Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Comic Book Schnooks


 


Superman is cutting back on capes and tights these days;
Batman laid off Robin -- fighting crime no longer pays.
Green Lantern's gone fluorescent and the Hulk cannot afford
insurance for his rampages and now is very bored.
Thor has pawned his hammer and the Metal Men are rust;
Wonder Woman lost her plane when everything went bust.
Lex Luthor is on food stamps; Dr. Doom a buyout took;
Wolverine works graveyard shift at Denny's as a cook.
Fantastic Four do birthdays and bar mitzvahs for a fee;
the Joker is not laughing when he filed for bankruptcy.
Why don't these super paupers rob a bank in one fell stroke?
Oh yeah . . . because the banks are also absolutely broke.
 


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Monday, March 30, 2009

I.M.F.

Uncle Sam's in London, looking seedy as he meets
with the Group of 20 'round a table with plush seats.
China thinks the dollar should retire right away --
it is old and tattered and has seen a better day.
India will not be quick to help the I.M.F.
They think it's a yankee stooge that seems to be quite deaf.
Uncle Sam no longer has a placid honeymoon
with financial powers, so he cannot call the tune.
The economic crisis got its start in his back yard,
now other countries treat him rather distantly and hard.
His good deeds are forgotten and his expertise reviled;
he's thought of rather like an overgrown and wayward child.
Let the Chinese cackle and the europeans crow;
if they don't start rowing they will feel the undertow.
Old Ben Franklin had it right when he said forcefully:
if we do not hang together, we shall do so separately.


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Sunday, March 29, 2009

The Bird Feeder


 



The birds, they are a-chirping,
while the squirrels continue burping,
having eaten all the seed I had today.
My feeder's an attraction
to those squirrels who want some action
as my precious bird seed 'round the yard they spray.
I have tried to stop these creatures,
who may sport appealing features,
but who are a bunch of thieving jackanapes.
Grease and powder and devices
that I buy at dreadful prices
they just brush aside like some cheap pair of drapes.
How I yearn for a machine gun.
I would show those varmints mean fun;
send them back to hunting nuts in forest glade.
Then the finches and the blue jays
would be fat within a few days
and the swish of bushy-tails would softly fade.


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Saturday, March 28, 2009

Furlough


 



The latest craze in government is causing quite a row/asking clerks and bureaucrats to take a wee furlough/this will save us money! all the bigwigs smoothly say/consider it a gift, another unpaid holiday/the unions do not like it, cuz there is no guarantee/that taking such a furlough will prevent a layoff spree/they never furlough governors or presidents or such/that is something which I would enjoy so very much/in fact, shut down the government for all of the Spring Break/two weeks without that brouhaha would be a piece of cake.

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FW: from tim torkildson


 



Incandescent bulbs are wasteful, so we try out the fluorescent --
but they seem to give out less light than the moon when it's a crescent.
Or they last a mere ten hours, then wink out like a snuffed candle.
They're poisonous, so if they break you dasn't ever handle.
Expensive, hard to handle -- they are no walk in the park;
torches might be better when we must fend off the dark.


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Friday, March 27, 2009

Give Pop a Pill


 



Old folks better watch it and not spout off like a geyser,
otherwise their kids will say: you need a tranquilizer.
No one wants to listen to old geezers and their tales --
they are given pills to take the wind out of their sails.
Loneliness and boredom, not dementia, make them cranky;
yet the docs prefer to play narcotic hanky-panky.
Put away in nursing home, who wouldn't start to grumble?
But complaints are met with meds that make 'em stare and stumble.
When I'm old and feeble I will act just like a doll,
cuz I don't want them pumping me chock full of demerol.


