In Which A Trial Is Postponed And A Dead Hitchhiking Horse Is Beaten Yet More

Yea, Prostnic Vogon Blago, we yet wait
The redo of your trial. Meanwhile one who
Seeks office, we're sure, thinks that this is great,
His mayoral ambitions safe. "So phew,
Green Putty! Pridsummer," quoth Rahm Grunthos.
Perhaps, though, it is we whose vast relief
Should here be celebrated. 'Twould be gross
Were both of them in court. I'd share the grief
Of those poor Pralites on Rod's jury, forced
To listen to such duets as they'd share.
'Twould harm Rahm Grunthos' chances, though, of course
Were he compelled to go and recite there
Such lines as might defend his Vogon pal.
Shall his intenstine intervene? It shall!

In Which Blagojevich Makes His Next Move

Fitzgerald had it wrong, for second acts
Are quite endemic these days, witness how
Our fav'rite Prostnic Vogon -- these are facts --
Acquitted (mostly), has announced that now
He's going to be at Wizard World to sign
Some autographs and read some poetry
To any whom his minions capture. Fine
And dandy, but a bit odd, seems to me!
O Blago, you're the cruelest captain yet!
I'm sure that Paula Nancy's wet her pants,
And clutches tightly to her crown (I'll bet
The Azgoths know they haven't got a chance).
Oh, freddled gruntbuggy, I hope you'll show
Some mercy to those who still choose to go.
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The Great White Handkerchief Can Come Any Day Now, Thanks

Oolon Colluphid's fav'rite cover girl,
Adorning so his first, most famous book,
Has quit her job of making people hurl --
At least from Juneau's mansion. What it took
To make her stop, I really do not know.
I fear she's after Zaphod's job for her
Grand Krikkit party. Please can't someone throw
Her back into the Slo-Time? Or transfer
This real-life Humma Kavula away
To Frogstar Planet B to meet her fate?
O Sarah Palin, what else can I say
That you've not said much worse? I can't relate.
My fluency ain't what it used to be
In Gibberish, and when you speak, I flee.

In Which I Further Whip At Least One Possibly Ex-Horse

O, Bernie Madoff, Magrathean git,
Do you prove that mankind may yet be taught?
Your ponsi-scheme is dead, and thus your wit
Rewarded amply now that you are caught
And sentenced. Yea, like your forebears of old,
You shall sit undisturbed in a dank hole
Until th'economy revives. Grow mold
At peace there in jail, no chance of parole
For one hundred and fifty years. To build
To-order worlds sucked galaxies quite dry,
A feat not for the just or the unskilled.
Fake dividends don't orbit through the sky
But do as much harm when you make enough.
Enjoy your prison time; you've got the stuff.

In Which A Wiretap Reveals That Roland Burris Was A Vogon All Along!

Today, through wire taps we have unmasked

A fake Dentrassi, who was caught on tape

Maneuvering to save his own sweet -- asked

Repeatedly before, he did escape

The question of his giving quid pro quo

With clever talk -- but now we all may hear

Him whining to the brother of Blago:

His business threatens failure, he has fear

Of going under. Vogon to Vogon,

Does Roland Burris promise to provide

Support for Blago's campaign to stay on

As Prostnic. Before they both denied
That this was how Roland got to D.C.

But this sure sounds like pay to play to me.

In Which I Sass Just How Hoopy Those Froods Out There Really Are

I love the internet's weird holidays:
On May the Fourth (be with you), we just had
Star Wars Day; now our bittersweet, fun craze
Is Towel Day. It makes me rather sad
That Douglas Adams isn't 'round to see
How much we miss him, and gladly display
Our towels just to honor him. Would he
Be pleased to see the Kindle? I think so.
It's extra fun to read his stuff on mine
("Don't Panic" says my cover. Yes I know
It's obvious and silly, but I'm fine
With being both). O Douglas! Let us raise
A Pan-Galactic 'Blaster in his praise!

BONUS SONNET: Poor Roland Burris Just Can't Scrape Off The Blagojeblech

Said Golgafrincham Captain Dick Durbin
To his Dentrassi pal and counterpart,
"Dude, do you know the mess that you are in?
You'd just resign and leave if you were smart."
Said Burris to his partner "Umm, no way.
My only sin was offering to help
Supply frood food for Blago's next buffet."
Said Durbin, "Fine, you dumb Dentrassi whelp,
Go hang with Vogon Blago; I don't care."
(Apologies, I will admit, are due
To Douglas Adams, though I firmly swear
I think he'd laugh at what is happ'ning, too).
And so as I take in this news, I'm torn
Between profound dismay and snarky scorn.

I Will Miss His Soundbites Somewhat Less Than Bush's

Indulge I do at times in schadenfreude,
A vice, I know, but sometimes I can't help
But celebrate when someone so devoid
Of virtues gets the chop. I gave a yelp
Of glee when he today was so impeached
That he can't serve the state of Illinois
As even a dogcatcher. He has leached
From history a portion of the joy
We rightly felt to see Obama's win.
Then he compared himself to MLK
And Ghandi when exposed as not human
But Vogon-born, and proved it just today
By tormenting his state house and senate
And living glupules frart and slipulate.