COVID-19, Fauci, Videos

From the A.M.A.: New Videos on COVID-19

News on Our Pandemic from the American Medical Association

Clik on Dr. Sick for AMA Covid Info 

Suicide for the Lethally Fashionable

Leave ‘em mourning merrily

A Thousand Wurds in 106 Lines of Doggerel Poesy

Written By 

Tommy George

The A-B-C's of a Much Cooler Detroit

by Tommy George

2019-01-01

See the grinning wraith below. He is L. Brooks Pattersen, a former Michigan bureaucrat who declared in a national magazine that he believes fencing off Detroit, throwing in some corn and blankets, and giving the city back to the Native Americans from whom the land was first stolen is the answer to Detroit's problems. While he probably thought he was making a cutting remark, American history may bear out that his impudent prattle is the only intelligent idea the man ever expressed.

L. Brooks Pattersen

Narcissus Mortified: an Epicedium

by Viktor Quixote

10-13-2019 

Nemesis, dealer of ironic fates, killed Narcissus by drowning--
not him, but his twin sister, on whose grace long he had fed.
Death left him peerless, his mirrored reflection nowhere to be found.
Mythical fairness slept only in most handsome bed. 
Fairness so fouled complained, "What fruit compares
to that born of my mother?
What bloated prune of Poseidon be crowned in her stead?"
Diving black-water depths where dearest sister slept, Narcissus spied palest light shone from beloved face so like his own, 
fated to glow unkissed amidst eternity's cold, dateless night.
Unsealing every lip, Narcissus drank of her gloam,
and drowned for the ache, all in one take.  Some voice cried:
"That's a wrap, people!  Good work!  Now we all can go home."

I Resolve to Stop Making Resolutions

by Tommy George

Just before the start of each new year--about 11:40 PM each December 31st, filled with some spirit sufficient to resurrect my belief in the Tooth Fairy--I find myself in the ammonia-scented, empty corner of whatever riotous tavern I happen to be in, chin in one hand, stumpy pencil in the other, drawing up a list of impossible resolutions for the twelve months about to befall my besotted existence. These annual compendiums of wishful thinking are a habit hard to break, because of the items I include, I sometimes accomplish one or two, at least in part. For example, last year I resolved to start using the bathroom for nocturnal calls of nature (i.e., no more bed-wetting). I made it work for a full four months. The other occupants of our family bed--my wife, mother-in-law, and four children--stopped calling me a wretched pee-boy father figure during those pleasantly arid nights.  

Four-and-Twenty

by Tommy George

Birds of black feather may wish to attend
memorial services for fallen friends
sent to pop merrily out of a pie
chirping a tune, and then wasting their guys.

Black-ops turned tragic when agents discovered
two dozen dead birds beneath the crust smothered

O, Four and Twenty, remember them well!
Patriot wings fluttering scared as hell,
the horror of  twenty-four burning blackbirds
a-cry in the kiln, all their chirping unheard,
their mission forfeited by dying in pie,
twenty-four operatives lost to the sky.

Sing a song of justice!  Court-martial, begin!
Your lie's been discovered; you're guilty as sin.
The two-dozen birds you assigned to the op
never could sing in that misguided flop.
God knows what else that you have buried in there,
what skeletons in your Skull and Bones lair.

You skyjacked a country on leveraged wings
to prove to the world you could make the dead sing.
When smoldering corpses produced not a note,
Your Uncle Dick hid himself deep in one throat,
falsetto-piping his misinformation.
The outpouring of tears inundated a nation,
caused by the stench of your Uncle Dick's breath
Singing an ethos of lawless intent.

O! Four-and-twenty!  Look not to the sky
when black-as-hell tactics turn up in the pie.

Addiction: It's Not Just For the Depraved Anymore

Fun, fun, fun 'til the bank takes your credit away.

by Tommy George

Disclaimer

2015-10-25. Some homeless persons suffer terribly from real physical and/or mental illnesses. To make matters worse, they are ofte incapable of untangling the red tape required to apply for the services they need. These forgotten people don't belong among those described here, and deserve everybody's help.

Two GA Meetings Fail to Attract One Single Compulsive Gambler

by Tommy George

Trinity United
Methodist Church

Have you ever thrown a party and nobody showed up? I hosted several gathering in my earlier years characterized as "dismal" and "the worst party I've ever been to," but at least one or two people came. However, the Gamblers Anonymous group I am trying to establish in Waverly, Iowa takes the cake. High and low rollers alike stayed away en toto from two G.A. meetings--one held at 6:30 PM on October 18 and the other November 1 of this present year 2018. Both were held at the Trinity United Methodist Church on Bremer Ave W adjacent to the public library. Nobody came to either. Zip. Nadie. Zero.

Some of you may not know this about me but I am a degenerate gambler who has lost everything with a capital "E"--every penny plus far more (I will spare you my melodramatic litany of non-monetary losses). I was earler in life addicted to several vices that I got over without breaking a sweat. Alcohol. Opiates. Sexual perversions and egregiously bad literary efforts. But these were all cake walks compared to gambling addiction.