let's hope that he will flush.
 

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The Pits

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The sap is rising in the trees; the buds begin to swell.
I know that spring is on the way because the roads are hell.
The potholes multiply like mice, destroying my poor shocks,
bouncing me around until I've jerked off both my socks.
It doesn't matter, any road I wend my weary way;
a pothole lurks beneath the slush, awaiting me as prey.
Every year the same old thing occurs on my commute.
The car repairs are costing me a monstrous pile of loot.
I hope the potholes migrate soon up to cool Baffin Bay;
a hunting season would be nice -- I'd love to blaze away!
Until the potholes disappear I'll park my car somewhere
and dip into my piggy bank to come up with bus fare.
 

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BANKERS PERKS

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When bankers go on holiday
we ought to be grateful and say:
"Do not hurry back,
without your keen knack
we find that we're doing okay!"
 

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Land of Opportunity

I say illegal aliens are welcome to find work,
to pay their share of taxes and all charity to shirk.
And when we grab their records to check up on all their lies
they ought to be quite grateful for our dedicated spies.
We'll send 'em 'cross the border for a little R & R
and then they can return inside the trunk of someone's car.
We'll put 'em back to work at wages gringos would decry
to pay those lovely taxes and subsist on humble pie.
America was built upon the backs of such as these
who want the opportunity but only get the tease.

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Bankers

Where has all the money gone we've given to the banks?
Did they invest in Lotto or the schemes of Ponzi cranks?
The government prints money like it's going out of style.
The bankers swallow all of it with cunning and with guile.
Astronomers who want to see a real Black Hole in action
should watch as bankers rake in cash with tireless attraction.
Then with doleful manner they claim they are still quite broke.
How long do they think we're going to put up with that joke?
Even I do know enough to keep a balance sheet,
but bankers seem to crap on theirs like some blithe parakeet.
I wish I were a banker with no conscience and no creed
except to diddle suckers and to revel in my greed.
I hope that God will curse them, but I guess that is a sin.
Besides, with all their spondulacks, I think the fix is in.

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