Donald Trump Club March

(Sung to the Mickey Mouse Club March)


<Trump, Trump, Trump, Trump

Trump, Trump, Trump, Trump>

Who’s the leader of the club

For rich white folks only?

D-O-N-A-L-D  T-R-U-M-P!

Hey there, hi there, ho there,

It’s just exclusivity

D-O-N-A-L-D  T-R-U-M-P!

Donald Trump-

(We’re all fucked!)

Donald Trump-

(Yes we’re fucked!)

The KKK now holds their banner high:

Jews; good-bye!

Grabbing pussy far and near

Full of misogyny

D-O-N-A-L-D  T-R-U-M-P!

Donald Trump club,

Donald Trump club

He’ll have fun and make big profits

Constitution, he just scoffs it

All around the world,


He’s the leader of the club

To end Democracy

D-O-N-A-L-D  T-R-U-M-P!

Hey there; beware, be scared,

Headed for obscurity

D-O-N-A-L-D  T-R-U-M-P!

Donald Trump

(Run amok!)

Donald Trump


Forever now our country’s gonna cry:

Why, why, why?

His posse’s wrong, a sorry throng

A peanut gallery

D-O-N-A-L-D  T-R-U-M-P!













A Little Dumber Ploy

(Sung to the tune of Little Drummer Boy)


Run, they told me,

I’m Don – ald Trump!

Rather be King, you see,

Trump, Trump, Trump, Trump, Trump!

My finest gift to bring,

Is Don – ald Trump!

A platform far right wing

I’m Don – ald Trump,

Just watch me stump,

Trump, Trump, Trump, Trump!

Better honor me,

Trump, Trump, Trump, Trump, Trump!

– – When I run – –



Slightly crazy,

I’m Don – ald Trump,

And narcissistic too,

Trump, Trump, Trump, Trump, Trump!

And yet I lead the polls,

So kiss my rump,

Not fit to take this role,

But I’ve made the jump,

Without a slump,

Don – ald Trump!

Shall I fume for you,

A nation of chumps,

– – When I run – –


Ban the Mus – lims,

Just give ‘em the bump,

And all the Mexicans,

Can go to the dump,

You know I’m not PC,

Like some of you bums

I do what’s best for me,

And all my rich chums,

We’ll grow our incomes

You’ll live in the slums.


‘Cause I’m Don – ald Trump,

A cancerous lump –

Penis pump –

– – A penis pump – –


Grave Matters…

Bang, bang, he shot me down

Bang, bang, I hit the ground

Bang, bang, that awful sound

Bang, bang, my baby shot me down

  • Bang Bang,  1966


I remember Cher belting out this song on television years ago, her stunning svelte figure stirring mysterious pre-pubescent hormones somewhere deep in my psyche. (Something about singers… Grace Slick would later become the subject of my groovy teenage wet dreams.) The song was innocuous tripe, a product of what are now regarded as “more innocent times.” But were they really?


Yes, “peace and love,” and all that shit. But, the 60’s – early 70’s also had more than its share of violent episodes: Vietnam, The Bay of Pigs, the Weather Underground bombings, riots in Watts, France, San Francisco, Greenwich Village, the JFK, RFK, MLK Jr., Medger Evers, Che Guevara, Malcom X (and too many others to name) assassinations, and coups in Greece, Iraq, Libya… there’s a lot more I’m sure I’m forgetting, but you get the picture…


We’re seeing the same behavior today. The world over, everyone is going off in full-cocked-foaming-at-the-mouth-attack-mode. Most simply vocalize their feelings. But increasingly, more and more are turning – or returning, as it were – to violence as a means of expression.


And everyone is playing the blame game: Extremist Muslim ideology, racism, mental illness, too many guns, not enough guns, too many laws, not enough laws, childhood abuse, road rage, work rage, postpartum depression, gluten…


And, for every violent episode, there are just as many labels applied: mass shooting, terrorism, State-building, war, revolution, gangland execution, murder, having a bad day…


…Try explaining to a mother that it matters what you call the reason her 2-year-old is six feet under.


Fact is, nearly everyone is angry. People are tired of the status quo. The majority of people in the world are scraping by, while a select few hoard the wealth. But no one seems to direct any outrage at the 1%. Unlike the turbulent times of my juvenile Cher-glaring, today’s radical gunmen are targeting those indistinguishable from them, regular day-to-day people who wish nothing more than family, health, and food on the table. And this is not by accident.


Hitler managed to blame all his woes on anyone he didn’t like. He filled movie theaters with a combination of national hubris and unnatural hate. His fiery rhetoric swayed a good portion of Germany, and managed to scare those against him into submission.


Those in control today (read: Big Money) copied their homework from old Adolph, and have become quite adept at diverting the attention away from themselves. Filthy rich international corporate greed-heads, via religion and the mass media, have exploited the rank and file among us into blaming each other. …Divide and conquer… Tucked away in closely guarded private compounds, they watch the hysteria on television as if it were entertainment.


No matter what political ideology a country claims, everyone lives under a plutocracy, government of, by, and for the rich. The United States is no different; our elected officials are puppets. Look at them carefully; you can see the corporate arm up their asses, mouths manipulated by the hands of hard cash. Republicans or Democrats, they are all sucking the corporate cock, each party fighting over who gets the tip.


…But somehow, the rest of us get the shaft.




Bono, Harmon, Smith. (Composer). (1966). Bang Bang. [Cher, Performer] NY, NY, USA.

Oh, say can’t you see?