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Thursday, March 26, 2009

Eating Alone


 



I've eaten many meals alone, the table set for one.
No need to heed the dinner bell; I never have to run.
The pale moon of my dinner plate reflects my hungry face;
utensils frozen to my touch as if from outer space.
I read a book or watch TV while chewing on some greens,
then guzzle milk without restraint and end with jelly beans.
Or bite into a hamburger with juices running down
and turning every shirt I own a lovely shade of brown.
It all tastes pretty much the same, home-cooked or ordered in;
I doubt that I would notice if my bread were made of tin.
Why not come and dine with me, for better or for ill?
I'd sure enjoy the company, and might discount your bill.
 


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Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Bragging is a sin


Just wanted to share this enthusiastic email from a REAL, PROFESSIONAL, PAID, writer about my work; it gives me hope that some day I, too, may be in that position! 
 
 
> From: juliapreston@nytimes.com
> To: tork49@hotmail.com
> Subject: RE: READER MAIL: Julia Preston
> Date: Wed, 25 Mar 2009 13:26:22 -0400
>
> Dear Mr. Torkildson:
> I love this poem! This is the most lucid, succinct analysis of American
> immigration politics I have read in a long while. And you even made poetic
> art from the term hoi polloi.
> I would like to post the poem on nytimes.com so that readers of our
> immigration series can enjoy it as well. Would you mind if I did that?
> (Since you sent it in by the reader e-mail system, at the moment only I have
> had the distinct pleasure of reading it.) I'm seeking your agreement to post
> it signed with your name.
> Let me know. Thanks so much for writing,
> Julia Preston
>
>
> Julia Preston
> National Immigration Correspondent
> New York Times
> 620 Eighth Avenue
> Third floor
> New York, New York 10018-1405
>
> ----Original Message-----
> From: NYTimes.com [mailto:emailus@ms2.lga2.nytimes.com]
> Sent: Monday, March 23, 2009 10:08 AM
> To: juliapreston@nytimes.com
> Subject: READER MAIL: Julia Preston
>
>
>
> To: JULIA PRESTON
>
> You have received reader mail via nytimes.com. To respond to this reader,
> simply 'reply' to this message.
>
> READER'S NAME:
> tim torkildson
>
> READER'S E-MAIL:
> tork49@hotmail.com
>
> READER'S MESSAGE:
> The immigrant illegal is a bogeyman of sorts/haunting us at work, at play,
> and even in our courts/as economic crisis deepens all across the land/our
> fear of this poor fellow is continually fanned/by demogogues and red necks
> and the mindless hoi polloi/who claim they steal the coconut from every
> Almond Joy/overworked, exploited, and in fear of deportation/the immigrant
> illegal knows about humiliation/they do the dirty work that solid citizens
> abhor/when they're sick and crippled we just shove them out the door/oh
> immigrant illegal, I don't wish you any harm/neither do I find you have
> abundance of great charm/I wonder how YOUR country would react if I were
> there/without a proper visa, living off the thin blue air?/I don't think
> they would welcome me with open arms and smiles/instead they'd have me
> working behind bars on large rock piles/when I'm abroad I have to put up
> with so much red tape/why do you deserve all that malarkey to escape?
>
> ARTICLE REFERENCED (if any):
> A Slippery Place
>
>
>
>


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Gun Control

Gun control's a subject I am tired of discussing;
no one has solutions, so we just keep on a-fussing.
I have never owned one but it's nice to think I could,
especially the way things are now in my neighborhood.
People with machine guns and bazookas are insane;
they make me think the Constitution's policy is vain.
I wish the whole darn subject would decamp and just go south
and we could jail the people who are shooting off their mouth.


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Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Sweet Tooth


 



I can go without my vittles --
don't deprive me of my Skittles!
That sugar rush I do demand
from the Hershey chocolate brand.
Mallo Cups and Sour Balls,
Gummy Bears -- I heed their calls!
Cobwebs in the pantry mean
I will haunt the snack machine,
dropping quarters for a fix
of my favorite Pixie Stix.
Homeless, hungry, unemployed --
candy really fills the void.
When we have run out of money,
just give me some Bit-O-Honey.
 
