A lyrical, critical, and satirical gazette about our world.

Thursday, December 17, 2020


The greatest satisfaction of climbing to the top of a mountain comes from starting at the bottom.

Saturday, December 12, 2020


 The country deserves him.

Wednesday, August 26, 2020



The US Department of Pandemonium (USDP) states that the corona virus has mutated to appear in bowel gas.  So if a person tests positive (assuming one can afford a test), that person not only can expel the virus through the mouth and nose but also through the anus. In other words flatus can now be deadlier than usual!

To prevent this noxious spread of the disease, the USDP has directed all persons to insert corks into their ass holes to prevent dissemination of the virus.  The USDP further directs everyone to listen for popping sounds emanating from persons, for that could mean a fart has expelled a cork from someone's butt hole.

The USDP orders everyone to report anyone making such popping noises.


Sunday, August 23, 2020



I takes a Clinton to raze a village!



You know you are old and slow when spiders build webs between your legs.



The New York Times motto should be “All the news that that’s fit to fix”.

Thursday, July 02, 2020


Evil is the default condition of human beings.

Monday, June 15, 2020


For every night there is a day.


Great art tolerates no deadlines.

Thursday, April 09, 2020


Old White Joe
(With an apology to Stephen Foster)

Here are the days when the man is old and gray,
Here are his friends from big businesses today,
Here from the banks to a bigger debt we know,
We hear their blatant voices calling "Old White Joe."

He's running, he's running, but his mind is getting slow:
We hear those jerky voices calling, "Old White Joe."

Why should we weep for our hearts should feel no pain,
Why do we sigh that his friends rise again,
Grieving for hopes now departed long ago?
We hear those stupid voices calling, "Old White Joe."

He's running, he's running, but his mind is working slow:
We hear those strident voices calling, "Old White Joe."

Where are the hearts so hopeful and free?
Their ideas so dear they held for all to see,
Gone to the dust where their dreams do always go.
We hear those dopey voices calling, "Old White Joe."

He's running, he's running, but his mind is turning slow:
We hear those foolish voices calling, "Old White Joe."

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