Feel free to publish, post, or pass on Your Weekly Politickle by F.R. Duplantier:
What’s the difference between immigration
And an enemy-driven invasion?
The answer’s been given
By Cloward and Piven:
It’s the numbers that topple a nation.
From the archive
DON OF THE DEAD
Deep in Boondoggle Bog, the Beast thrives,
Until one day The Donald arrives.
“They are draining the swamp!”
She shrieks, running: clomp, clomp.
“He is coming! Run! Run for your lives!”
“We’re surrounded by partisan haters,
Resisters, subversives, and traitors:
We have struggled and strained
To get the swamp drained,
But we’re up to our asses in gators.”
With more dirt every day to defend,
Even Hillary can now see the trend:
“It’s just not meant to be,
I’ll need some place to flee,
My great criminal career’s at an end.”
“I may act like Elmer Fudd
And appear to be a dud,
But I’m truly spectacular,
The awesome Count Barackula,
And I want to suck your blood.”
HOUSE OF HORRORS
By the demons we all have been taunted
As unnatural powers were flaunted,
But the townsfolk will rout
And then drive the fiends out
Of the House on the Hill that is haunted.
GETTING WHAT WE ASK FOR
Halloween we all shout “Trick or Treat!”
As we hit every house on the street.
The next morning we wake
With a bad stomach ache,
‘Cause we had too much candy to eat.
With the change in the House status quo, see
The new Madame Speaker Pelosi
Enduring the glare
With the crazed, glassy stare
Of a transgendered Bela Lugosi.
NIGHT OF THE VOTING DEAD
“We’ll be summoned from slumberous state
To endorse the biennial slate;
Then it’s back to the grave,
Where we’ll try to behave
‘Til another electoral date!”
THE GREAT BUMPKIN
Linus scans the nightscape scary
For a form imaginary:
There, looming tall
Like an orange ball,
Glows a pumpkin-colored Kerry!
What compares to the horrible fright
That will haunt us on Halloween night?
Consider the fear,
As elections draw near,
Ghoulish candidates soon will excite!
Bush had plenty of sleep before,
Knowing now he will get no more,
With the clanking chain
And the cries of pain
From the ghost of a grieving Gore.
There once was a man named Vlad
Who was known for a habit he had:
With such pride in his nailing,
When he took to impaling
No one ever would challenge his chad.
What a vile conglomeration
Of every abomination:
In Clinton’s wake,
Only villains will make
A bid for the nomination.
WHAT IS IT, E-GORE?
The mad doctor was testing a drug
When he felt on his labcoat a tug:
“Master, oh Master,
We’ve got to work faster
To destroy the Millennium Bug!”
From justice they craftily fled
And avoided the sanctions they dread;
Now O.J. and Bill
Can linger at will
In the night of the fast-living dead.
Last week’s limerick
“That’s not right! That’s not it! No, no, no!
You’re supposed to be rhyming with ‘go.’
Please remember the rhyme.
Get it right this time.
Once again: ‘Hey, hey! Ho, ho!’”