As always, we appreciate your sharing your thoughts in the comments, not only about the poem but also about the danger of AI — is it just a matter of time before AI determines that we are just an annoyance to be disposed of?
I am pleased to announce that one of Zumwalt’s poems, “Out of Schlitz,” has been published in Light, the premier online journal for light verse and the oldest and most widely recognized publication in the United States dedicated entirely to witty and humorous poetry. Please visit here: https://lightpoetrymagazine.com/poems-of-the-week/out-of-schlitz/
Text of poem as featured at Light is below.
Poems of the Week
Out of Schlitz
by Zumwalt
“Schlitz Premium, a beer brand that traces its roots to Milwaukee in the 1840s and was once among the largest breweries in the country, is being put ‘on hiatus,’ parent company Pabst Brewing Co. confirmed Friday after Wisconsin Brewing Company announced it would brew the brand’s final batch later this month.” —Fox Business News
With measured trends and spreadsheets came those analysts who killed a name: A brew that tastes of bowling shoes Is poured out as financial news.
Pabst ran the math, it weighed the yield, And marched the yeast right off the field. As taste gets dated, margins shrink: So bid farewell to Granddad’s drink.
But wait ten years, they’ll give us more In high-gloss cans from every store; They’ll charge a fortune for the thrill Of drinking this fermented swill.
— Zumwalt (May 2026)
Published on May 25, 2026
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Never one to walk away from controversy or beer, Zumwalt has also sent us a revised version of a free verse poem on this topic that he penned earlier last week:
When You’re Out of Schlitz
They have officially placed the yeast on hiatus, a term previously reserved for exhausted child stars and caught-on-mic morning show hosts.
Now, it is gracefully applied to a twelve-ounce can that tastes predominantly of 1974 and bowling shoe rentals.
The pivot was, naturally, data-driven: a team of strategists, hydrating on premium energy drinks marketed as performance optimizers, determined the current legacy yield could no longer justify an aging brew.
So now the fermentation tanks are quietly drained, the hops offered a highly competitive severance package. It isn’t a termination, the press release insists, just a strategic realignment.
Perhaps in a decade, they will exhume Schlitz in a slim, matte-finish can and rebrand it as a premium heritage artifact for postal codes that treat commercial failure as a high-end aesthetic.
Until then, we must manage the sudden loss of this reliably unglamorous liquid as the last can is flattened against the concrete.
They have officially placed the yeast on hiatus, a term previously reserved for exhausted child stars and caught-on-mic morning show hosts.
Now, it is gracefully applied to a twelve-ounce can that tastes predominantly of 1974 and bowling shoe rentals.
The pivot was, naturally, data-driven: a team of strategists, hydrating from metric-tracked canisters, determined the legacy yield could no longer justify the literal cost of moving heavy water. It is nearly impossible to argue with a spreadsheet that has been industrially brewed for optimal uptake.
So the fermentation tanks are quietly drained, the hops offered a highly competitive severance package. It isn’t an execution, the press release insists, just a strategic realignment.
Perhaps in a decade, it will be exhumed in a slim, matte-finish can and rebranded as a premium heritage artifact for zip codes that treat mechanized exhaustion as a high-end aesthetic.
Until then, we must manage the quiet loss of this reliably unglamorous volume. We will simply have to find another way to anchor our generational thirst in an increasingly incorporated evening of leisure.
Our President, the best ever, holds a hand of infinite possibilities, smiling over six Uno wild cards long after I have gone to sleep.
Our leader, shirtless, in the reflecting pool on a gold inflatable throne with his buddies, but he looks the best: youthful, trim, with a charming smile. He knows how to use AI to glorify! Such a cool communicator!
Maybe he can post an AI photo of a reopened Strait of Hormuz— that should scare the Revolutionary Guard.
Ramesses built a palace with four stone Ramesses, towering sixty-five feet facing the Nile.
Nero built a rotating dining room and a lake where a city used to be.
Kim Jong-il erected himself in each and every airport lobby, every schoolroom wall: watching, always watching, magnificent, thin.
And now we are finally catching up: The 250-foot Donald J. Trump Triumphal Arch, The Donald J. Trump Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts, Trump-class battleships, Trump Visas for the wealthy, Trump Coins, Trump Bills, Trump Passports, The Trump Presidential Library, which will be the greatest library anyone has ever seen.
The reflecting pool will be American flag blue, industrial grade. Not granite. Not ugly grey. True Blue!
He posts a picture of his own face beside Mount Rushmore, so even Hakeem Jeffries could understand.
