The results of this month’s contest are a titch late, due to the family all coming down with colds. Believe you me: nothing takes the amusement out of amusing poetry like not sleeping nor feeling well.
But, we’re here to talk about politics! Who, among the entrants, came up with the funniest campaign promises?
A Sitting Member, by Bruce Goodman A vote for me is a vote for wit The other candidates are a pile of nonsense.
I promise I will never quit The other candidates are a pile of rubbish.
My policies will be a hit The other candidates are a pile of drivel.
I will lower your taxes a bit The other candidates are a pile of gobbledygook.
You might think I’m a git The other candidates are a pile of malarkey.
Congratulations, Bruce! You are once again the funniest poet for the week!
Bruce won for some sort of reference to some sort of word that seems to be missing as part of this rhyme. Well done.
And, well done to the others! Read them over and decide if they’re worth the vote:
Brief Campaign Announcement, by Frank Hubeny It doesn’t matter, blue or red. Vote as you will, alive or dead. We own what counts, both big and small. We’ve voted for you after all.
Truth Over Facts, by Dumbestblogger No one pays a dime Peace will reign sublime Children will be fine We will fix the clime And you’ll be happy
Campaign Disaster, by RuthEK There once was a campaign disaster-
When she said “I’ve heard nasty chatter”
The politician turned red
And said with some dread
That’s chatter that just doesn’t matter
Come back tomorrow for the next month’s prompt!
Bruce, here’s that ol’, inaccurate badge for you to use on your site. Congratulations!
It’s past time for another A Mused Poetry Contest. I blame the management. And aliens.
This month’s Theme is a political campaign slogan and/or speech. You’ve heard the usual promises, mud-slinging, and appeals to special interest groups -now, USE THEM.
Gone are the days of the Lincoln/Douglas debates; keep your poem’s Length brief and snappy enough to… oh, man; you’ve already lost the audience.
Rhyming is up to your campaign manager.
This will be broadcast to general audiences, so keep the Rating clean -or, at least realize that some ****ing ****s will be censored.
What’s most important? HUMOR! When do we want it? By next month!
You have till 10:00 a.m. MST next MONTH (May 14) to submit a poem.
Use the form, below, to keep your record clean until results are posted.
Otherwise, include your poem in the comments, link to it in the comments, or leave a note that you’ve written one and stuck it on your own site in the comments. You cannot just link back to my post because WordPress is stupid and I will not receive it.
My neighbor’s flying a MAGA flag. He’s also saying, “Death to Fags,” But he isn’t smoking nor feeling tired. For, all that redneck has conspired To do is add more barb-tipped wire ‘Round ‘No Warning Shot’ signs he’s acquired And smugly telling all who’ll hear That COVID’s nothing we should fear. I wish someone would tell the fool That Commies don’t run all the schools; It’s teachers, risking life and limb To teach his half-brained kith and kin.
And why must Dr. Fauci ask The idiots like him to mask? While nurses, doctors; movie stars Are worried, daily, of this SARS. The numbers don’t look good, you see -At least, until this presidency. My half of this united nation Has fin’lly kicked Th’Abomination The last four years have been a s*it-ler While we’ve been run by worse-than-Hitler.
But, as I said, that’s all behind us; No longer divided, we’ll work toward kindness.
In the few seconds between bedtime and actually getting to bed, I snuck over to my Reader’s Feed. And there, an epiphanous* idea appeared:
Why not write whatever pops into my head based on the three random words suggested at the top? Today’s prompt: Monkeys, Happy Place, Iceland.
“I say, Gorillford, this simply cannot stand.” Chimply scratched an errant flea.
His friend fixed him a bewildered look. “What’s that? Iceland’s moorings?”
Chimply sighed. “No, though that is distressing. Bad news, that, after so many years of stability. The country’ll be at Africa by summer. No, I was referring to this whole classification nonsense.”
Gorillford huffed, puffing up onto his thick knuckles.
“I know, I know. ‘Don’t you start’ -but you haven’t experienced the indignity, Gill! Everywhere I go, it’s, ‘Look at the monkey!’ ‘Mummy, may I have a monkey!’ I’ve… I’ve broken a bit; I’ve even considered saying, ‘Sod it’ and pasting a tail back there anyway….”
Gorillford had no reply. His beady eyes nearly popped from his leathery face. His jaw hung slack. A tail? That was far worse than living with mislabeling. He gathered his thoughts to attempt reasoning with his friend.
“You needn’t bother,” Chimply cut him off. “I know.” He sighed and then contemplatively peeled and ate a banana. “I know.”
This would take some thinking. Gorillford snapped his meaty fingers. “Chim.”
“I’ve got it.”
“Hm?” Chimply retained a glum expression as he set the peel atop a fence post.
