Oh hey, everyone but me is on vacation — switching to monitoring work email on my phone. Unfortunately, my car is down due to either a brake pedal switch or brake solenoid failure. Now in most vehicles, you can just stick a key in the override and go on your way. In the 2013 Ford Expedition, you need a long, very thin object approximately six inches long. Or else mine is just fuxored right there, too. Anyhoo, replacing the solenoid is done through… replacing the entire shifter assembly. Which shipped out of the warehouse today, which means I’m down this weekend. So it looks like its time to investigate home-delivery options for alcohol…
I resisted making this joke yesterday, but can’t today: Friends say there’s something funny about comedian’s suicide. I’ll just go over here to the mirror and narrow my own gaze.
Happy Solstice, and good luck finding virgins to sacrifice!
I know this will piss off FdA (tw: link to WSJ), but here’s an article about State Capitalism succeeding in Cuba. And by succeeding, I mean rationing food due to shortages.
Oh boy, here comes prog-jection again. Politico wonders “what if Trump won’t accept defeat in 2020?” This person who won’t be voting for Trump in 2020 wonders if there is anyway without massive cheating that could possibly happen.
Here’s what my kids call “the Planes song” when it comes on the radio. Playa Manhattan knows what I’m talking about.
Keto cocktail supplies. Dean tested, Dean approved.
For health reasons that I won’t bore you with, the Dean household has been on a dietary journey that has taken us through low-carb, keto, and paleo, all of which share an aversion to sugar. Sadly, sugar is a fundamental ingredient in a great many cocktails. Being strict on sugar will take a lot of traditional cocktails off the table. Now, I’m not going to take that lying down, so I have rolled up my sleeves and done the hard work of testing many low- or no-sugar cocktail recipes. Strictly for scientific purposes, of course.
Fruit juice: Lemon, lime, grapefruit, and orange juice have between maybe one gram (lemons and limes) to 2.5 grams (orange juice) of sugar per ounce . There is no substitute for fruit juice, and so we just take the (small) sugar hit on fruit juice.
Liqueurs: Some liqueurs are sweet, but good luck finding the sugar content for them. If you are seriously avoiding sugar, I think more than a small dose (1/3 of an ounce?) of sweet liqueur like Grand Marnier, Drambuie or Amaretto is going to deliver more sugar than you want. This presents a particular problem for this margarita fan, as orange liqueurs are pretty damn sweet and I don’t think you can make a margarita without a decent dose.
Soft Drinks: Sadly, my real sugar Mexican Cokes are verboten, as are full-sugar soft drinks of any kind. The good news is, there are some pretty damn good sugarless or low(ish) sugar soft drinks out there. The Zevia branded cola isn’t bad at all, but for sugar-free colas we prefer the Blue Sky cola. For ginger beer, we have found that the sugar-free Cock and Bull is excellent. There doesn’t seem to be a sugar-free tonic water, but the Q Tonic Light is an excellent low-sugar option, but still delivers 8 grams of sugar.
Sweeteners: Sugar and simple syrup are right out, which leaves you with the myriad of substitutes, none of which are entirely satisfactory. In our experience, stevia drops are the best substitute for a keto cocktail; you’ll have to experiment to find the right level for you, but we settled on about 1 – 2 drops per ounce of drink (liquor, mixers, and all), with an extra splash of water. If the cocktail has lemon or lime, you might want a drop or two more stevia to offset the sour fruit juice.
You have some options if you are willing to tolerate some sugar but want a low-glycemic sweetener. Honey and agave nectar aren’t on that list, despite the claim of some sellers that agave nectar is low-glycemic. Agave nectar is basically the same as honey, as near as I can tell. Warning: there are a number of alternative sweeteners out there, some of which you may not like the taste of, and some of which your digestive tract may object to. Be prepared to do some experimentation.
