Gullible’s Travels

Cutting another slice of cake,

Jinping did a double take.

“He said what?” he asked in glee.

“A talk on Chinese history?

 

Okay, here goes—make English sound

And let’s see what new facts are found.”

Jinping put down his fork, “Well, don,

The whole known world is built upon

 

Our culture—we invented air

And fire, too, as you’re aware?

And trees, because the mountains lacked

A cover—Snort!—alternative fact!

 

Don’t translate that! And rice and tea

And cheese and fruit—oh yes, the sea—

And cars and boats and penguins, too,

And pandas when we made the zoo

 

And telegrams and slide trombones

And phonographs and telephones

And malted milk and television

And we discovered nuclear fission

 

And polio and don’t forget,

Before Al Gore, the internet,

And spinach and the Greyhound bus

And all world civ began with us

 

And we had writing, cars, and books

Before your dumb Cromagnon schnooks

Had found a way to chip an axe

And we invented income tax

 

But soon found it was incomplete

Unless we found a way to cheat

(a fact, we know, will interest you,

Who’s made his own discovery, too),

 

And anything which you can think,

From cocktails to the kitchen sink,

And since we made the world it’s lame

To think that anyone can claim

 

Some sovereign rights to this or that—

We made it, so it’s ours—that’s flat—

Tibet, Korea, Nine Dash Line—

So if we choose to realign

 

A country here, and ocean there,

It’s ours—and no one else should dare

To think that they can make a fuss

If we take what belongs to us.”

 

There was a pause. Xi took a bite.

“He swallow that? He’s not too bright,

That blowfish mouth, that rockslide hair—

Have we gone farther than we dare?

 

But look—he’s smiling—not a clinker!

He took it in, hook, line, and sinker!

And now he’s saying, ‘Thank you, Xi,

For such a view of history—

 

Who knew how much we really owe

To China?’ What a dumb fuck! So

It’s time for just one final fake—

Say we invented chocolate cake!”

A Close Shave

“What’s the matter, boss?” asked Putin’s barber.

“You’re looking way down in the dumps!

Are you losing your grip on Crimea?

Or maybe it’s too many trumps?”

 

“It’s trump, all right,” said V.V. Putin,

“and I’ll tell you just was ist so los—

The FBI has too much data

And they’re getting a little too close!”

 

“You mean they might know about—that thing?”

“They could—and that other thing, too.

And if they knew that, I don’t know what,

Short of telling the truth, I could do!”

 

“You are in a bind!” said the barber.

“And it’s something you just can’t let pass.

Let’s see: how about a distraction?

Have you got any spare sarin gas?”

 

“We might have some down in my basement—

Behind the old hot water tank.

I seem to recall that we dropped some

On the Mujaheddeen for a prank.

 

The look on their faces was priceless

As over their eyes came a glaze

And they gasped and they wheezed and they crumpled—

I think I was laughing for days!

 

But wait—I see now where you’re going—

We drop a bomb—they flip their lids

And this can provide a distraction—“

“And more, if you drop it on kids.”

 

“So wait, “ said V V, “have I got this?

We just drop some gas in a clump

And folks fix their eyes on some village– ”

“And completely forget—“ “donald trump.”

 

“And then he pretends to abuse you

And calls you an unpleasant name—“

“And everyone thinks that he hates me—“

“And not that you’re playing a game.”

 

“That’s brilliant!” said Putin, “Just genius!

Pure genius, indeed, through and through.

I gave our last medal to Rexie,

Or, believe me, I’d pin it on you!”

 

“Well, boss, I’m just glad that I’m able

To lift you right out of the blues.

But aren’t you still here for a haircut?”

“No thanks—must tell donny the news!

 

But remember to keep all this secret

Or, otherwise, I’ll have you shot.”

“What?” “That’s just a joke,” he said, leaving,

“Or,” under his breath, “maybe not.”

4:32

As usual, in the hour pre-dawn,

The light in d trump’s hair went on

And, while his staff was still in bed,

The voice spoke up in d trump’s head.

 

“Good morning, donny! How my boy?

Is spring with you? Do you enjoy

Much blossom on your cherry trees?

Or maybe blossom make you sneeze?

 

Good news for you—we thinking now

You got big problems—we know how

To solve and we already do it

Quicker than you say Scott Pruitt!

 

First, with FSB chief meanie,

We substitute for Spicer weanie—

If media people make a scene,

He shoot them all, live and on-screen.

 

For Kellyanne, we have new way

To silence critic: is death ray.

So, CNN will not behave?

Is hidden in their microwave!

 

That smirky guy—what name? Oh—ryan—

Who failed health care with clumsy lyin’?

We tell truth—polonium sent him where

He need asbestos–not health care!

 

Likewise, big loser, mikey flynn?

Who try to cut your room to spin?

He find an end—a little retro:

One push—oops!—under DC metro.