Tim Torkildson
St. Anthony  MN


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Monday, March 23, 2009

Another Trillion


 



Another trillion for the banks; ho-hum, what else is new?
Toxic loans are coddled like a new-born put on view.
We pinch their cheeks and gurgle and promise them great sums--
always hoping they won't grow into depressing bums.
We spoil those toxic loans like kids inside a candy store.
We give 'em everything we got and then they ask for more.
We place them for adoption with palatial guarantee;
anyone who takes 'em is assured a gorgeous fee.
And just like bratty children who do not get discipline,
their copper-bottomed promises turn out to be plain tin.
Old P.T. Barnum would rejoice in all of this humbug,
as evil-smelling artifice we all are forced to hug.
When it comes to toxic loans I'm feeling kinda bearish --
throw 'em out upon bear rock and let them there all perish!
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


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The Medicine Cabinet


 

From: tork49@hotmail.com
To: kimode@startribune.com
Subject: The Medicine Cabinet
Date: Mon, 23 Mar 2009 14:16:41 +0000

I don't think that I can rest
'til I clean out the medicine chest.
There's stuff in there as old as dirt;
I hope to heck it is inert.
Vick's Vapo-Rub that stood the shock
of Vietnam and then Woodstock.
Ipecac that seems to be
from the Truman Presidency.
My grandma had these for her ills --
Carter's Little Liver Pills.
Chewable aspirin so decayed,
now it's just as hard as jade.
Band-aids with a sickly curl,
dating back to Milton Berle.
The Antique Road Show might aspire
some of these bottles to acquire.
Ah, the memories that tug
from my dad's old shaving mug!
And these tweezers that I trust
still are safe despite the rust.
I'll notify the state -- they might
declare it all an Historical Site.
 



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Sunday, March 22, 2009

The Immigrant Illegal


 



The immigrant illegal is a bogeyman of sorts;
haunting us at work, at play, and even in our courts.
As economic crisis deepens all across the land
our fear of this poor fellow is continually fanned
by demagogues and red necks and the mindless hoi polloi,
who claim they steal the coconut from every Almond Joy.
Overworked, exploited, and in fear of deportation;
the immigrant illegal knows about humiliation.
They do the dirty work that solid citizens abhor;
when they're sick and crippled we just shove them out the door.
Oh immigrant illegal, I don't wish you any harm;
neither do I think you have abundance of great charm.
I wonder how your country would react if I were there,
without a proper visa, living off the thin blue air?
I don't think they would welcome me with open arms and smiles;
instead they'd have me working behind bars on large rock piles.
When I'm abroad I have to put up with so much red tape --
why do you deserve all that malarkey to escape?


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Saturday, March 21, 2009

The Young The Old The Sugar


 



The battle of the sexes is now stale and growing cold,
with a shrinking job base, it's now: YOUTH VERSUS THE OLD!
Out of work old geezers tell the kids to hit the road;
while the whippersnappers text each other in some code.
Computers still are baffling to those of mature years;
but they hold no terrors if you're wet behind the ears.
The young are always online, looking for that big job break;
the old go stand in lines until their feet begin to ache.
The old are wise and crafty while the young are so naive;
the young are very flexible, the old love their pet peeve.
So when there is an opening, both sides had better run
(too bad the job is promised to the boss's lazy son!)
 
 
*******************************************
 
 
And now it's pure can sugar that is coming back in style.
High-fructose corn syrup is considered pretty vile.
Over processed and fermented, chemically suspect;
corn syrup makes you obese as your health is surely wrecked.
But - oh! - that pure cane sugar is a natural, safe, treat.
(Don't listen to your dentist; they are never too discrete.)
Mary Poppins sang a spoon-full helps to medicate
and sugar plums at Christmas-time?  A joy to masticate!
So put a pinch of sugar in your cheese and macaroni
(just between the two of us, this whole thing is baloney!)