The two low-glycemic sweeteners that seem to work the best are yacon syrup and Dolcedi, an apple-derived sweetener. The Dolcedi is clear, has a very clean taste, and comes close to the right mouthfeel. Yacon syrup is dark, has more of a molasses flavor, and also has a good mouthfeel. These are spendy, but the good news is you should be able to use around half as much, give or take, compared to simple syrup.
We have noticed something else, as well: Since really cutting down on sugar, a lot, we are “resensitized” to sweet flavors – it takes less sweetener for things to taste sweet enough/not too sweet.
With this in hand, you should be able to take a fair amount of sugar out of your cocktails. Probably the highest-sugar cocktail still on our menu is Margaritas (made with tequila, Salerno, lime juice, and yacon syrup or Dolcedi).
But what’s an R C Dean post without a cocktail recipe or two?
Barrel-Aged Old Fashioned
Your typical old-fashioned has a dose of simple syrup (often one part simple syrup to two parts booze). This recipe is kind of cheating, because it relies on home barrel-aged rye to provide the sweetness.
3 oz. Barrel-Aged Bulleit Rye
6 dashes Angostura Bitters
3 dashes Peychaud’s Bitters
3 dashes Fee’s Aztec Chocolate Bitters
Stir, pour over rocks.
A variation on this, if for some reason you don’t have any barrel-aged Bulleit rye on hand, is to add 1/3 oz of maple syrup. Which kinda blows the strict keto thing (you’re looking at 5 – 6 grams of sugar), but the maple flavor blends right in with the rest. And, of course, sweetens the drink. There are some low-glycemic maple syrup substitutes, but we weren’t all that impressed. You can also dose with the Dolcedi or yacon syrup if you need a little more sweetener
Keto Whiskey Sour
This is pretty much a straight substitution of stevia drops for simple syrup. The result is not as sweet and a little drier than a classic whiskey sour. Using stevia, there seems to be a limit; its fine to a point, and then, one drop too many makes it taste kinda weird.
3 oz. rye (or whatever your whiskey of choice is)
1 ¼ oz. lemon juice
Splash of water
5 – 8 drops stevia
Shake over ice, pour over rocks. Again, if stevia isn’t your bag, you can try to the Dolcedi or yacon syrup.
I like to start these things out with minor anecdotes so that people can think that we’re human. I have no anecdotes. But I have a picture of Wonder Dog with an inflatable collar, doing her impression of Swiss Servator.
And for Old Guy Music, here’s one for the Very Young Lady, one of SP’s favorite songs. There’s a wonderful story behind it involving a large bag of weed, cannabutter, and a squirrel, but no time for it now. It mourns a dead friend, and with marvelous lyric poetry.
Fourteen year old Tulip lurrvvved her some Billy Idol. Those cheekbones, those eyes, that mouth, the leather and the hair. Just hearing his voice on the radio could make me wet. But, after the Rebel Yell album, I moved on. To real boys (Pete Swenson, mmm, mmm) and other artists: Depeche Mode, Prince, a brief flirtation with Metallica and a longer one with country music. In fact, I didn’t know he had been in a serious accident until I read the concert brochure about 6 or 7 years ago at a concert at Wolf Trap. (Dear God, I’m old, I saw Billy Idol at Wolf Trap!)
It was a great concert; just a bare bones set, but he did all his hits with energy and conviction. When he first came out, he did a strip tease to lose his white silk shirt and switch to a black leather vest (to match the black leather pants). He is still incredibly sexy. After the strip tease, he ran out on stage right and posed with a fist pump and flexed his abs for people to take pictures. After a moment, he ran to stage left and posed and flexed while the flashes went off. It was a perfect acknowledgment of the nostalgia his concert represented, done with humor. After the concert was over, I forgot about him again.
