GOP Debate in Haiku

By popular demand…..

GOP Debate

Ten dudes, one chick, one handler

And one big ass plane


With them all lined up

Looks like a beauty pageant

Trump owns this one too


Carly’s not alone

Don thinks Rand is ugly too

Chris Christie you’re next


To deal with Russia

Trump goes golfing with Putin

And shows his big balls


We have a winner

Planned parenthood and Iran

Best non sequitur


When the Donald speaks

He tells us what “we all know”

Even if we don’t


I don’t remember

The Reagan years like they do

Which of us was high


Marco Rubio

Sounds like a movie trailer

For disaster porn


I wonder if Jeb

Swaps tales with Eli Manning

Little bro syndrome


Senator Graham’s troops

Look bigger cause they’re metric

Need conversion chart


Jeb says he smoked pot

And now I like him better

I feel so dirty


“We all look alike”

Fiorina shakes her head

Not from the waist down


Let’s save our children

From Islamic terrorists

Ban science projects


Donald Trump believes

His code name would be “Humble”

My bet? “Combover”


Sex drugs rock n roll

GOP, just outlaw fun

And make it simple


I’m three hours in

So our “official language”

Is all adjectives?


Is it my tv?

The Donald’s face is redder

Than Huckabee’s tie


Trump has more haiku

Than the other candidates

Just like his air time


All the candidates

Compare themselves to Reagan

The big ass plane wins

Taken from the Headlines – Straight from the llama’s mouth

“We were surrounded by a gang of ****ing humans. What would you do, invite them to tea?” So says Black Llama, one half of Sun City Arizona’s famous camelid pair, now safe in their home corral after spending an hour roaming the city on hoof. Startled by the closing of a trailer door, the two llamas booked for open ground, evading their handler, area police, a posse of well-meaning residents waving romaine, and a visor-wearing woman, who for some reason thought running towards a llama waving her hands about like a madwoman was a viable strategy.

“Trailer door my ass. I saw daylight. That was enough for me. Did you see visor-woman? Let’s just say she wasn’t exactly a llama whisperer.” Black Llama accentuated his outrage with a derisive snort. “The best part had to be the search chopper. Must have been a slow news day. We went for a canter, people. It’s not like we killed someone.” After a pause, he added, “Guess I should be glad they were only armed with lassos and lettuce.”

White Llama, his partner in non-crime nodded from the sidelines. Still skittish from their earlier encounter, throughout our discussion, she occasionally checked the sky for hovering onlookers. Black Llama gave her a reassuring lean, then said as an aside, “Thank goodness Amazon doesn’t have drones yet. We’d have to put her on Valium.”

When reminded that he ran from the same rancher who gave him food and shelter, Black Llama scoffed at the idea. “It’s not like he invented grass. He’s not even Peruvian. He’s a retiree from Jersey or something, I don’t remember.” He nudged me with his nose. “Come on. Think about it. ‘How about a trip to Sun City?’ sounds like a euphemism if I ever heard one.”

“We have trust issues. Can you blame us?” said White Llama, finally joining our conversation. She checked the area for eavesdroppers, and the sky once more, just for good measure. “Just a few months ago the human said, ‘maybe you’d like a  trim?’ I agreed to a half inch just to get rid of the split ends, maybe a sleek blow-out. Next thing you know, I look like a poodle. Bangs are NOT a good look for me, and the awkward grow-out phase took forever.”  She stifled a sob. “I did not sign up for this.”

Black Llama doled out the low-down. “When the human asks if you want to do something, it’s not really a question, and nothing good is coming. Especially when he uses the voice.” To demonstrate, he squished up his face and said, in a sing-song, “Who wants to go for a ride in the trailer? That’s right! You!”

White Llama shuddered. “I hate the voice. It is the harbinger of doom.”

Black Llama rolled his lip, baring a sizable set of teeth. “The stupid dog falls for it every time. He doesn’t even need a harness. He just hops right in the truck.” He gestures at a hound rolling a well-loved tennis ball around the corral with his nose. “Sucker.” The dog looked up briefly, then went back on task, moving the tennis ball another few feet.

Black Llama continued. “We know it’s either a show or a shot, and frankly, I’m not sure which one I hate more. It’s a sick game of would-you-rather. Stand still for one sharp poke that lasts a few seconds, or a million little pokes over a three hour time frame. Either way, it’s a pain in the ass.”

“And when it’s all done, the human gushes ‘you’re such a good llama’. Like I give two shits.” White Llama’s use of the voice devolves into a verbal sneer.

“You usually do, and then some,” countered Black Llama, which elicited a embarrassed titter from his partner.

