Winnie the Coup

Happy 138th birthday to A.A. Milne!

CAPTION

POOH: The election was stolen from us, by which I mean that they counted all of the votes, when if they had only counted some of them, we would have one, and oh bother, that didn’t come out the way I intended, by which I mean that it is what I meant but not what I wanted you to hear, but if we all throw a big enough tantrum, then maybe they might just let us win?

OWL’S SIGN: I can spel 2sday!

Ozymandias calls the Poetry Crisis Line as William Carlos Williams eats a tire.

WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS (counselor): Poetry Crisis Line, what is your emergency?
OZYMANDIAS (caller): Look on my works, ye mighty , and DESPAIR!
WILLIAMS: I have eaten de spare that was in the icebox.

Any resemblance between Ozymandias and actual arrogant despots approaching irrelevancy is purely intentional.

The weird are my people—but #NotAllWeirdos

 

Artist’s note:

A professional artist I met while in high school once told me never to apologize for my own work. But I sometimes make an exception when something might be misconstrued. So I need to clarify that my intent here is not to ridicule anyone for weirdness. Weird is wonderful. Weird makes the world a more beautiful and wonderful place. But seeing my kind of weird used in service of insurrection and attempting to overturn a legitimate US election, I felt violated, and I drew this. Weird is wonderful, but treason is treason.

Transcript for the visually impaired

PSEUDO-SHAMAN:
Buffalo gals, won’t you
come out tonight,
come out tonight,
come out tonight?
Buffalo gals, won’t you
come out tonight
and clash like a right-wing baboon?

SIGN:
Q sent me
[picture of Q*bert]

DINGBAT:
I’m Donald J. Trump and I approve of these methods.

If all poems were limericks: “Cat’s Canticle” by David Sklar

If all poems were limericks: “Cat’s Canticle” by David Sklar

If you speak I won’t answer at all;
don’t expect me to come when you call.
It’s a sort of a game—
see, I’ve hidden my name
someplace secret, and silent, and small.

 

I may eventually post something relevant to yesterday’s events. But today is my birthday, so I am featuring myself.

Read the original here.

Clement Clarke Moore calls the Poetry Crisis Line on the Night Before Christmas

ROSIE (counselor): Poetry Crisis Line, what is your emergency?
CLEMENT CLARKE MOORE: ‘Twas the night before Christmas
ROSIE: ‘Tis!
MOORE: When—
ROSIE: Right now!
MOORE: All through the house
ROSIE: All through the Western Hemisphere!

From “A Visit from St. Nicholas,” by Clement Clarke Moore

Frost in Snow

COUNSELOR (unidentifiable in snowstorm): Poetry Crisis Line, what is your emergency?
ROBERT FROST (presumably–also unidentifiable): Whose woods these are I think I know.
COUNSELOR: How can you tell?
FROST: His house is in the village, though.
COUNSELOR: Can you get your bearings?
FROST: He will not see me stopping here
COUNSELOR: I don’t think anyone will.
FROST: To watch his woods fill up with snow.
COUNSELOR: Uh…how?