 

And Clouseau fellow—stupid nunes

Is deep beneath South Lawn petunias

While we spread really nasty rumor

That Hil have big affair with Schumer.

 

And last, not least, we have real facts

And photos that refute attacks

That crowd that watched on DC mall

Was less than millions— wait!—not all!

 

We have, as well—you through your roof

With this—bus tickets to show proof

That Clinton woman who you hate

Had voters moved from state to state

 

So that, when truth be known, those who

Had voted for her—only two!

And rest of country—this is true—

A hundred million—went for you!

 

But, have to talk to Petry, then

Have coffee with Marine le Pen,

Then secret meeting with Farage

In inner London bus garage

 

Before I see what I can do

To ruin NATO and EU—

Is big job when you have to rule

Whole world—oh, by way—April Fool!”

Eyyyyyes, Right!

Alone in his bathroom, leaning over his sink,

D trump faced his mirror (stand-in for a shrink)

And cried, “There it is! Someone take it away!

It’s so large and menacing, baggy and grey!”

The mirror replied, “Here I am, on the job.

I heard all that shrieking. Okay: what’s the prob?

Obama? The media? that stupid red hat?

Is it Schumer? Colbert?   Alec Baldwin? What’s that?”

Trump lost that strange tan and his jowls gave a shake.

“Oh, sorry! I must have dialed you by mistake!

It’s just so addicting—my lovely i-phone!

But you can leave now—I’m okay—and alone.”

The mirror looked doubtful. “There wasn’t a tweet.

You screamed—and I heard a great clumping of feet.

There’s something real strange going on in trump tower

And I think that it starts with—that thing in the shower!”

“Don’t look—no! It’s nothing! Don’t look over there!”

D trump begged and waved tiny hands in the air.

“I’m sorry I mentioned it—back to Snow White!

There’s nothing! No, nothing! Just shadows! Good night!”

The mirror stared hard. “Though I always believe

The things which you say, I’m not going to leave

Till you tell me what’s lurking beneath that TRUMP towel.”

Trump fell to the floor with a terrible howl!

“Now it’s moved to the toilet—and it’s having a pee.”

“It’s not there! It’s not there! There is nothing to see!”

Trump moaned as he crouched on the carpet beneath.

“Now it’s squirting out paste—and it’s brushing its teeth—

Or—wait—am I smelling—wait—Essence of Musk?

Not teeth,” said the mirror. “I should have said tusk!

What is a man doing, who says he hates germs,

Devoting his bathroom to loose pachyderms?”

Trump groped his way upwards. “Please, mirror, I swear—

This bathroom is empty–again, nothing’s there!”

The mirror said, doubtfully, shaking its head,

“Then what’s in that bathrobe now heading for bed?”

D trump hung his head, as if facing his doom.

“Okay. I confess. There’s a thing in the room

Which we never must mention, whatever the cost.

You give it a name, and, like that, we are lost!”

The lightbulb now flickered behind mirror’s eyes—

“Oh! That! Well, it’s that? Then it’s no great surprise

That you’d want to deny and deflect every probe–

But—a word to the wise? Snip “V.P.” from that robe!”

 

Movement

“I have this urge,” a lemming said,

“but don’t know what to do.”

“That’s odd,” another lemming said.

“I have that same urge, too.”

 

Around them other lemmings came,

All being on the verge

Of doing something—not clear what—

But following the urge.

 

And then another, louder one,

With quite alarming hair,

Leaped up and shouted,

“Follow me!” his paws raised in mid-air.

 

“I know the way! It’s big! It’s yuge!

It’ll make the tundra great!

You’ll win and win—I tell you folks—

We haven’t time to wait!”

 

“But, hang on!” one old lemming cried.

“You haven’t said your choice

Of action.” “Doesn’t matter, gramps—

I am the People’s Voice!

 

And you’d do well to shut your mouth

Or suddenly you’ll find

That wolves like lemming best for lunch

When you get left behind!”

 

“But—” “Stop right there!” the other said.

“It’s clear now, from your views,

That you are one more victim of

The media’s fake news!

 

Forget him, folks!” he shouted out.

“We haven’t time today

To argue with the ignorant!

So, follow me! This way!”

 

“What’s so—” began the older one,

But that was all he said

Before the others trampled him

To join the one, instead

 

As he rushed on, the echoes of

His words, like “Lies!” and “Hoax!”

All mixed together on the wind

With lines like “Trust me, folks!

 

And “People say!” and “So much proof!”

And “Frankly, Honestly”

As lemming followed lemming and

They sped down towards the sea

 

Till finally, just dead ahead,

A cliff came into view.

“Don’t stop!” he shouted

“Almost there!” and “Folks, I promise you!”

 

As he stepped to the side and waved,

“Straight on! We’re almost done!”

While each, pushed on by those behind,

Pitched over, till just one

 

Was left—the eldest, doubting still—

Who clung to land and cried,

“What were you doing?” but the one

Just kicked his paws aside

 

And smiled to see the elder’s splash

Join other wave impacts.

