Tag Archives: War

Death Responds to Donne

I have heard many silly taunts
in my extensive time,
and they are never more clever
just because they rhyme.
Ignorance should whisper
like a muffled chime.

I am not proud
though you are too proud to see
that when the Grand Bungler
created you it also created me.

I am not mighty or dreadful.
I do not overthrow.
Those are your birthmarks.
You are your foe.

Poison, war are a scaly brood
for which I have no need.
They hatched in the nest with you,
and you are the fodder on which they feed.

Chance is a monkey
whose mischief ends at the tomb.
Fate and sickness are encrypted
when you are in the womb.

You are the slave 
of desperate men and kings,
who look like lice to me -
or other insects without wings.

I am a lantern at the end of day.
I am not the Magnificent Fumbler,
who gave you feeble DNA.

I bring peace after you have done your worst,
and while I may eventually die,
you will die first.

Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief

Chicken Hawk

Now is not the time for questioning minds.
Now is the time for Bud Light with lime
because thinking is hard and hurts to boot -
that's why you have me; I'm thinking's leisure suit.

Slip me on and see how I fit.
Plenty of room for belly and hip.
Gaudy and garish like the colors of war - 
not that I have ever served before.
No, that's a privilege for others to endure.

I was created to talk non-stop.
You were made to listen without thought
so listen as I glorify a past never seen
and scorch anyone who dares disagree
with a wit fueled by methane gas
and a tongue lodged so far up my ass,
it makes me wobble when I walk
and forces me to bend over when I talk
or when I get enemas of warm liquid mint
because my breath makes garbage men squint.

But these burdens must be borne
if I'm to keep my followers uninformed
and hopefully by the end of my show
there won't be anything for them to know.
So turn the radio on and hear my jingle.
May it give your tiny penis a tiny tingle.

We'll put a boot up your ass -
that's the American way.
Apple pie served with a hand grenade.

Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief

Hootin’ for Putin

We are thrilled to announce Vladimir Putin has won the 2022 Orwell Peace Prize for eradicating war.  When he directed the Russian military to justifiably invade Ukraine because it didn’t want to be his friend with benefits, he could have easily called it a war.  It certainly looks like one.  But that would have been so cliché. 

Instead, he has called it a special operation and made the word “war” illegal to use.  That’s brilliant!  He has single-handedly outlawed war.  And the rest of us are left dumbfounded wondering why no one thought of this before.  Such dedication to the non-passive pursuit of peace leaves us hootin’ for Putin.

But there’s more. When you’re involved in a special operation, there are no war casualties.  How could there be?  So you don’t have to worry about math or keeping track of the dead, because soldiers only die in a war – as well as children, women, and men.  Special operations are bloodless.  Mr. Putin said so. 

Treacherous Gulp, Esquire – Judge, Orwell Peace Prize and Counsel for Pungent Sound Technical College of Technology