Adios, MF

Pack up all your left wing crap
While Donald takes his victory lap
Bye bye, Granny

Your future just became your past...
And I'm so glad to see the last
Of your fat fanny

Good luck with your upcoming expedition
To a country that won't honor extradition

Do not weep and do not wail
Just be glad you're not in jail
Granny, bye bye!

Old Bill C

I queried Bill 'bout his sordid past

"What sort of gal do you like?", I asked.
Intellectual types, or those who sport?
Do you like them tall or love them short?
Do you prefer them silent, or verbose?

Bill said: "I like them comatose."

A Day at the Laundromat

Oh hi me hence to the laundromat
Bearing many a malodorous sock
As oftimes a shepherd will boldly go
To the babbling brook where the clear waters flow
With a line of the wooliest beasties in tow
(Or sometimes merely formed up in a row)
Which comprises his caprinaerious flock

A football jersey, meant for sports
Relegated now to work
A dozen holed and yellowed shorts
Which in a dank corner lurk
Some threadbare jeans and and faded tees
A brace of sweatpants lacking knees
And a woolen sweater, rife with fleas
I finds I must transports

As manly heart anticipates the finding of a laundromat queen
Perhaps a Vida Guerra clone
Or Jennifer Lawrence all alone
Or Charlotte McKinney, sans cell phone*
But it doesn't seem to be my day, none such are here, I ween.

When it comes to laundromatic love it seems I am "stuff" out of luck,
For the only lass who toils within
Sports globular frame and trebular chin
And more body hair than Rin Tin Tin
Much like Rosanne Barr with a silly grin, had her face impacted a truck.


*So she can't call for help.