Feel free to publish, post, or pass on Your Weekly Politickle by F.R. Duplantier:
TASTES LIKE HEALTH
“Oh, you children are just gonna drool:
Today’s entrée’s a gray whole-grain gruel.
It’s an extra-large glop
Of the savorless slop.
Don’t you love eating lunches at school?”
From the archive
There’ll be someone to see that we share
And make sure that we always play fair,
That we want to behave
From the cradle to grave:
I can’t wait for ObamaDayCare.
MAYOR MAY NOT
We can’t know what the future will bring,
What health hazards Fate at us will fling,
But there’s nothing to fear
In Manhattan this year:
Mayor Bloomers has banned everything.
Oh, thank goodness the government’s there
To precaution and make me beware:
I’m now starving to death,
Blue from holding my breath,
’Cause I’m frightened of food and of air.
“If you cut back on some of your snacks,
You’d have bellies as flat as Barack’s!”
“Well, a budget’s a diet:
Maybe Barry should try it
And resist the temptation to tax!”
We Americans surely are prone
To big bodies with minimal tone:
If Michelle wants to witness
To physical fitness,
She should shed a few pounds of her own!
Getting older, you may realize
That your waistline’s a much larger size,
But Obama’s stayed slim,
Having kept himself trim:
Let’s award him the No-Belly Prize!
IT’S THE LAW!
Seatbelt on your easy chair,
Life vest in the tub to wear,
Steel-toed bedroom slippers,
Velcro trouser zippers,
CLICK IT OR TICKET
“I’m afraid I must take you downtown,”
The policeman announced with a frown.
Such a fate I was dealt
For not wearing a belt –
Which was why my new trousers fell down.
My obesity just isn’t funny
And I’m suing for bundles of money:
When a basket of candy
Is too full and too handy,
Who’s to blame but the old Easter Bunny?
You’ve grown by leaps and bounds;
Your super size astounds;
The fact is that
You’re really fat:
Four-three, three hundred pounds!
OLDER & WIDER
As a lad I was long and lean
And drank gallons of Ovaltine,
But I had to rethink
That rich chocolate drink
When I wound up an oval teen.
I anticipate danger ahead
And foresee myself injured or dead
– From falling, perchance,
While putting on pants,
So I’d better not get out bed.
They’ll first find tobacco at fault,
Then coffee, wine, spirits, and malt.
Then they’ll next demonize
Colas, burgers, and fries,
Then all snacks made with sugar and salt!
NO CURE FOR THE COMMON SCOLD
They insist we directly disown
Every pleasure and pastime that’s known.
Those “natural” nags
And health-conscious hags –
Oh, why can’t they leave us alone?
Last week’s limerick
RUSSIAN INTO BATTLE
On the day of the duel, he was glad
That he’d chosen the weapon he had:
Teleprompter for Barry.
And his poor adversary?
Just a shoulder-fired missile for Vlad.