“I said, ‘I’ve got it.'” Leaning into the mesh between their enclosures, Gorillford grinned. “You’d rather we not be monkeys, yeah?”
Chimply didn’t even look over. “Obviously.”
“Well… given the rate at which these loony bipeds are going, do we really want to be known as apes?” Gorillford leaned back against a vine-twisted log in this, their happy place, allowing the import of his words to sink in.
It didn’t take long.
“My Gibbons! You’re right! Why, come to think of it, they’ve even used us as insults in some of their so-called ‘professional debates.’ If the orangutans aren’t safe, who is?”
They both sat, now in companionable silence. Only the clink or clunk of food pails interrupted a peaceful morning.
“Hm?” The large ape monkey looked over at his smaller ape monkey friend.
“At least we’re not donkeys.”
“He.” Gorillford rolled his eyes and then rolled over to nap. “Ha.”
And I do mean “up.” Our all-time high was 867 in one day, reported just two days after I wrote. Fortunately, we’re back to numbers like 736, 731, and 788 for the last three beautiful, blue bars of that graph.
I’ve had a bad headache today since the baby awoke at 2 a.m., compounded by another awakening at 5 a.m. As with anytime I’ve felt a little off, I’m paranoid I’ve got The ‘Rona. That figures, since I still do grocery pickup, mask when I go to a public place, and have not agreed to family invitations to public places. Heck; we’ve gotten takeout five times in the last four months.
We did attend church last Sunday. We LDS normally attend every Sunday; with a communal meeting that includes eating bread and drinking water (sacrament) passed around on trays, then a second meeting by age and gender group afterward. Sunday’s meeting was only The Sacrament. We sat with a bench between other family groups. We all wore masks, except Baby Owens. The bread and water trays remained in the hands of the boys distributing them. We even sang with masks on, reading from our individual phones instead of hymn books. Only the speaker unmasked as he shared a gospel message about spirituality from the podium at the front.
My parents also live in Utah, but their local leaders have not reinstated meetings. Ironically, their libraries and recreational centers (swimming pools, gyms) are in business. Different strokes for different counties, I guess.
In terms of shortages and price increases, I’ve heard that hard currency is running low. The cashier at the kids’ clothing store told me, the internet told me, and the plastic partition at the hardware store told me.
I was able to procure some antibacterial kitchen hand soap at Wal-Mart when I had to go inside. Being 5’8″ tall with long arms helped that procurement. I brought a bottle of hand sanitizer down for any shorter-armed shoppers that followed. The rest of their soaps were in short supply, as were any bottles of rubbing alcohol:
The biggest news, for me, is The School Issue. I mentioned, before, that I’m following a TwoFacebook Group concerned with returning children to their desks, come hell or high water. Members of said group were prominent at a recent meeting in Utah County, where they vociferously (and crowdedly) spoke in favor of no masks for their children. Since I know many teachers personally and would like them to remain healthy, I see no-masking to be a selfish, nearsighted opinion.
Of all the ways to make the news, Utah, you have to pick this one…
I assumed, recently, that my more-conservative friends have seen the light. With stories about reinfection; with more people we actually know getting infected; with areas shutting back down to curb Coronavirus cases -SURELY opinions would change. Not so. One of my more vocal neighbors just posted, today, about articles against masking and how any legitimate information supporting that idea keeps “getting taken down.”
I know restricting or changing information happens. I’ve seen it. However, I also know that I, like other humans, breathe and cough and sneeze. As such, I’m in favor of wearing a mask, using my turn signal, and not randomly kicking strangers in the shins because it’s my right to do so.
In conclusion, here’s a funny image re-shared by a teacher friend on 2FB:
After composing a beautifully-worded rant against the stupidity of humanity, I decided the world would benefit more from a picture of my baby boy.
This is from shortly after he began smiling socially -about two months ago, I believe. In all the chaos outside our walls, he is my motivation to stay well and my reminder to be happy with who and what we have in life.
Instead of staying up all night wondering if life has meaning, you can stay up all night watching reruns of “Saved by the Bell: The New Class.”
If your girlfriend just smashed the car into a cement piling and called your number, she’ll immediately say, “Oh! I forgot!” and call someone who can help instead.
Pretty much nothing at work is your fault. Even though it probably is.
You’re a shoe-in for any political office. Don’t worry about how to get there; people with money and slightly more brains will help you.
Whenever your grandmother turns to you and asks what Thirteen Across is, your dazed and blinking expression will help her realize you’re singing the theme song to “Saved by the Bell” and she’ll have to ring for the nurse.
Offers like “extended warranty” and “variable interest” sound interesting and exotic.
Since ignorance is bliss, you’ll be euphoric. (That means you’ll be stupid.)
I know I fall a bit short of the master so, if you liked what you read, give masercot a Follow.