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Taxing Times


 



It must be tough to take a puff
with taxes ever-soaring.
That nicotine takes lots of green
and don't improve your snoring.
But smokers, please, on bended knees
we ask you to continue.
Cuz if you quit we'll take a hit
in all our bone and sinew.
Your taxes keep our coffers steep,
though your health faces perils.
So buy those butts or budget cuts
will have us wearing barrels!


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Friday, March 20, 2009

The White House Vegetable Garden


 



The buzz around the White House comes from bees and not the press;
Michelle is turning farmer, weeding 'round the watercress.
Everything's organic, from the honey to the peas;
on the South Lawn rhubarb sprouts up higher than her knees.
Berries and tomatoes, kale and collards will take root
and if the times get harder she may plant a little jute.
Where once old Eisenhower putted golf balls by the score
now there's lettuce spreading and nasturtiums really soar.
Being a team effort, I am absolutely sure
the Cabinet will have its turn for spreading on manure.
Barack will do some hoeing and Joe Biden will inspect
each plant for mold and mildew and the terrorist insect.
Michelle, I do salute you --but I would not share your fate
when you put steamed spinach on your children's dinner plate.


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A New Comedy Team

Obama and Jay Leno do make a lovely pair/they ought to try Las Vegas or some big 'ol county fair/they give out with the zingers and never seem to stall/especially when joking all about a bowling ball/a comic in the White House -- Obama can relax/cuz people will be laughing when they get more income tax.
 


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Thursday, March 19, 2009

Dust & Ashes


 



We spend our whole lives getting stuff;
we never can have quite enough.
But when the Grim Reaper
shoves us with his sweeper
it all disappears in a puff.
Our kids do not want our old trash.
To them it's a bunch of cold hash.
They've seen it for years.
It bores them to tears;
the only thing they want is cash.
So everything we have slaved for
is tossed out the heedless back door.
What was our passion,
now out of fashion --
It sits in a dusty thrift store.


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Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Bonus

Congress has gone bonus-hunting; they'll shoot them on sight if they can.
They seem to think they're on a mission with Tinkerbell and Peter Pan.
Magical things will develope when bonuses are hunted down;
Washington's portrait on dollars will turn to a smile from a frown.
If congress wants Fantasy Island, they'd better pass much sterner laws
making it highly illegal to go out and play Santa Claus.
 


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Tuesday, March 17, 2009

The Root of all Evil


 



The root of all evil is lust
for treasures that turn into dust.
That message is mixed
cuz dollars are fixed
with this motto: In God We Trust.
 


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Monday, March 16, 2009

Bonus


 



Don't I get a bonus for my oral hygiene care?
My dentist says my teeth will make all other people stare.
Don't I have a contract that rewards me with big bucks
for making funny noises that can sound like fire trucks?
And what about my nose hairs?  I have trimmed them every day.
It's morally imperative that somebody should pay.
Maybe I am not the best at anything I do;
still, I've earned a bonus and I'm taking it from you.
Sure, I'm bonus-happy -- that's American tradition:
Every time I screw up I am paid a big commission!


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Sunday, March 15, 2009

Oh, For The Life Of A Hobo!


 



Oh, for the life of a hobo; a boxcar to call my own home!
Mulligan stew for my supper; dogs chasing me in a foam.
Begging for handouts from strangers and dodging the sheriff each day;
spending my nights in the hoosegow and treated like some rabid stray.
Oh, for the life of a hobo!  I'd skip down the road so carefree;
thrown from a train, I would holler, and not from the pain but high glee.
Drinking a bottle of Lysol and diving in dumpsters for fun;
why should I care if I never am listed with Bradstreet & Dunn?
Oh, for the life of a hobo, with head lice and bed bugs and fleas!
Never a boss to give orders; in winter beginning to freeze.
Join me and we will be hobos, and if the great heavens are just
most of the tycoons on Wall Street will join us soon down in the dust.


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timericks

The nose job will just have to wait
but I'm moving up the due date
to replace my hip
before a pink slip
will send me to Cobra's grim fate.
 
********************************
 
It may come as quite a sharp shock;
our T bills to China do flock!
Those thrifty Chinese
are busy as bees
so we will stay deeply in hock.


