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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Radon

 

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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

 

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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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Remember when Dummies Held Jobs?

 

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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.

 

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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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Obama's Round Table for Squares

 

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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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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

 

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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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Twitterpated

 

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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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Barbie

 

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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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Fraud

 

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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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The Good Jobs

 

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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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Lint

 

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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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Cute Commute

 

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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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Of Money & Mortality

 

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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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Karaoke

 

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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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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

 

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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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