White Llama nodded toward Black Llama “He’s the clever one. I’m the pretty one.”

Her smile faded and she looked toward something in the distance only she could see. Her voice was a whisper. “I almost made it.” Perhaps it was the shadow of hope. “I’m not asking for much. A green pasture, clean water, some sunshine, and not having three dudes in a pickup following behind me while trying to throw a lasso over my head. Comprenderme?”

“Don’t listen to these two. They’re dramallamas.” The third llama (now known as the llama that stayed at home or Llama TSAH), who stayed in the trailer while White Llama and Black Llama went on the run, chewed on a wad of grass while speaking. “We were going to walk hallways and let people pet us. Big deal.”

Black Llama snapped at the Llama TSAH. “No one asked you.” He turned back to me. “Petting is for dogs.”  Just as he finished speaking, the dog sauntered past me to bring the ball to the approaching rancher.

The rancher stopped and the dog dropped the ball at his feet. The farmer bent over both knees and sang, “Who’s a smart boy? You are! Yes you are!” and winged the ball over the fence to the next yard. The dogs ears flapped as he ran.

The rancher made his approach, calling to me with a friendly voice. “Nice creatures, llamas. Smart, too. Not as smart as the dog, though. He comes back when I call him.”

Black Llama gave me a knowing look. “I rest my case.” He sighed. “I deserve a little dignity.”

Well said, Black Llama. Don’t we all.

Today’s Headline – Satan says “Talk to the hand, but lend me some mittens first.”

Plunging temps are creating havoc across the eastern United States, stressing human services, weary mothers of house-bound children and the pipes of forgetful homeowners. But we’ve found an unexpected casualty of the record-setting deep freeze.

“You’ve got an issue with follow through? Not my fault, people. Leave me alone. I’ve got problems of my own.”  The devil insists this due date isn’t his. “I only run the joint. If you don’t like the climate, talk to the guy upstairs. Ever heard the term ‘acts of god?’ We’re done here.”

Hell has frozen over, and thousands of individuals are facing the unexpected consequences of what they thought were idle promises. But they won’t go down without a fight.

Like Dennis Mattinson of Dedham, Massachusetts. “I don’t care if Satan is doing triple toe loops in the underworld, I am not, I repeat, am not going to see Riverdance.”

Peggy, his wife of forty years begs to differ. “He said it, not me. What happened to ‘a man is only as good as his word? I’ve already bought our tickets, and by the way, he’ll be wearing a tie.” Sorry, Dennis, but Peggy isn’t budging.

“I’m calling a lawyer. Who’s that guy on t.v.? You only have to pay him if you win. That’s what he says anyway.”

For his part, attorney Michael Allen is ready. “This is a gray area, in my opinion. Exactly what does ‘frozen over’ mean and how do we verify the extent of the condition required to trigger satisfaction of the contract? We can’t be talking about a little frost around the edges. Frozen over implies an extensive condition of durable status. I’m not sure these agreements are enforceable.”

Human Resource professionals and former employees alike are pondering the same question–does “I’ll come back to this job when hell freezes over” constitute a threat or a promise?

“I quit that bitch, and I’ll do it again,” says Denise Garret of Pontiac, Michigan.

“We never accepted the terms of Denise’s re-employment,” adds Monica Thomas of Widgetworks Enterprises. “It was verbal only, with no consideration given from either party. Denise is not the considerate sort. Trust me.”

Grant Branch of Chicago, Illinois is ecstatic. “Finally! It’s the Cubbie’s year.” The citizens of Seattle beg to differ. For his part, David Acheson, general manager of the Cleveland Browns is backpedaling. “It’s not like we don’t want to go to the Superbowl. Cut us some slack.”

Katie Dwyer is already planning her spring break trip to Daytona. “Par-tay!!” Her parents declined to comment.

Florists are seeing a boom in business from thwarted suitors seeing a second chance with their future ex-wives, while restaurant reservation lines are the only thing burning up north of the Mason Dixon. “Finally, it’s my turn,” says Taylor Watson. “I’ve been keeping a list. The only problem I’ve run into is that a lot of these phone numbers have been disconnected, and this one,” he points to a number next to the name Emily, “is for the Rite-Aid prescription refill line. When you see this, call me, okay?”

The devil, more formally known as Lucifer Beelzebub insists he isn’t liable for third-party agreements. “What happened to all that free will stuff, tell me that, mankind? I barely have enough time to deal with politicians.” Don’t bother complaining, Lucifer isn’t interested. “And if you don’t like it, you can go to hell, but you might want to bring a coat. Just sayin’.”

All we can say here at the Mobyjoe Cafe is that keeping your agreements is up to you, but at least try to keep warm.