Average taxes on wireless bills in California reach a record 18%

My wireless is taxed not once, not twice, but sev'ral times --

the city, county, state, and Feds are all behind these crimes.

I don't know where the money goes -- some government black hole?

If they tax much more this way I'll soon be on the dole!

A government needs money like an addict needs a fix,

and they are not above the sneakiest of shady tricks.

So why not tax the air we breathe, or sunlight when it shines?

And if we use too much of it, there's sure to be some fines!

Should Treasury Ditch the Penny? It’s Under Review

Honest Abe is under fire at the U.S. Mint;

his face upon the penny's too expensive to imprint.

There won't be any penny pinchers if there ain't no pennies.

(And I won't have anything to tip with down at Denny's.) 

Penny ante propositions will disappear like smoke.

And a penny for your thoughts is nothing but a joke.

No pennies to be pretty and none saved that can be earned;

this can't leave numismatists completely unconcerned . . .

Perhaps a plastic penny is the way we should proceed.

Or else let's go completely green and make them from duckweed.

Auf Wiedersehen, dear Abraham; of all the change that's loose 

you will not be numbered -- they have gone and cooked your goose! 

A Country with No Taxes and No Bureaucrats

A country that does not exist, except in people's mind,

is the kind of country to which I could be aligned.

No taxes and no bureaucrats; now wouldn't that be ducky.

Just wine-tasting and gourmet meals -- those citizens sure are lucky!

I wish I had a passport to this little Ruritania,

to escape all politics and other foolish mania.

But with my luck if make-believe is where I could retire,

I'd wind up in Fredonia with Groucho as the Squire.

I'd have to deal with Harpo and Trentino's silly plots,

which tie up the economy into confusing knots.

I guess the grass ain't greener across any other border;

with Uncle Sam and Donald Trump I still get nuts to order . . .  

John Deere to Take Measure of Farm Slump. (from the Wall Street Journal)

The global commodity slump

is putting John Deere on its rump.

Combines and tractors

among other factors

are useless as old Donald Trump. 

Editor's Note: This limerick appeared in the comments section of the Wall Street Journal, and you'd think it was thin enough stuff not to elicit any response. But it did. A certain Harry Brown felt impelled to reply thus:  "Scary thing is you are permitted to vote.. Deere produces big HP tractors due to the fact that feeding folks is big business.. Farmers killed cattle and curtailed breeding 3 yrs ago and now beef prices are off the chart.. many are correct that the govt ethanol IV is about to end.. however, if farmers are smart they will curtail ALL food production.. They are flush with cash and can sustain themselves with ease... They need to make the world a little hungry... good for them..."

Donald Trump and the Devil

In the nether regions where the devil holds his sway

an imp reported to him on the World from day to day.

"Your Imperial Infernalness" the imp said with good cheer,

"a champion for all your dreams is likely to appear!"

"We have reports that Donald Trump is eager to destroy

the rights of men to worship or their conscience to employ!"

Mr. Scratch was heartened by these words, and so he bent

his cloven steps up to the World, more mischief to invent.

He came upon the Donald making speeches full of hate,

and sat back so that in this bile he could luxuriate.

"Register the Moslems, make them take out papers that

take away their liberties forever!" Donald spat.

"And keep an eye on Buddhists and the Hindus, gleichzeitig;

if they act suspicious we will throw them in the brig!" 

Satisfied that he had found a protege at last,

the daddy of all lies decided he must act real fast.

"Sign this little contract" he commanded Donald Trump,

"and I will turn each of your foes into a harmless chump!"

"The riches of the World are mine to give to you, my boy;

and you will have the power all the towel-heads to destroy!"

But Donald, who had written on the Art of Dealing Sly,

was not about to be stampeded by this horny guy:

"I also want to have the sole concession down in Hell

bottled water and ice cream to peddle and to sell."

"And the right to build casinos and an office park,

and be your second-in-command down in there in the dark."

The devil was astounded at this resolute demand,

and felt like he had ventured into treacherous quicksand.

Deciding that retreat was much the  better plan instead,

he flew back down to Hell with broken heart and battered head.

And Donald, he continued his malarkey to advance --

conducting his campaign just by the seat of his silk pants.

"Cubans Say ‘Nyet’ to Russian, Hoping to Learn English" http://www.wsj.com/articles/cubans-say-nyet-to-russian-hoping-to-learn-english-1448044268

O Cubans, you're pursuing nothing but a fairy tale
if you think that English will much help to you avail.
If you thought that Russian was a waste of time, here's news --
English is a puzzle, an enigma, and a ruse!
A blend of Norse and Anglo-Saxon, Greek and Latin, too;
it's spelling is archaic and its grammar really fou! 
It borrows words from ev'ry tongue, it doesn't give a hoot
that homonyms are plentiful -- like root and also route!
Should you use the present tense, or should you use the past?
The present perfect isn't now . . . you see why I'm aghast? 
Learn some Esperanto or some Swedish or Malay;
use English, like the rest of us, and you will moan "Oy vay!"

Grandpa Letter 9

Saturday, November 21, 2015                                    12:14 p.m.

Provo Utah 

My Dear Katrina;

Let us continue with the saga of:

Larry the Lazy Leaf.

And then the zombies attacked.

They came in through the windows and down the chimney and busted the door out and even wriggled through the drain pipe.

They ate up poor little Maisy and her mother. One of the zombies then picked up the leaf album and looked directly at Larry.

Larry shook like a cheap metal tea kettle on the boil.

“Hey boss” called the zombie, whose name was Blug-Blug, “do we eat leaves?”

“No we don’t, dimbulb!” answered the boss zombie grumpily, whose name was Grug-Grug.

“Well, can I keep this here thingamabob to look at?” asked Blug-Blug.

Grug-Grug shrugged his shoulders; “Sure, why not?”

The zombies slunk back to their hideout, which was in an old abandoned stationary store. (You may think that all stores are stationary, and you’d be right – but some stores are more stationary than others.)

This was an ideal place to lurk, because whenever they felt a might peckish they just put out a sign that read “Half Off on Toner!”  and unsuspecting office managers would wander in and be gobbled up before you can say “Ole Stuhlsted” (who happens to be one of your Norwegian ancestors, and has nothing to do with this story, but I thought a little family history would be a good thing – we can’t always be frivolous, you know!)

And nobody ever missed the poor office managers, because office managers are never missed by anyone. So I advise you to set your sites much higher than becoming an office manager. You might want to consider becoming a steeplejack or a four-flusher.

Where was I?  Oh yes! Blug-Blug grew rather fond of Larry, and kept his page next to the pile of rose petals he slept on (for zombies are very fussy sleepers), so he could look at it all night long. All zombies suffer from terrible insomnia. You would too if your eyelids had fallen off.

One day the king of the zombies, whose name was Frug-Mug-Nug-Pug-Scrug-Prug-von Struedleberg – but everyone called him ‘Fred’ for short –declared they were going to start eating trees instead of people, because his doctor said he had to cut out all human fat – and what was good for King Fred was good for his people! Besides, trees were much easier to catch because they didn’t run away.

But Blug-Blug was sad when he heard this, because he thought it meant he might eat the tree from which his beloved Larry leaf had come from.

 So Blug-Blug decided to run away from the zombies.

TO BE CONTINUED.