Until…I came across his autobiography “Dancing With Myself”. Apparently, he wrote it without a ghost writer. Hell, yes, I had to read this! So, last weekend, I put the “Very Best of Billy Idol” on the stereo and sat down to read it. It is a great read, but somewhat uneven. He does a fantastic job of creating a sense of time and place in the early chapters discussing his time in Generation X and first arrival in the U.S. The best part is getting a sense of what a fan he was – he was so excited to play on stages where he had watched acts. The discussions about how he wrote the songs and what they meant is fun. Once he can afford drugs everyday, (I was high and did something stupid), it does become a little boring.
But, once I finished it, I was left with the conviction that Billy Idol is the greatest performance artist ever. Better even than Trump. I mean, he did name the book for his masturbation song, which is hilarious and punk as fuck. When discussing the writing of the song, he never mentions masturbation. Instead, he says it was based on seeing Japanese teenagers dance with their own reflections. Uh, huh. Fourteen year old me and my friends knew exactly what that song was about. So, I’m not convinced that he is a reliable narrator. I mean, Billy, we’ve heard the song, and from reading the book, he is too smart for that. So, again hilarious.
From the beginning of the book, it’s clear that his goal is to become a rock star. He mentions watching and discussing performance artists, while perfecting his own performance. The music that gets him there is secondary, despite the book’s focus on writing the music. His real goal is to be a rock star. His first meeting with Steve Stevens focused on what it means to be a rock star and only secondarily on what kind of music he wants to play.
His ultimate approach though, is to become a parody of a rock star. His very name – Idol – is all about parodying the idea of a rock star. And, he has always been a caricature or parody. The leather, the hair, the first pumping, the sex, the drugs. It can only be explained as parody. Don’t believe me? Watch this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uvTaDn03qtQ (preferably with the sound off – any 80s video with the sound off is hilarious). Not only is he parodying being a rock star, he is parodying himself being a rock star and laughing while he does it. I mean, c’mon, the cunnilingus thing, the humping Steve Stevens. Seen that way, this video is an absolutely brilliant performance. Too bad he bought into his own performance and completely descended into sex, drugs, and rock and roll as if he were a Roman emperor.
I’ve seen a lot of reviews of this book that talk about how he didn’t hold back and how sensitive it is[1]. My take is different. My first thought on finishing the book was, “Christ, what an asshole!” Yes, he’s careful to not throw other people under the bus. He’s still an asshole. If, every few pages you detail an example of how you were an asshole, you’re an asshole – drugs or not. Finally, despite being a brilliant performance artist, I see him as an essentially shallow man who wrote an essentially shallow memoir.
Fifteen year old Tulip would have given anything to meet Billy Idol. She would have dropped to her knees and blown him and done anything else he asked. Such is the power of celebrity and image. Today’s Tulip looks back and thinks…ick, not enough Lysol in the world. Unless, of course, my view of him as the ultimate performance artist is correct. Then, I want to smoke a joint with him, and maybe meet John Lydon[2].
On my stereo or on a stage, I like him just fine, but I have zero interest in meeting or fucking him. I give his autobiography 4 out of 5 stars for the fantastic nostalgia trip it gave me and recommend it to any other child of the eighties.
[1]Even a review on Amazon that mentions his respect for women. Whaaaa??? Did we read the same book?
[2]Interestingly, there are a lot of people who insist Billy Idol was never punk, just a hanger-on. Johnny Rotten isn’t one of them.
For our third installment of learning Japanese through anime titles I’ve picked a title to introduce honorifics in Japanese.
Japanese: かぐや様は告らせたい ～天才たちの恋愛頭脳戦～
Romanized :Kaguya-sama wa Kokurasetai – Tensai-tachi no Ren’ai Zunōsen
Common English Title: “Kaguya-sama: Love Is War”.
かぐや – “Kaguya” – female given name.
様 – “sama” – honorific – equivalent to Mr., Mrs, Miss, Ms, etc. In Japanese it can be used with both first and last names.
は – “ha” romanized as either “ha” or “wa”, but pronounced “wa”in this usage. This is the topic marker – frequently translated as “as for” in English.