“It’s instinct–that, and their belief

That there were alternate facts!”

Deny Ability

The town was thick with mice and rats

(they having whipped the local cats),

But now that it was theirs, they sat

And wondered what to do, now that

Their word was law—and so a ruction

Arose—some all for mass destruction

(so total was their verminous hate

Of what they vaguely thought “the state”,

They’d put the thing to total slaughter,

Discarding baby and bath water),

But some were not so very rash

(or, prompted by dim dreams of cash),

And so they sat until the sun

Had almost set—and then someone

Appeared and shouted, “Look! It’s me!

I’m yuge and bigly! There can’t be

A better leader in a jam

Than me—‘cause that’s just who I am!”

He was surprising: squinty eyes,

Skin color like day-old French fries,

a puckered mouth just like a bung,

a tie which looked more like a tongue,

and, over all—who wouldn’t stare?–

there was a strange cow-pie of hair

whose color shifted—sometimes white

but sometimes blonde—but never quite

the color of a natural head—

more Grecian Formula, instead.

“And I have here the perfect thing

To lead with—it goes tootling

And you will dance and follow me

And we will win—as you will see!”

He then produced a kind of pipe

And gave a tweet, which, like a swipe,

Produced a change—another app,

And rats awoke, as from a nap,

And mice stood up, and stretched each limb

And, as he played, they rushed to him!

But, though it seemed just tunes he shrilled,

They heard such words that they were thrilled—

“You’re not forgotten, trust me, folks!

This little tune is one which cloaks

My message: wouldn’t it be nice

If we made rules that rats and mice

Would think for them and which would fix

This sagging city and would nix

The rights of cats—now this is clever!

And exile them from here forever?”

They loved the words, they loved the song,

And, following, they sang along

And, dancing, made their long tails quiver

As down he led them to the river

And then, all, with a single bound

Leaped in and, just like that, were drowned

In gangs and hordes and mobs and troops

And all the piper said was, “Ooops!

How horrible! Did I intend

To do them in? I was their friend!”

Then shrugged. “Dead are they? No—I’ll choose

To label all of this FAKE NEWS!

It never happened. It’s a lie!

I am a real trustworthy guy!

So let the media throw their rocks

At me so long as my friend, Fox,

And Breitbart, too, fend off attack

And Steve and K.A. have my back.

Besides, when all is said and done,

They were just rats—and I had fun.”

Y’all Bin Warned

D trump stepped right up to the mic

Like a c & w star,

Pushed back his Stetson, smiled at folks

And, strumming his guitar,

Began to sing a song of truth,

about the coming war.

 

“Good people, as the bloody scene

Which decked the streets of Bowling Green

Is fading from your memory, now’s

The time that you remember how

Another ghastly deed was done

Within the land of midnight sun.

 

It was last Friday—in the night

Illegal immigrants in flight

From Massachusetts hopped a bus

To Sweden where their King, Karl Gus

Had polished off a final moose

And let his elkhounds wander loose

 

So warning never came—although

The zillion footprints in the snow

Would be a signal clear to all

That Sweden should have built a wall

Instead of saying welcome to

That tidal wave of migrants who

 

Roared into Stockholm, their intent

To ruinate the parliament

With millions of illegal votes

Before they set off cutting throats

Of all Swedes—hick, as well as urban–

Whoever didn’t wear a turban.

 

Three million immigrants appeared

Or was it five? The number veered

Because the Swedish media lies

Just like our liberal media guys

Who always say that more is less

But even they would soon confess

 

That when the buses came, the crowd

Was bigger than the press allowed

And yet more came—an infestation

Much larger than the population

Until, when all was said and done,

The odds against were two to one.

 

Too late! The politicians cried.

As myriads of Norsemen died

And when the bloody work was done,

They looked around and found—no one!

Each Muslim brought a couscous pot

With which to cook and eat the lot.

 

“It makes a change,” said refugees

“From those generic MREs.

And we don’t mind boiled Swedes a bit

When polished off with akvavit

(although we wouldn’t take the risk

Of mixing them with lutefisk!)

 

So now, where pines and snow are thick,

The only tongue is Arabic

And all because those foolish Swedes

Succumbed to others’ desperate needs.

In contrast, now, we’ll close our border,

Establishing new law and order

 

To keep us safe from what exists

Out in the world: those terrorists

Who wear full burka or hijab

To hide machine guns and who lob

Grenades from rooftops while their pops

Run countless corner stores and shops.

 

Be warned: there are no inbetweeners—

Kick out the chadors and the beaners,

Those folks who think us infidels

In places where there aren’t hotels

With ‘trump’ on giant signs on top.

They want our blood and will not stop

 

Until they kill us in our beds.

Turn out the tanks! Send in the Feds!

Bar all the doors—turn out the light!

Or soon you, too, will join the plight

Of millions slaughtered, as was seen

in Sweden and at Bowling Green.”