He is the great Gazumba;
no one knows if he can dance the rumba,
but his terrible tweets carry great weight
while opponents rightly worry about their fate.

Anyone who says Gazumba is corrupt
would disappear in a way abrupt.
He trucks no dissidents
and hushes up illegal incidents.

He is the great Gazumba;
no one knows if he can dance the rumba,
but his terrible tweets carry great weight
while opponents rightly worry about their fate.

The Good Book says, “Pride goes before the fall,”
and if it be known his supporters are opponents all,
and as he surely to the edge of the cliff will come,
all those supporters toward him quickly will run.

He is the great Gazumba;
no one knows if he can dance the rumba,
but his terrible tweets carry great weight
while opponents rightly worry about their fate.

Those turncoat supporters gave chase
yelling that the Great Gazumba is a disgrace.
They pushed him over the edge far down to the mean streets,
yelling we have had enough of your terrible tweets.

He is the great Gazumba;
no one knows if he can dance the rumba;
his tweets no longer carry great weight
and opponents no longer worry about their fate.

But the disloyal supporters turned from the edge
and hailed the Vice-Gazumba as the new head,
someone even worse it’s said than the Great Gazumba
Opponents said, “If that’s all there is, my friend,
then let’s just go dance the rumba.”

Sometimes it takes a long
time to find out what when
discovered seems so obvious.
For years he had morning
leg cramps. He blamed the
two Bourbons from the night
before or time spent in the
spa or both while hobbling
around the house trying not
to make cries of agony and
wake his wife and dog. It
must be the lack of potass-
ium, so he ate banana after
banana to no avail and then
he read his blood panel report
and saw that he was border-
line low on sodium. Sodium?
Sodium is the evil ingredient.
He had always craved salt
but was always instructed
to be a good boy, practice
discipline and stay away
from salt for the sake of
his blood pressure. One day
he woke with leg cramps
and tossed some sea salt
into his mouth and washed
it down with a glass of
water. Instantly, the cramps
went away. Voila! In that
moment of revelation he knew
what he must do to stay
healthy — eat more salt
while looking forward to
enjoying a double Bourbon
up-neat in the spa in the
evening.

It was announced that the First Lady-Elect
will have a White House glamor room
so she will always look her best for whom
ever and the U.S. will pick up the tab
so the then First Lady will look just fab
for the Trumpster and all her admirers
and those of prurient interest who ask,
“Would it be very rude
to see again the glam room First Lady nude
like when she was a model before she was First Lady-Elect?

“Have we ever known less about
what we are flying through right

now?” the journalist and former
intelligence officer asked in

an article about the more and
more dubious legitimacy and

greater and greater potential                  
illegitimacy of the election

for the person who is about to
become the 45th President of

the United States of America.
Keep flying, diving, digging,

folks, to point out and expose
the empty folders, the ever

and always fake folders sitting
on the fraud’s table being offer-

ed as the answer, before all
things good go away, because

as everyone knows it is twice
as hard to win back and restore

the good defeated than to never
have been defeated in the first place.

Really? Like we didn’t know it?
Really? Like the headline had to show it?
Even an old, white guy wouldn’t want to get in the way
of a Chicago cop anywhere in the city or on any highway.
This old, white guy did and it wasn’t any fun
and the Chicago cops had this old, white guy on the run.
If this old, white guy were black, brown or red,
there’s a good chance he would be dead;
instead, this old, white guy lived to write and tell
that there is something rotten in Denmark, er, Chicago;
you know it by that really bad smell
in the wake of brutality
hanging on those once broad shoulders of a once great city.

The missiles on the country did descend
unleashed by the person elected to defend
that very country. Bombs burst overhead
while most folks were still in bed.
Blasting here and blasting there;
it seemed the new leader didn’t care
that he was annihilating
all those he should be protecting.
Oh, my, for a second just wait;
word has come through on the country’s fate.
That was fake news — not missiles just yet;
they were tweeted missives he actually sent,
but they bombed the country nevertheless
by a guy who’s un-presidential at best.
This thin-skinned, narcissistic yahoo
could unleash horror on everyone else, too —
with a jittery, trigger finger, annihilating every one,
with the exception of his bromance man in the Kremlin.

This doesn’t compare to the
time of the Civil War and
how a great American poet
then however possibly given
that horrendous time could
affirm himself and the great
American dream of life on
the road in front of him, but
I want to say in my small way
that I stand with that poet and
understand that while we are
being asked to explore the im-
mediate, I am exploring life in
nature, which will long outlive
this moment and will tell us to
affirm ourselves and the univer-
sal dream of life off the beaten
path which is much like the
road the great American poet
took to the hopeful future.

The Mother Superior stood
at the front of the class
having dismissed the regular
teacher. She praised the
children for their good
reports on the subject.
Then, as always in the
habit, rising up in great
wrath, she lashed out at
the children who handed in
the reports that she felt
reflected badly on the
Mother Superior, let alone
God, with whom the Mother
Superior identified very
closely. After that, the
Mother Superior said her
children would handle all
her business without any
conflict of interest.

I know that “things aren’t
always as they seem,” and
that “you can’t tell a book
by its cover,” and other

clichés designed to help
us all keep in touch with
reality, but there are these
two young actors who

appear in commercials to-
gether. In one, one of the
guys sits on his porch and
blows bubbles, which his

yellow lab tries to bite.
In another the two guys
inhale helium and then
talk in those crazy voices

about watching movies.
In a third commercial
they spray each other
with squiggly goo and

then as they are watch-
ing TV, one asks the other
if all the goo is gone
and he is told yes, even

though there is still goo
in his hair. They are
actors and they are acting
but they seem like such

nice, nerdy, gooney guys.
I want to be their friend
and hang with them, and I
know I will never get to

know them and find out
that they may be different
from their personas, which
is really great because

this way, I will always
like them even if I can’t
hang with them and don’t
buy whatever it is that

they are hawking.

“Her capacity for out-
rage is greater than his,”
said the biographer of
the First Lady just as
the First Lady enters
her last days as First
Lady with the “his” re-
ference being to the
soon to be retired most
important, powerful,
person in the world —
the President of the
United States. One can
only hope that that
capacity for outrage
stays and stays and
stays to help us
through the forth-
coming, terribly
treacherous days.