Ominous thunder rattles the windows… bright flashes in the sky… an acrid mist saturates the atmosphere… But, this is no weather-related phenomenon… it’s a typical Fourth of July.

It’s grilling, it’s drinking, it’s eating, and it’s Americans being American: Blowing up things.

And, like everything American, we overdo it. Everything. Especially the blowing up part… Every burger and dog served on the Fourth is coated with a film of gunpowder residue.

Let’s face it; we like to blow up things. It’s the thing in which America can truly claim the number one spot. We put the “A” in A-bomb and turned it into THE bomb. When we drink, we get bombed. If we like something, we call it ‘da bomb.

We blow up a lot of things, especially other countries. Korea. Vietnam. Afghanistan. We liked the way Iraq blew up so much, we did it twice.   …And we all know how well things worked out in those places.

…It seems to be the credo for the US: bomb first; ask questions later. Somehow, this approach hasn’t produced the instant turnaround our politicians promise. Instead, it’s found us stuck in quagmires of chaos, a mess of never-ending civil unrest and violence. Troops are put into an enigmatic role, that of peacekeepers. No longer allowed to blow up anything, they wind up on the receiving end. …It’s no Fourth of July picnic…

Which leads to another US credo: waving the flag while waving off responsibilities. Our elected “officials” ignore returning veterans, instead focusing on what they can blow up next.

Now we blow up things by remote controlled drones. This is the “Get out of Jail” card for politicians: no more wounded warriors to remind them of the consequences of war.

Bombs away.

Me, I didn’t blow up a thing this Fourth. I spent my day cleaning gutters, getting my hands into an incessant mess… which is truly the American way.

R.I.P. the Printed Page

Friends, we are gathered here today to mourn the future death of the printed page. Taken from us too soon, we will miss the days spent with us. Who can forget thumbing through well-worn copies of Archie comics, ripped and hairy from untold years of barbershop abuse …not to mention those stolen teenage moments with the July issue of Hustler… In the morning, you greeted us with daily doses of news, evenings filled with fairy tales and court summons…

So goodbye, print. So long, paper. In your place, the world of digital media will edge its way into prominence. Lower costs shall overcome. Future readers will look at conventional printed publications as relics, tremendous wastes of endangered trees.

Hardbound books will become trophies for the rich. Each volume will be presented as a work of art, leather-bound sculptures of printed beauty with gold leaf inlays and full-color plates. Proudly displayed on prominent bookshelves, owners will point to their collections, bragging to have read every one (in e-book form, as not to smudge expensive pages).

Magazines will never be the same. After all, how can you successfully maneuver an iPad and wipe? And forget barber shop comics …how can a kid send away for X-Ray specs if he can’t tear out the ad?


And yes, I get the irony…


Our Rights Have Left

The NSA wants to continue tracking our phone calls. They say they need to, for national security. So, how come I don’t feel secure?

There is little difference in the activities of Hollywood and Washington. Both are involved in putting on a big show. The movie industry creates something from nothing in order to make money from the public. Politicians create something from nothing in order to take money from the public.

Government loves to create controversy where none exists. Leaders fire the canons to distract the public from the fact that they are not doing their jobs. Our public servants are staging a patriotic puppet show. America’s Punch-and-Judy politicians are all on the take. One can see the corporate arms up their butts, moving their mouths to the scripts they’ve been given, “It’s for the safety of our country.” Meanwhile, data is collected, set aside for the day it can be used against us.

Picture a routine traffic stop of the near future. Officer Safensound has pulled me over for failing to look suspicious:

“I see here back in ’15, you wrote a blog slamming our elected officials. You’ve been listed as a possible terrorist, and are under arrest. I’m now going to read you my rights: I have the right to silence you. If you forego my rights, anything I say can and will be used against you in a secret court of law. You have no rights to an attorney; none will be provided as you rot in a holding cell.”


I will be stripped, and Dick Cheney will waterboard me. A no-brainer. …All to keep the country safe.

Oh, and for those reading this; now, you’re on the list as well… see you in Gitmo. Feel safe yet?


We’ve all heard it, The more things change, the more they stay the same. But, we Americans don’t like change. We feel safe in our sameness, cuddled up in mundane monotony, ignoring reality as it leaves us in the dust of denial.

Take climate change. Please. Accept it for what it is, an inevitable part of the Earth’s cycle – heat up, cool down. Our planet works out to keep fit. Yet, mention this to non-believers, they have a fit. These folks are comfortable in the weather of the past, enjoying up to four seasons of predictable atmospheric conditions. Don’t confuse them with science; don’t expect them to accept what’s happening before our eyes. You can find them anywhere, watching the water supply vanish in California, or kayaking to check the mail in Texas.

Chicagoland climate can’t make up its mind, whether the weather is hot flashes or frigid snaps. So, before my garden is planted, I wait until I’m sure the cold stuff is through in June. I diligently sweat and toil in the soil in 85-degree temps. Sure enough, the thermometer dips to 40 for three days. As I watch my peas wither away, I’m reminded of Bruce Jenner.

Now, that’s change. And many Americans don’t like it. Too late, no denying this one. Many declare how this change will bring equal rights to transgenders. Through all the hoopla, people are missing one important point. Money. The price of a sex change operation can equal a house mortgage. Most folks, whatever their gender identification, can’t afford an appendectomy.   So, what about the working stiff who wants to lose a working stiff? The only change he gets is from cashing a paycheck.

The issue of equal rights all depends on how much more equal you own.

…I’m still waiting for that to change…