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The rain has stopped on the west coast,
bringing triple digit heat while Texas
floods pass the last high water line.

I hope they mark where the water
reached this time, re-build houses behind

Trump is rumored to have had a bath of
yellow rain in a Russian hotel room formerly
rented out to his sworn enemy, Barack Obama.

Day after day we live out the curse God foretold
to his servant, Samuel.

“You wanted to have kings, so this is what you
get” was the basic gist of the lecture.

God is my king; you are welcome to make
that decision as well.  I started making it in
12-step groups, started telling the truth, which
is what the rest of this poem will be dedicated to,
line by line.

Ask your doctor to be sure, but I think the left
seems more educated than the right.  I used to
say, “Let’s go kill some Iraqis!” then went to
college, changed my tune.

The Christopher Steele dossier on Donald
Trump may save us, but then again—it may
just cause us more drowsiness, upset stomach,
farting, belching and more weird welching on

“Look back, get hit in dee front” is an old
reggae song I like, martial arts defense starting
with Okinawan “gan,” or eyesight.

Be strong.  Be smart, don’t ride your bikes
on a sideWALK, stop scaring ladies, their babies
and me as I walk, thinking about stuff for my
next poem.

“I timed my obstruction of justice for when the
ratings were highest.”

“Yes, right during the Texas flood.  Yes…” sayeth the
curse of Samuel.

Helicopters may be the worst invention of all-
time, cars are close; splitting the atom was no peach,
and then I’d want to mention the CIA.

I wish inanimate objects would do what you want
them to do.  This whole thing takes so much
coordination.  Collusion!!

Education!!!  Even potty training reviewed, morality
and doing the right thing.

Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife’s pee.
Nor her political candidate.  Nor to be a jack
of all trades without learning one well.

Build a corrupt empire, owe lots of money, talk
in hyperbole all you want; Trump’s major
deal may be with prosecutors soon…

“You or your son, Mr. Trump?”

“We were just talking about adoption.”

“And the golden shower?”

“It was an adoption party…”

“And you expect us to believe that?”


“Anything else?”

“Yer fake news!!”

“I’m sorry?”

“Yer fired.”

“Your honor, we would like to enter an insanity plea.”

God bless us all back to God, sanity.

The educated choice!!