告らせたい “kokurasetai” – passive form of the verb “kokuru” – to confess (one’s love), to propose (marriage), to ask out (on a date) plus “tai” which expresses desire.
I should probably do another entry on passive verb use in Japanese. The passive voice is widely used in Japanese as compared to English. Things happen in Japanese “just happen” similar to the way police officers’ guns just simply discharge in English news stories. Culturally it helps save face and nobody has to accept blame for causing a problem.
～ used as a dash here as far as I can tell. If any of our more Japanese fluent Glibs want to explain the Japanese use of the tilde I’m interested.
天才 – “tensai” – genius
たち “tachi” – makes things plural as relates to people. Japanese usually doesn’t distinguish between singular and plural unless there is a reason to be specific.
の – “no” shows possession. Similar to ” ‘s” in English.
So a literal translation is “(As for) Kaguya-sama (she) wants to be confessed to ~ geniuses’ love brain battle”. Not particularly close to the English title.
Here is your quick lesson on honorifics in Japanese. There are many honorifics so I’m only going to touch on the most common ones here. I’m also freely going to “borrow” and summarize from Wikipedia.
San (さん) is the most commonplace honorific and is a title of respect typically used between equals of any age. Although the closest analog in English are the honorifics “Mr.”, “Miss”, “Ms.”, or “Mrs.”, -san is almost universally added to a person’s name; -san can be used in formal and informal contexts and for both genders.
Sama (様【さま】) is a more respectful version for people of a higher rank than oneself or divine, toward one’s guests or customers, and sometimes toward people one greatly admires. Deities such as native Shinto kami and the Christian God are referred to as kami-sama. When used to refer to oneself, -sama expresses extreme arrogance (or self-effacing irony), as in praising oneself to be of a higher rank, as with ore-sama (俺様, “my esteemed self”).
Kun (君【くん】) is generally used by people of senior status addressing or referring to those of junior status, by anyone addressing or it can be used when referring to men in general, male children or male teenagers, or among male friends. It can be used by males or females when addressing a male to whom they are emotionally attached, or who they have known for a long time. The suffix is also used by juniors when referring to seniors in both academic situations and workplaces. Although -kun is generally used for boys, it is not a hard rule. In business settings, young female employees are addressed as -kun by older males of senior status.
Chan (ちゃん) is a diminutive suffix; it expresses that the speaker finds a person endearing. In general, -chan is used for babies, young children, close friends, grandparents and sometimes female adolescents. Although traditionally, honorifics are not applied to oneself, some people adopt the childlike affectation of referring to themselves in the third person using -chan (childlike because it suggests that one has not learned to distinguish between names used for oneself and names used by others). “Chan” is only used between people who have known each other for a long time or who are of the same gender.
So with this little bit of knowledge you can now quickly determine the relationship of people and social status by how they address each other. Note that for word order in Japanese for native Japanese people your family name goes first followed by your given name. BUT for the gaijin you retain western name order of first name followed by last name.
Japanese people generally don’t use first names until they have an established relationship with a person. However, since westerners don’t usually follow this practice most of the time westerners will be referred to by first name + “san”. This tends to annoy “woke” Westerners in Japan from my readings. It’s never been an issue for me.
Most older Japanese will almost universally use an honorific plus either first or last name. The only time the honorifics get dropped is if the relationship is very close or you intend to be insulting. My understanding is this may be changing with younger people. However all the Japanese people I communicate with including my close friends, we all use honorifics. In the case of my friends first name plus honorific. If any the Glibs that actually live in Japan want to comment about this I’d be interested to hear how they address their close friends and what their experiences are.
Summary
Student council president Miyuki Shirogane and vice-president Kaguya Shinomiya appear to be the perfect couple. Kaguya is the daughter of a wealthy conglomerate family, and Miyuki is the top student at the school and well-known across the prefecture. Although they like each other, they are too proud to confess their love as they believe whoever does so first would lose. The story follows their many schemes to make the other one confess.