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from tim torkildson

The nose job will just have to wait/but I'm moving up the due date/to replace my hip/before a pink slip/will send me to Cobra's grim fate.

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Saturday, March 14, 2009

Radon


 



Anybody know exactly just what radon is?/does it glow or float or maybe start an eerie fizz?/basements seem to have it and the newer countertops/can it be combated with some Lysol and wet mops?/I'm pretty sure the stuff was not around when I was small/I think it came along about the time of the strip mall/Now they're selling gizmos to detect it everywhere/from the basement toilet to the kitchen Frigidaire/like everything discovered in the past half century/it is not too good for you if sucked up constantly/the best way to avoid it is to live up in a tree/wear organic clothing and drink lots of herbal tea/or when the bio-splicing is down to a science pat/order them to make you a nice radon-eating cat.
 



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Forget Britney


 



Once upon a time the news was full of Britney Spears
and other light-weight bozos who deserved collective jeers.
We viewed their peccadilloes -- all that late night scrumming --
and gave it more attention than the Bible's Second Coming.
But now for villains Hollywood can really not compete
with the savage monsters who are lurking near Wall Street.
Madoff sure did steal the show; he captured the spotlight.
Anyone on corporate jets will get a huge sound byte.
Bankers and their posh retreats make commentators foam.
Reporters who hate A.I.G. would fill the Astro Dome.
Executives with bonuses the size of Power Ball
are inundated with the media's echoing cat-call.
The frenzy of the media has more than just a whiff
of that Dickens character, the hypocrite Pecksniff.
Reporters have their bonuses and live a rich lifestyle,
compared to all the working stiffs that they would like to rile.
The pot has called the kettle black; that isn't news to me.
I doubt you'll hear about it from the likes of NBC.


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Friday, March 13, 2009

Remember when Dummies Held Jobs?


 



Remember when dummies held jobs?
When work was so easy to get?
Anyone with a head who could prove they weren't dead
was shot into place like a jet.
The factories couldn't keep up.
The offices hummed with delight.
Everyone ordered so fast that it bordered
upon a knock-down, drag-out fight.
The dummies could not find their desks.
To customers they were so rude.
Credit was hoppin' with everyone shoppin'
and caviar was our fast food.
But now jobs are not to be had.
A Master's Degree gets you squat.
Unless you're connected, unemployment's collected,
and all of your skills can go rot.
So all of you dummies, relax.
You will not be working this year.
Put on your beanies and wait for the genies
to serve you free pretzels and beer.


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2 A.M.


 



Awake at 2 a.m. I see
all of life's futility;
famine.  War.  Disease.  Despair.
Uncertainty of Medicare.
Two-oh-one. The shadows creep.
What's this thing that they call sleep?
Counting sheep's a cartoon joke;
I count friends who have gone broke.
Two-oh-two.  Was that a scream
or the radiator's steam?
As I mature I wake up more;
sometimes on the bedroom floor.
Two-oh-three.  I guess I'll read.
(Can't remember if I peed.)
I regret that goat cheese blintz
that continues to make hints.
Two-oh-four.  I need routine
to escape this wakeful scene.
Maybe sleep is over-rated;
I won't know 'til I'm sedated.


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Thursday, March 12, 2009

Obama's Round Table for Squares


 



Obama held a round table discussion with the press/to talk about the country's plight and deepening distress/he said he wanted journalists to help him clear the air/(does he think this kind of stunt will get him anywhere?)/the press sat back and listened and politely went along/the snacks were free and plentiful, the coffee warm and strong/Obama, let me tell you, just in case you haven't heard/that journalists are joining with the ranks of dodo bird/soon our daily papers will be but a memory/since their only business plan is filing bankruptcy/if I were you I'd dump reporters now and go whole-hog/after all those weirdoes who just sit around and blog.
 



