Red Phone

 

I won’t say Brett’s the last straw,

and straws are out of favor,
but this last week has rubbed me raw,
think I’m in mental labor.
No meals on wheels, back alley deals,
to hell with geriatrics.
Those liberals with their whines and squeals,
they’re nothing but theatrics.
The wall is real, it’s no big deal,
it’s more a great illusion.
And Brett’s a guy who’ll really try
to douse news of collusion.
He’s worked with crooks like Bush and Starr.
He’s Yale, so, Skull and Bones.
And, if our ruler is a czar.
We’re screwed. Shut off your phones.

Dread Scott

Pruitt ain’t gonna do it

to our environment no more.
He’d kill a forest,
just plow right through it,
and use as dump the ocean floor.
But he got greedy, and much too needy,
for fancy lotions and soft beds.
He cared more for his super phone booth
than the sky above our heads.
No doubt that fracking
enjoyed his backing
and he does love his dirty coal.
Pollution standards
he gave up tracking.
And there is no ozone hole.
But now he’s gone, but not forgotten.
He’s made a tidy getaway.
There are no jobs for men this rotten,
‘cept perhaps at Chick-fil-A.