This one I can actually recommend. It’s a spoof on the usual high school student council romantic comedy. The two protagonists obviously like each other, but continuously scheme to get the other one to try to confess his or her romantic interest. It doesn’t take itself too seriously and the “will they or won’t they get together” isn’t the point of the series, it’s the gags. Specifically the reason the protagonist is dressed as first name + “sama” is done to suggest high class status and the idea of aloofness.
Ireland produces plans to tackle climate alarmism including ending private car ownership. Why are these plans always produced by people who fetishize urban life?
Junior stood on the sidewalk back against the building wall with his “Abortion is Murder” sign. Most of the passing college students looked at him with disgust. A few were visibly angered and mouthed or muttered insults or flipped him off. He ignored them and kept scanning the crowd for possible threats. A fat dyke waddled by, the saggy jowls of her thighs flapping against her knees. She fixed him with a porcine look of hatred.
“No, monitoring bracelet; she’s Operation: Rescue This! She’s not going to risk a probation violation.”
The dyke flipped them the bird with both hands, and stomped angrily down the sidewalk to the applause and cheers of a few onlookers.
“There. The tall girl with the stringy hair. Wave your sign, Dad.”
“Ohhhh…” Hastur pumped his “Satan Loves Abortions” sign up and down eagerly. Nothing.
Junior expertly rotated and tilted his sign to flash the sunlight off it so as to attract the girl’s attention. Suddenly she noticed the protesters and began to run towards them, screeching. Junior planted his feet apart and crouched down, tightening his grip on the thick cardboard tubing supporting the sign.
“Remember, you can only block them if they attack you or your sign. We can’t defend each other.”
When the girl was three feet from them she reached up to grab at Junior’s sign. He quickly tilted the top of the tube backward. She sensed the trap that had been set for her, and turned to Hastur.
Hastur waved his sign back and forth. “Jesus hates abortions, but Jesus loves you,” he called. That did the trick.
Becky can’t believe that she’s under arrest for stealing something that made her angry.
The girl crouched and jumped at Hastur’s sign, timing her jump so that she reached apogee when the sign waved closest to her. She grabbed the poster board and held on as she fell. Hastur wasn’t anticipating an attack that violent and precise from a Human female. The tubing slipped through his hands until the bottom hit the ground. He regained his grip, but that only caused the sign to tear in half as the girl fell. She stuck her landing and scarpered off with the posterboard, screaming “this is why Womyn can’t get abortions in this state.”
Sad, eight-bit synthesized music played and the message “Player 2 replay level?” appeared in the air ahead of them. Everything else dimmed and stopped.
“Volleyball lesbian, Dad. She’s the toughest one on this level. You want to try again?”
“Let’s move on to the next level before your mother gets here.”
“Wow, you mean she… Well, she didn’t abort me.”
“So what’s the next level,” asked Hastur quickly. Junior was growing up too damned fast, and his first meal hadn’t helped things.
Best timeline, ever. Amirite?
“Rooftop Koreans. We’re on top of a dry cleaning business, but we’re controlling the looters at the electronics store across the street. The electronics guys are protecting our building. Don’t shoot anyone unless they are actively breaking in, or carrying loot out.”
An array of weapons appeared in the space in front of them.
“Which one do I want?”
“Shotgun. Go easy on the ammo. It takes them a while to bleed out.”
Hastur picked the pump action twelve gauge with buckshot, and Junior chose the Mini-14 Ranch Rifle, with the Super Deluxe Tacticool upgrade which he had unlocked through numerous in-game rewards.
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
“This just in. The Simi Valley jury in the Rodney King police brutality case acquitted all four officers of assault and acquitted three of the four of using excessive force. The jury could not agree on a verdict for the fourth officer charged with using excessive force.”
Suddenly the boom boxes on the street below shut off. There was a moment of eerie silence, and then a low roar punctuated by shouting, and the sounds of glass breaking and of solid things beating on clangy things. A police cruiser sped by the intersection with lights and a brief siren whoop – getting the hell out of Dodge.
