Pundits agree that during transition wit will be sharpened in the position of the oval office whereas farther South statements that issue from the orange guy’s mouth might lower the level of logical statements, bringing on overall massive abatements of logic and reason, of wit and good will formerly missing up there on the hill. We’re forming a queue to bid him good bye, as we trade him for a more logical guy who lacks his baloney and blustering ways. We’re headed, we hope, for happier days. And we wish for the happiest final conclusion: that his family joins him in his seclusion.
My wife is unfaithful. She’s out most every night with another famous man—out in open sight. She doesn’t want to hide it. She wants her friends to see that she’s at every swish affair, clad fashionably. Every Hermes bag and pair of winklepicker shoes has contributed its bit to my costume blues.
Countless Dior dresses and each Givenchy blouse added up to why we had to sell the house.
I’d taken out my equity and sold off all my stocks,
I locked her in her room, but she only picked the locks.
When I cancelled all her cards, she just applied for others,
and when I closed out all of those, she asked to use her mother’s.
I am a closet pauper. As you might suppose, challenged by my wife’s outlandish lust for clothes. If only her love affairs were with lesser men than Michael Kors or Givenchy, Dior or Ralph Lauren. If only she could lighten up and buy her clothes at Ross’s perhaps I could pay off my loans and modify my losses!
My day is winding down to its mellow end, trailing the burnt-off ash of its dissipated energy. Once-wild winds, trapped by the cooling night, curl into hollows, exhaling trails of mist through the trees, nourishing the night air with tomorrow’s dew.
Four hundred thousand for a pension, a million for his travel. More for his security, McConnell, pound your gavel.
Give him not a penny. Not a nickel nor a dime. He deserves no further payment for his life of crime.
May the senate use its Trump card to deal out his comeuppance.
When it comes to a pension, he should get nary a tuppence.
We’re tired of his finagling, the lies and all the trouble. It’s time we drew the needle out to burst his four-year bubble.
If I may be pauciloquent, I’ll simply say, “IMPEACH!!!” Finally do the right thing. Kick out the sonnofabeach!!!!!!
Prompt words today are comeuppance, trouble, pauciloquent (terse, using few words) and finagle.
“On the Nickel” in this context means “On the dole.” The Nickel is a street in San Francisco where a lot of homeless hang out. That Trump should have his hand out for further entitlements after his term is over just seems unconscionable to me. Let him earn his own nickels from now on. Impeachment will insure this. Here is one of my favorite Tom Waits songs that I drew my title from.
The busy restaurant suddenly as silent as a tomb— my “No” resounding clearly all across the room. It was this blunt refusal that brought him to his knees, begging my forgiveness and finally saying “Please!” Tenderness exuding from his every word, he repeated his offer in a manner less absurd. His sangfroid left behind him, he presented me the ring with proper reverence as though it was a sacred thing. It was a better proposal than the first one he had pitched when he tossed the ring box at me and said, “Wanna get hitched?”
I’m picking at my cuticles and gnawing on my nails. The winds behind my worries are puffing out their sails. Operation Trump-bump may require a necromancer to resurrect some aid to rid us of this monster’s cancer.
Lincoln, Roosevelt and Truman may have words to tell how to rid our country of the past four years of Hell. I’m eager to be rid of them and feel some consternation over just how long it’s taken for this operation.
May less self-serving leaders at this long-awaited date seize the wheel and take control of our ship of state. May our country come together, most hoping for the best and set our past divisions, hopefully, to rest.
When you take me to the gym for our initial date, do you mean to intimate you find me overweight? You blanket me with strategies for my self- improvement and give me tips on dieting and exercise and movement, then hand over your business card as a personal trainer, saying you require a small amount for a retainer.
Because your gaze was mesmerizing, I became distracted, but now I think that this first “date” will not be reenacted. I see now that the signal in your eyes when they met mine was not infatuation, but simply a money sign. When it comes to self-improvement, I know what I must do. The first option that I’ll exercise is getting rid of you!
I’m enlivened by my lineaments. They show where I have smiled.
Without them, I am sure my face would be too bland and mild.
It surely would be awkward if I had no tracks or lines.
A face would be so boring without channel marks or vines.
Wrinkles liven up a face. They show where it has been. They tell what’s happened in one’s life, but don’t tell where or when. They leave up to mouths and hands to embellish the story with details more specific—more romantic, funny, gory.
Your face is the epitome of how you’ve lived your life. It shows the tracks of pleasures, of sadness and of strife. Without the stories that they tell, there’d be no place to look anywhere on your body to read you like a book!
My car’s due for an overhaul, but unlikely to get it. My dog could use a clipping, but I’m not going to vet it. I’m balking at improvements. I like things as they are. I don’t want people poking at my dog or at my car.
Though my house might be enlivened by another coat of paint, I like the faded, peeling look. I think it’s sort of quaint. And though my coat is tattered and fraying at the hem, it is my favorite garment—my closet’s unset gem.
You won’t wrest it from my clutches, for my grasp is strong and sure. There’s not one thing in my whole life that’s needful of a cure. So let my grass grow longer and let last fall’s leaves lay. Let us all just rest here to molder fast away.
I do not want a face lift. I’m fine the way I am. I have no need for beauty aids to make me look more glam. When it comes to your suggestions, I must beg for their surcease! All things don’t need improvement. You can let things age in peace.
Prompt words today are wrest, overhaul, balk and liven. First photo by Forgottenman. Second photo thanks to Curology on Unsplash. Both photos used with permission.