Ode to Glendale's MAGA NIMBYs, a really bad poem.

The daily morning ritual of perusing the papers with coffee, toast, and a poached egg has sadly waned in recent years, the go-tos no longer a reliable source of journalism. I do rather enjoy the morning rebroadcast of Christiane Amanpour, that's a dame all right.

Alas, much rubbish these days where media and entertainment once were. Fortunately for Glendale we have city council meetings and the rise of the crazies has been rather entertaining indeed, though it takes a few whiskeys. Otherwise they're deplorable.

To play nice, it's restored itself somewhat since the departure of The Najarian Family Tree. Now we mostly have the chronically befuddled seat filler and a smattering of my new favorite soap opera, The Shrill and the Restless.

The loveliness of our local MAGA NIMBYs is their weekly umbrage, all said and done, at their own behaviors and tactics. It's a safe bet to say that is where The Shrill and the Restless takes place, in the constant state of denial. (Rimshot? Please!)

One dedicated chap has taken to reciting his public comments in the form of poetry, though certainly the finest Chat GPT has to offer.

You can watch his most recent offering HERE. How is this not Glendale Poet Laureate material?

Today, darlings, is August 18, 2026, National Bad Poetry Day. Who knew! We can only hope our council bard does, he fits right in to the purpose: make a poem as terrible as possible

We think we'll win that contest! We can't think of a better way to honor our MAGA NIMBYs dedicated efforts than with a really, really bad poem. Done without Chat GPT!

MAGA NIMBY Serenade, A Poem. 

Grant me a moment, I pray

to speak of our Tuesday night cray.

in Valley Valley, California

the Glens and Dales that adorn ‘ya.

This circus in increments of three

or the late night 5 looney; 

This parade of the crazed

aghast and amazed

week after week there to pee

and spew and huff 

and stew and puff

It’s never enough

Hyperbole!

“How dare you!”

“You lie!”

“I deserve!”

“You deny!”

“The nerve!”

they cry, 

egos awry.

So tragic, these drones.

Their whines and their moans,

their confusions,

delusions,

conclusions

SHUT UP.

They never will.

TO DEATH they’ll shrill,

their chosen hill

pathetically.

In retrospect, there may have been a few more items than whiskey contributing to this one. It's perfect!