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Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Cat Hoarders

Bankers now are lining up, using words quite sharp/to return the money that was forced on them by TARP/"We don't want your stinkin' cash" they say in righteous tones/"Not if there are strings attached that leave us just bear bones"/"We will party as we please and give ourselves huge raises"/"Squeeze the blood from turnips . . ." and some other tender phrases/You claim to know your business and do not need intervention/(pardon me if Lehman Brothers I just briefly mention)/Brave bankers I salute you for so honestly revealing/that you want to keep on with your whoring and your stealing/So give us back our money and we all can start to build/on the dreams you took from us and then had raped and killed/when all those toxic loans fall due and you haven't got a cent/I will gladly help you find a basement room to rent.

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cat hoarders


 



Every couple months a puppy mill is brought to light/creating a sensation that lasts almost overnight/other times it's cats jammed in a mobile home somewhere/the owners always looking vague and in their underwear/it's a sad, sad, story, but makes copy that is read/especially if cats and dogs are sick or mostly dead/other times you get a house that's full of parakeets/or ferrets or iguanas or small monkeys tearing sheets/we shake our heads and say these people should be put away/but maybe they're just hoarding food for the next rainy day/I think with the recession we must change our point of view/If your pet were starving don't you think it would eat you?
 



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Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Twitterpated


 



Like a form of littering,
everyone is Twittering.
Everything, without regret,
is posted on the internet.
Private moments don't exist,
disappeared like morning mist.
Spare me mundane details, please.
Don't record your every sneeze.
Aren't we all completely sated
by these folks, so twitterpated?
I would tell the world: Behold!
All that Twitters is not gold.
 


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Monday, March 9, 2009

Barbie


 



Barbie is as old as me;
her sales grow ever bigger.
But unlike me her age has not
impacted her svelte figure.
I wonder what she eats at night
when no one is observing?
If I were Ken I think I'd find
the whole thing quite unnerving.
Other dolls have come and gone
but Barbie has the stats
to hang around forever --
'til she's beat up by the Bratz.
 

 


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Sunday, March 8, 2009

Fraud


 



One thing's never out of style --
con artists with lots of guile.
Now that we have all gone bust
they still prey upon our trust.
Need to sell a gold knick-knack?
They will promise you a stack,
take your gold, then disappear;
they excel in the bum steer.
Got a mortgage you can't fix?
They have got a bag of tricks
that they say will save the day,
as they steal your home away.
On the street you will be sent,
where they'll sell you a cheap tent.
Credit cards with interest rates
deadly as the Motel Bates.
Hidden fees down at the bank
that soon surface, smelling rank.
Jobs that promise long-term work
fly away like Captain Kirk.
And your so-called pension plan
isn't worth an old tin can.
Life insurance policies
are a cold and distant tease.
Losing weight, virility,
pique our gullibility.
Nostrums sell like griddle cakes,
even when they're labeled fakes.
Just like every tree has bark,
every scam has got its mark.
With the bad times now increasing,
Lord deliver us from fleecing!


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Saturday, March 7, 2009

The Good Jobs


 



Lost your job and in a jam?
Why not work for Uncle Sam!
Private sector jobs are done,
but the Feds are having fun
staffing all the agencies
for finance emergencies.
Tax collectors -- name your price!
Pen pushers will have it nice.
Goldbricks -- now's your time to shine.
Salaries are out of line!
If at desk you can ignore
deadlines while you gently snore,
they have got a job for you
propping up a bank or two.
Benefits are guaranteed.
Payday comes with blinding speed.
And then every ninety days
you will get a healthy raise.
There's no need to hesitate;
soon we'll all work for the state.
And the taxes that we pay
will go up and there they'll stay.


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Friday, March 6, 2009

Lint


 



Like the ever-spreading mint,
I am plagued with creeping lint.
On my Sunday coat it sits,
welcome as a case of zits.
Little pills that hold on firm,
causing drycleaners to squirm.
They're attracted to my pants.
Counting them has caused a trance.
Pillows, linen, and fresh paint,
are infected with this taint.
All my rugs have got 'em, too;
pearly white like morning dew.
Where they come from -- who's to tell?
All I know: their ranks do swell!
Household dandruff they've become,
striking visitors quite dumb.
How I wish that they would go, man.
Otherwise, I'll be a snowman.


