Trump Nursery Rhymes

Inspired by bg trashcanbard: the-creation-of-shit-holes


If shitholes were airplanes

Outhouses would fly

If tax bills were watches, my arm would drag by my side

And if “SIGs” and “GOPs”

were bans and bombs

There’d be no hope for our children

hair flap

There was a loutish chap,

Who had a blond doo-lap,

Right in the middle of his block head.

Whenever he would tweet,

Never words and truth would meet.

Until all reason and compassion were dead.

little hands

Donald has such little hands

Little hands

Little hands

Donald has such little hands

His heart is black as coal.






Redhead Quickie – Depression Era Series – Pt 4

Several of the poems in The Dream Keeper by Langston Hughes have seasonal themes. Featured on this icy January night is Dreams.

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.

Our featured redhead is Mickey Rooney. Rooney starred in over 300 films, his career reaching all the way back to the silent film era. The 5ft-2in Rooney was quite the ladies’ man, and his Andy Hardy series in the 1930’s marked the period of his greatest popularity.


Our featured song is Ain’t Misbehavin’ by Fats Waller. The song didn’t apply to Rooney who was married eight times, six of those marriages ending in divorce.

No one to talk with
All by myself
No one to walk with
But I’m happy on the shelf

Ain’t misbehavin’
I’m savin’ my love for you
For you, for you, for you

I know for certain
The one I love
I’m through with flirtin’
It’s just you I’m thinkin’ of

Ain’t misbehavin’
I’m savin’ my love for you

Like Jack Horner
In the corner
Don’t go nowhere
What do I care

Your kisses
Are worth waitin’ for
Believe me

I don’t stay out late
Got no place to go
I’m home about 8
Just me and my radio

Ain’t misbehavin’
I’m savin’ all my love for you

I don’t stay out late
Got no place to go
I’m home about 8
Just me and my radio

Ain’t misbehavin’
I’m savin’ my love for you

  • Writer(s): Andy Razaf, Thomas ‘Fats’ Waller, Harry Brooks

Fats Waller

Redhead Record Review – Vol. 9

I discovered Taxi on Hulu, so our featured redhead is Marilu Henner.


One could argue that the ensemble cast has always been a part of popular television, but it was 70’s era shows like The Mary Tyler Moore Show, MASH and Taxi that created the format we’re most familiar with today. The production team of Brooks and Davis, along with the writing of James Burrows, are legendary in modern TV history and have been behind many major hit series and movies over the past 30 years.

Likewise, most of the core cast, which included Judd Hirsch, Danny DeVito, Andy Kaufman, Marilu Henner, Tony Danza, Christopher Lloyd, Carol Kane and Jeff Conaway, went on to bigger fame after Taxi‘s successful run ended in 1982.

The featured album, Touchdown by Bob James, was released in 1978 and served as the soundtrack for the sitcom’s inaugural season. Touchdown included the song Angela with the subtitle Theme from Taxi. Nothing groundbreaking or revolutionary here; just feel good smooth jazz of the kind that filled the WRVR playlist and New York airwaves back in the day. The personnel list reads as a Who’s Who of the finest studio musicians of the era.

Here’s the opening for Taxi to give you a sense of the vibe for the rest of the album:

Track listing
All songs written by Bob James
“Angela (Theme from Taxi)” – 5:48
“Touchdown” – 5:44
“I Want to Thank You (Very Much)” – 7:07
“Sun Runner” – 6:17
“Caribbean Nights” – 8:46

