Where is Philip K. Dick when we need him? Where’s Carl Hiaasen? Like, I suspect, many, I’m tired of saying “You can’t make this stuff up,” while laughing nervously and expecting to hear that a red button has been pushed. I’d really like my time, brains, and emotions back. Could we have the election tomorrow?
Igor and Lev walked into a South Florida bar…
Rudy and Paul were there and they said…
Oh, look, there’s Oleg and Vladi
And Mike and Mick and Mitch
Gotta love those M names, and hey, there’s
Lindsay and Steve (Mnuchin) (see? M, again)
Now we’re together, now
We gotta plan.
But where’s Donnie?
Oh, you know, he’s driving the bus
The one he’s getting ready
To throw everyone under.
Eric and Don and Ivan(ka) are seated.
But where’s the other M?
Why is she standing over there, waving
Is she smiling or sobbing?
And what about “the boy?”
The one with the noble name?
Knight? Lord? Earl?
Not just Syria and the Kurds
Not only honor ripped and stomped
Not only lies
But now, he almost got the award
For the Best Reality Moment of
The First 1000 Days …
When the American diplomat’s wife—
The one who drove the car
That killed the British 19-year-old
On his motorcycle, then fled the UK
To the US of A
Claiming diplomatic immunity—
Was holed up in the anteroom
Next to the Oval Office
While Our Trump-ster spoke
With the dead youth’s parents
And TV cameras waited
To catch the moment of excoriation
Or forgiveness
(Either would, of course, kill in the daily ratings)
Except the parents decided not to play, and walked.
Leaving the Daily Producer-in-Chief
To watch his TV programs by his
Little lonesome self.