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More this-n-that

On Khartoum's dusty streets you hear
praise for Omar al-Bashir.
He's president of the Sudan
and also is a wanted man.
Convicted of brutality,
his countrymen do not agree;
they regard his genocide
as a matter of great pride.
How can Omar go to jail
with his country making bail?
 
 
*****************************************
 
 
Justices in their black robes
pull upon their taut earlobes,
pondering a slasher flick
that is making Clinton sick.
It is quite a hatchet-job
from the anti-Clinton mob.
What gives Justices a pause
are the vague election laws:
It it documentary
or just plain hostility?
Jumbo drinks and warm popcorn
probably they all will scorn
as Obama's team implores
that they give the film low scores,
label it a tawdry smear,
fine the maker very dear.
But, with all things being equal,
I suppose there'll be a sequel.


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Thursday, March 5, 2009

Cute Commute


 



Oh, with rampant unemployment
our commute is such enjoyment
tooling down deserted avenues at speeds
that are very satisfying
not to say quite death-defying,
avoiding here and there a patch of weeds.
Where it used to take an hour
as we sat with faces sour
creeping slowly in a corridor of cars,
we now travel free-and-easy,
while the jobless, feeling queasy,
tramp about collecting bottles and glass jars.
Oh, and soon it will be better
when we get that awful letter
from the boss regretting he must let us go,
and there's no need for commuting
while the banks continue looting,
so we stay at home and watch the Oprah Show.
 



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Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Of Money & Mortality


 



Every crook and dumb schlemiel
signs up for a big book deal.
Those corrupt and bold gold-diggers
often get up to six figures.
If you are Blagojevich,
spill your guts and you'll be rich.
Tales of crime and deep addiction
are what pass for good non-fiction.
But publishers had better learn
these aren't books for which I yearn.
If you want to see my cash
bring out something more than trash.
Otherwise the library
is the only place for me.
 
***********************************
 
Even when you've bought the farm,
debt ignores that fatal charm.
Death may take a holiday;
bill collectors holler "nay!"
Sounding upbeat and quite fresh
they demand their pound of flesh.
Dialing up the next of kin
as they tuck the body in;
it's a great financial tool,
made to order for a ghoul.
If they call me, I will tell
them "seek the source" --
go straight to hell.


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Monday, March 2, 2009

Karaoke


 



I don't see why the world has need of off-key karaoke;
amateurs who sing the blues with voices oh so hokey.
Reading off the lyrics from a screen, just like a dunce.
This is an experience you only should have once.
Fueled by strong libations it occurs quite late at night
in a bar where good taste, common sense, have taken flight.
So if you're feeling ready a romantic song to bawl,
do us all a favor and stay in your shower stall.
 


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Sunday, March 1, 2009

PONZI

The biggest Ponzi scheme of all is run by Uncle Sam;
compared to all those trillions, old man Madoff is a lamb.
Pay in lots of taxes and some day, you are assured,
your money will be doubled while all poverty is cured.
Banks will turn a profit and make loans to you and me;
your house will once again become a fecund money tree.
Jobs will be so common that we'll all have one or two;
we'll go out to buy everything, whatever is brand new!
So pony up the green stuff to your good old Uncle Sam
and wait in line forever on this patriotic scam.
 
 


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epitaph


 



EPITAPH
 
Here lies one who drove with care.
Who played no sports but solitaire.
Was vaccinated faithfully.
Drank nothing stronger than green tea.
Kept hands clean and did not smoke.
In the rain would wear a cloak.
Avoided salt and ate whole wheat.
Looked both ways at every street.
Despite this very cautious drill,
choked upon a diet pill.
Proving that the ideal weight
cannot keep you from your fate.
 


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