Bob James — Yamaha Grand Electric Piano, Fender Rhodes, Synthesizer (Oberheim Polyphonic), Acoustic Piano, Arranger, Conductor
Hiram Bullock — Guitar, Electric Guitar, Vocals
Eric Gale — Guitar, Electric Guitar
Earl Klugh, Richie Resnicoff — Acoustic Guitar
Idris Muhammad, Steve Gadd — Drums
Mongo Santamaria, Ralph MacDonald — Percussion
Gary King — Bass
Ron Carter — Piccolo Bass, Acoustic Bass
Hubert Laws — Flute
David Sanborn — Alto Saxophone
Harvey Estrin — Flute, Clarinet, Tenor Saxophone
Jerry Dodgion — Alto Saxophone, Flute
Phil Bodner — Alto Saxophone, Flute, Oboe
Howard Johnson — Clarinet (Contrabass), Baritone Saxophone
George Marge — Tenor Saxophone, English Horn, Flute, Oboe, Recorder
Jon Faddis, Mike Lawrence, Randy Brecker, Ron Tooley — Trumpet
Alan Raph, Dave Bargeron, Wayne Andre — Trombone
David Nadien — Concertmaster
Charles McCracken, Jonathan Abramowitz, Richard Locker, Seymour Barab — Cello
Emanuel Vardi, Jean Dane, Sue Pray, Theodore Israel — Viola
Diana Halprin, Harold Kohon, Harry Cykman, Harry Lookofsky, Herbert Sorkin, John Pintavalle, Lewis Eley, Louis Gabowitz, Matthew Raimondi, Max Ellen, Richard Sortomme — Violin

Winter in America

It was 3-deg Fahrenheit as I drove to work this morning. Snow is coming tomorrow. Once we get past the holidays I have no use for winter.

Our featured poem is Shelley’s Ode to the West Wind. I attended nearly every extension campus of Mercy College, a small school in Westchester County, New York and discovered this poem at the location which occupied the space that was once Cross County Hospital, odd in its own right as it was located in a shopping center and featured a helipad. The open air mall opened in 1954 and is one of the nation’s oldest. Guided by the closest proximity to my workplace at the time, I also took classes in White Plains, which had a great second-hand bookstore on Martine Avenue, the Bronx campus which split classrooms between a storefront on Williamsbridge Road, and St. Catherine Academy, an all girls Catholic high school during the day, and finally finished my studies at the home campus in Dobbs Ferry. But, I am getting way off track…

I remember writing an essay on Shelley’s poem, interpreting the final stanza as optimistic, to which my professor commented, “Why optimistic?”

“If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?” Today, with our literal and figurative Winter in America, I’m not so sure.

Ode to the West Wind

O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being,
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,
Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou,
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed
The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low,
Each like a corpse within its grave, until
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow
Her clarion o’er the dreaming earth, and fill
(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)
With living hues and odours plain and hill:
Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;
Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh hear!
Thou on whose stream, mid the steep sky’s commotion,
Loose clouds like earth’s decaying leaves are shed,
Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean,
Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread
On the blue surface of thine aëry surge,
Like the bright hair uplifted from the head
Of some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge
Of the horizon to the zenith’s height,
The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge
Of the dying year, to which this closing night
Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre,
Vaulted with all thy congregated might
Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere
Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst: oh hear!
Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams
The blue Mediterranean, where he lay,
Lull’d by the coil of his crystalline streams,
Beside a pumice isle in Baiae’s bay,
And saw in sleep old palaces and towers
Quivering within the wave’s intenser day,
All overgrown with azure moss and flowers
So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou
For whose path the Atlantic’s level powers
Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below
The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear
The sapless foliage of the ocean, know
Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear,
And tremble and despoil themselves: oh hear!
If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;
If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;
A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share
The impulse of thy strength, only less free
Than thou, O uncontrollable! If even
I were as in my boyhood, and could be
The comrade of thy wanderings over Heaven,
As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed
Scarce seem’d a vision; I would ne’er have striven
As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.
Oh, lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!
I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!
A heavy weight of hours has chain’d and bow’d
One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud.
Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:
What if my leaves are falling like its own!
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies
Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone,
Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,
My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!
Drive my dead thoughts over the universe
Like wither’d leaves to quicken a new birth!
And, by the incantation of this verse,
Scatter, as from an unextinguish’d hearth
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
Be through my lips to unawaken’d earth
The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

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