Tag Archives: satire

SHAREing

Here’s something I wish to SHARE with you.

I am never going to ask anyone on Facebook to SHARE anything… ever!

I am not going to ask you to SHARE if:

  1. You agree with Donald Trump;
  2. You hate Donald Trump;
  3. Parents should be allowed to teach their kids to shoot;
  4. U call yourself my buddy, friend or family;
  5. You are lactose intolerant;
  6. You need a hug;
  7. You need an Amen;
  8. You need a laxative;
  9. Chuck Todd is an idiot;
  10. Bill O’Reilly is an idiot;
  11. I am an idiot;
  12. You think that Hitler and global warming are related;
  13. You found Jesus;
  14. You found inspiration:
  15. You found your ass with both hands;
  16. You need to water your lawn;
  17. You have to pass water;
  18. You have a used sofa for sale;
  19. You passed water on a used sofa for sale;
  20. I want to show you what I had for breakfast for the last five months;
  21. I want to show you my infrequent bowel movements;
  22. You ran behind the DDT watering truck as a kid;
  23. You have 12 cases of chocolate soy milk to give away;
  24. You are looking for others to participate in a cardio exercise by the pool;
  25. The abandoned puppy in this picture will be shot unless 1,000 people share and say No;
  26. Only 1% of the population can pass this quiz;
  27. You like my recipe for kale lemonade;
  28. Sharing is caring;
  29. “i” before “e” except after “c;”
  30. You believe in alien anal probing.

Sadly, less than 2% of you will like and share these sentiments.

Hit LIKE and SHARE if you AGREE.

SHAREing

(Just kidding!)

Advertisements

For this election, I’ve got a little list.

With apologies to Gilbert & Sullivan.  To the tune of I’ve Got a Little List from The Mikado.  Chorus is in Bold Italics.

for-this-election1

Martyn Green as Ko-Ko, 1930s

As someday it may happen that a victim must be found, I’ve got a little list — I’ve got a little list.

Of society offenders who might well be underground, and who never would be missed — who never would be missed!

The lady whose email servers have problems of their own

Thirty-three thousand disappear like a stone.

There’s the party outsider who praises in raucous tones

Every party but his and every country but his own.

And the election outcome denialists,

They’d none of ’em be missed — they’d none of ’em be missed!

 

He’s got ’em on the list — he’s got ’em on the list;

And they’ll none of ’em be missed — they’ll none of ’em be missed.

 

Apologists, deniers, spin room activists,

Irrational supporters who get me really pissed.

All TV journalists who speaks as though listeners care

And the other ones who claim to be balanced and fair.

The dead who vote Democrat but that theory is not sound,

For you see, Mayor Giuliani, they are already underground.

WikiLeaks, tax returns, foundation donations and grants

And all those fanatics who substitute enthusiasm for facts.

And that singular anomaly, the lady plagiarist — I don’t think she’d be missed — I’m sure she’d not he missed!

 

He’s got her on the list — he’s got her on the list;

And I don’t think she’ll be missed — I’m sure she’ll not be missed!

 

There’s the pestilential congressmen who give democracy a pass.

The judicial obstructionists who are running out of gas.

And apologetic statesmen of a compromising kind,

Who defend outrageous statements by saying – “Oh, never mind.”

Third party candidates without a world view

The little, lyin’, disgusting, crooked, low-energy crew

Bad hombres, nasty women and also you-know-who

The task of filling up the blanks I’d rather leave to you.

But it really doesn’t matter whom you put upon the list,

For they’d none of ’em be missed — they’d none of ’em be missed!

 

You may put ’em on the list — you may put ’em on the list;

And they’ll none of ’em be missed — they’ll none of ’em be missed!

So Donald Trump Walks into a Bar…

 

(With a nod to idiotprufs and List of X).

so-donald

So Donald Trump walks into a bar…

  1. and denies he ever walked into a bar.
  2. orders a drink from the bartender and tells her she would not look like a pig if she lost 20 pounds.
  3. says he knows how to drink and drinks only the best drinks.
  4. doesn’t want to be braggadocious but he likes his drinks bigly.
  5. demands that everyone except the white guys be stopped and frisked.
  6. blames Hillary Clinton for the spilled liquor and the crushed peanut shells on the floor.
  7. says that his entrance into the bar was the best entrance ever. Ever, ever, ever.
  8. requests that all Mexicans leave the bar and then re-enter it legally.
  9. runs up a tab and says that he will pay it once the audit of the tab is complete.
  10. not sure that he will pay the tab anyway because he didn’t get the service he expected.

 

A Statue for The Donald

According to CNN, “Donald Trump may have just clinched the delegates necessary for the GOP nomination, but he already has his sights on a larger prize — immortality in the nation’s capital.  Trump — who made his wealth in part from the branding of his name — said he wouldn’t mind seeing his surname on a statue in Washington, D.C., one day.”

With this thought in mind, your obliging curmudgeon has prepared a statue befitting The Donald complete with a motto:

TS1

The Donald Trump: Yet Another Horse’s Ass in Washington.

Biases and Prejudices

In a rare moment of reflection and self-evaluation, I came face-to-face with a startling realization about my own biases and prejudices.

Biased1

I will believe as Gospel truth anything told to me by someone who has a proper British accent or a deep baritone voice.  The late Sir Richard Burton, James Earl Jones, Patrick Stewart or Dennis Haysbert could sell me swamp land, stock in the Brooklyn Bridge, a body organ or a radioactive device.  They could tell me that they know where Jimmy Hoffa is buried, reveal their encounters with alien life forms or how to make gold from base metals and I would believe them.  They could convince me that I was a victim of botched trans-vaginal mesh surgery or that I lived a previous life in the court of Emperor Franz Joseph of Austria-Hungary.  I could listen to any of these voices as they recite the Newark, New Jersey yellow pages and be mesmerized.

I consider Abraham Lincoln as the greatest prose poet of the nineteenth century.  He is reported, however, to have had a high-pitched, squeaky voice.  It is better that I never heard him speaking his famous words because I would not accept them.

Imagine that you are driving along an interstate highway in the Deep South in the United States and you are involved in a terrible traffic accident.  You are rushed to the emergency center of a nearby regional hospital with life threatening injuries.  Which of these two doctors would you prefer to operate on you?

Doctor Number 1:  (in a clipped, upper class British accent) “I am your surgeon, Dr. Hugh Lockhart-Mummery.  Trust me when I say that I and my superbly capable staff shall get you through this complicated procedure with as little difficulty as possible.  I must tell you that, although I trained at Harvard, Oxford, the Mayo Clinic and the American Hospital of Paris, this is my very first attempt to perform this complicated operation.  Your family may rest assured, though, that you are in competent hands.”

Doctor Number 2: (in an accent like Gomer Pyle): “Well gol-lee, we sure got us a good one here.  Haven’t seen a break like this since baby brother fell outta the ol’ swamp oak.  I’m Dr. Joe-Bob and me and my crew will get you fixed up quicker’n your mama can unbutton her overalls.  Done a couple thousand of these and ain’t had to call the morgue yet.”

Now logic would dictate that Dr. Joe-Bob, with a thousand plus operations under his belt, knows what he is doing and Dr. Lockhart-Mummery-Whatever doesn’t know squat.  But are you going to tell me that you would not be reassured by that soothing voice of confidence that only comes with a proper British accent?  And that you would be less than comforted by hearing the voice of a surgeon who sounds like one of the supporting characters from the Dukes of Hazzard?

Yes, we all carry our biases and prejudices with us.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, someone who sounds just like James Earl Jones is telling me I only have five minutes left to make a once-in-a-lifetime investment in property on the moon.