“Dad! There. Crowbar guy. Wait until I tell you.”
“Clang, clang, clang!”
“Stop or we’ll shoot,” yelled Junior. The skinny Korean in the blue polo repeated his words in slightly accented English.
“One.. two.. three. Now, Dad!”
The fat Korean in the yellow polo fired his shotgun.
“Great nuclear Azathoth,” swore Hastur, his words immediately repeated by his avatar to the puzzlement of the blue-shirted Korean. “That thing kicks like a Shoggoth.”
“Hold it tight to your shoulder. The button under your [untranslatable] sucker on your [untranslatable] tentacle controls what your character says.”
A crowd of people swarmed the entrance to Park Electronics and sheltered in the terrazzo entranceway underneath the marquee. A few faces turned and pointed at the rooftop. Junior squatted down and motioned for Hastur to do the same.
“Clang, Clang, Clang!”
“Can I shoot again?”
“We’d lose the level. There isn’t a clear shot at the door with all those bystanders, which is why they started up the crowbar again.”
Their strategy session was interrupted by three loud and annoyingly perky tones. “Dum. Doop. Doo!”
Junior twitched his tentacles and the word “pause” appeared; the scene darkened and the action stopped. The rooftop scene cut to a white background with a blue logo consisting of a “W” inside a circle.
“Designated visitor Myra incoming,” said an ice princess voice.
“Myra?”
“That’s how the WartCo AI pronounces it. I haven’t figured out how to fix it.”
“Dad…” Junior rolled his multiple eyes. Definitely his mother’s son in that regard.
The WartCo logo contracted until it was a small blue dot in the center of the screen. The dot was replaced with a circular moving image which grew until it filled the screen. The image showed a buxom young woman tugging a rolling suitcase down an urban cobblestone alleyway. The woman walked out of the street scene and into Hastur’s rec room. The street scene cut to the WartCo logo on a white background.
“Wartyvision,” whispered a chorus, followed by a muted “Doo. Doop. Dum.”
“Mom!”
“Honey!”
“Hi, boys. Who wants pizza? Fresh from the oven at Armand’s?”
“Best mom ever,” observed Hastur proudly.
“And how,” replied Junior.
“Junior, take the stasis box from your mother and go set the table.”
Junior tentacle-hugged his mother and took the suitcase from her before exiting.
Hastur also tentacle-hugged Moira, but in a distinctly different fashion than his son had done.
“Somebody missed me.”
Hastur made a surprisingly small and needy noise.
“Me, too,” she whispered. “Just wait until Junior goes to bed.”
“So how was your day,” boomed Hastur.
“Good. You should have seen the face on the Armand’s guy when I put the pizza in the ‘suitcase’ and started rolling it. ‘Hey Lady, you wrecked your pizza.’ It’s Capitol Hill, they’ve seen weirder.”
My kid is home sick and bored. If I have to listen to one more episode of Rescuebots (an animated Transformers spinoff aimed at little kids), I’m probably going to lose my mind. There’s only one season, about 20 episodes, and in the last three or four weeks, we have played them all about 5 times. Even the occasional appearance of Optimus Prime can’t rescue it after this many casual viewings/listenings.
They may call these “cat-foxes”, but they just look like regular kitties to me.
Boeing 737-Max fix requires enough grip strength to open pickle jars. Pilots outraged they have to be as strong as the cabin crew.
The Royal Wig
Cachier-de-Honte, Gentleman of the Bedchamber
The Moustache of Lord Bolton
Base-Born Lip Broome that Protects the Realm, Special Advisor to The King
Lord Bidon
Duke of Trans Amia, Designated Heir to the Moorish King, now Deposed
The Dowager Elspeth
Beldam Noble of Massachusetts, Purported Autochthon and Economic Illiterate
The Crier
Graduate of the Columbia School of Journalism
Act CXXIV. Scene I.
Crier
A foul woe comes to our fair Washington
Sarah is out, plump Sarah is leaving
King Donald sends birdsong of condolence
ENTER BIDON and ELSPETH
Lord Bidon
Sarah of Sanders? Gone? Impossible.
The Dowager Elspeth
Do thee doubt thine own ears or do you doubt
Yon stout and simple crier of the news?
Lord Bidon
You do wound me crone, you know I traffick ……….not in fake crier.
The Dowager Elspeth
Then quiet thy tongue and prick up thy ears
For there is opportunity for those
Who despise the king and seek his bald head
To mount on the city gates till it rot
Lord Bidon
Let not treason darken thy withered lips
The king’s supporters are all about us
Listening at every keyhole and crack
They are everywhere, I say and many
The Dowager Elspeth
As are his enemies numerous
A score and five they are, poised to debate ……….and depose the king.
ELSPETH spits on the ground
Lord Bidon
Away crone, we must away, midnight comes
The witching hour is where conspiracies
Such as ours take root to bloom in the morn
The Dowager Elspeth
Let us bury ours in richest night soil
And poison what well of kindness is left
For our white-eyed buffoon King to drink from
EXIT BIDON and ELSPETH
SCENE
Act CXXIV. Scene II.
THE COURT OF KIND DONALD
THE ROYAL CAP and HIS ROYAL WIG sit upon the King’s escritoire
The Royal Cap ……….Pie, beloved Pie,
I never got to plunder thy gentle
Rolling meat hills or get a bill-job from
Thy whore mouth or gaze in thy lazy eye
The Royal Wig
Are thee drunk or hast thou again embraced
Morpheus–The King of Dreams–like a bee ……….to junkie nectar?
Thou hast ever scorned the woman zaftig,
The woman MILF’d, or butter’d of face
And Sarah is all three, engulfed in tights
Like a sausage left in the sun to bloat
Under attentions of a million flies
The Royal Cap
She has served Donald well, faithful against
The faithless, confronting newe media ……….And olde print alike
I desire her body ’cause I admire
Her mind, that organ so thirsty to drink
The loving abuse of our shared master
The Royal Wig
I had thought that no man was your master
The Royal Cap
Twist not my words, my good sir, lest you find
Your gold hairs corn-rowed by the next bright morn
Permed in the hot rays of the sun at noon
And afrotated by inky nightfall
Donald and I are master and servant ……….when it pleases me
Servant and master when it does serve me ……….for him to think it
Ever am I perched on his pate and mind
Rider to his mount, reins ever in hand
The Royal Wig
Hark, Hat! Hither comes thy horse and carriage
And another that rides and is ridden
ENTER KING DONALD and THE MOUSTACHE OF LORD BOLTON
The Moustache of Lord Bolton
We must kill them all, my King, all of them
We must rend and tear, beat back the Moslems
And save the Kingdom of the Useful Jews
Iran must wane, the Oil Straits must flow free
War has always been the health of the state
and I want to get erect once again
King Donald
All the concerns of Mullahs and Tankers
Pale before the departure of my Pie
Who shall speak for me? You? The Hat? The Hair?
I cannot face criers and their fake news
Pie, I scream at night, Pie, I cry by day
Soft Sweet Sarah with her bescarred belly
The Moustache of Lord Bolton
The election is hard upon us, King
None of your wan enemies can withstand
They are lily-livered and pale-bellied
And quail before the slightest sword rattle
Come, my King, I say we should cry havoc
And so let slip the mustaches of war!
The Royal Wig
Begone foul face moss, back to thy chambers
Where dwell victim screams and horrors undimm’d
The Royal Cap
Where chains do clank and hungry fetters gape
Back, silver-grey war ghoul, back to your lair
THE MOUSTACHE exits crying
King Donald
Oh, who will replace my most precious Pie
Where can I find another plum dessert ……….that can lie and smile?
Fourteen year old Tulip lurrvvved her some 