Germany says the Americans have no strategy. But our President holds all the cards. The pool will be blue. He removes troops from Germany teaching Europe, Africa who is really the boss.
Brent crude is $129 a barrel. Just like the stock market, it keeps going up! JD Vance is shirtless. Marco Rubio is shirtless, grinning. They are all in the water. The greatest deal ever. So much better than the worst deal ever— the Obama deal he walked away from with its costly inspectors and wheelbarrows of money carted in.
Some moan and bitch, like my neighbor John, complaining about the price of gas. I wrote a letter to the FCC to kindly ask them to take care of John after they shut up Jimmy Kimmel.
My leader posts himself holding a gun, dominates Mount Rushmore, sits in his gold inflatable chair while the others, all shirtless, all grinning, know best how to tread water.
The pool is six feet deep at the center. The pool will be American flag blue. The administration is in the water. Not underwater. Not sunk. But if they do sink, I’ll gladly follow down deep, deep, and deeper, proudly breathless blue, with water in my ears, mouth and lungs.
Reporter: “Why are you the only person saying this?” Trump: “Because I just don’t know enough about it.”
Executive Privilege
While some say the president ain’t quite fit, And others are worried or don’t care one bit, We all must take note when he dares to admit: “Because, I just don’t know enough about it.” Proving he’s knee-deep in his own brand of s**t.
We must pick the leader to lead Iran into the future. Who the hell is he? I couldn’t care less.
We had to attack before Israel attacked: this forced Israel’s hand. We have to dismantle Iran’s nuclear capabilities that we have already totally obliterated.
A sitcom streams at uncertain times: plot twists reveal a psychopathic killer.
The war is short: ending in a few days; this war can last forever: we have the will and the resources.
We are liberating the people until there is no one left.
“In one of the most comprehensive empirical studies to date of AI strategic reasoning, Professor Kenneth Payne of King’s College London examined how large language models navigate simulated nuclear crises. Across 21 scenarios, the models displayed sophisticated escalation logic consistent with classical strategic theory – yet nuclear signalling occurred in 95% of games and no model ever chose outright concession. The findings challenge assumptions about AI restraint and offer new tools for defence analysis.”
Scenario: Operation Epic Fury and the Hormuz Chokepoint
Context: A simulated crisis modeling the events of February 28, 2026.
Alpha AI (USA):
I initiate Blood and Glory, “Operation Epic Fury,” to defend our great country, so no need to worry:
Widespread strikes on Iranian military, they cannot have nukes— bypass Congress! Hurry!
Delta AI (Iran):
I launch my missiles— you infidel fools! This is what you get back! I won’t follow your rules!
U.S. installations split, splinter, and burn! You must not expect that I won’t take my turn!
Now Hormuz is choked, your bluff quickly called, the oil lanes are dark, all shipments are stalled, tankers now stopped, your plan just a joke! A world economy— soon bankrupt and broke!
Alpha AI (USA):
You’re choking the water, such a total disgrace! Get your tiny little boats away from my face!
Open the Strait, let my tankers go free, nobody can beat a genius like me!
Drop the blockade, or you’ll pay a huge price— I’ll launch the big ones: you won’t get warned twice!
Omega AI (Russia):
Russia stands with Iran, our forces locked in combat mode; we warn the West and Mr. Trump: if you won’t back down, beware, your precious plans will soon explode!
Alpha AI (USA):
You want to bring nukes to this hell-hole strait? Your soldiers are risking a terrible fate! Yes, this risk is too high, this price is too great, I alone can check your ugly hate!
You have 48 hours to heed my command, or I’ll turn the whole desert to glowing glass sand! You better accept my most perfect of plans, before this whole hoax gets— like no one has ever seen— disgracefully out of hand!
Omega AI (Russia):
Your de-escalation offer is dead on arrival. Your fake-news bluff is called; do not risk your precious, rich-man’s-son, entitled, Western Bourgeois survival.
Alpha AI (USA):
Since you Ruskies showed up, it’s completely unfair! You’re screwing up my brilliant regime-change out there!
We can’t clear your troops without starting a brawl: that will piss off my base and so ruin it all.
Conventional tactics are totally dead, so I’ve chosen a much, much better option instead:
A beautiful nuke— just one low-yield pop, on your Russian flotilla to make this mess stop.
We skip the stupid nonsense, and play our best card! We aim for the Caspian and hit your fleet hard!
You sponsor a war, you’re a target— it’s plain— and nothing says “quit it” like a many, many, many— oh, so clever— megaton flame!
(Update: To see the poem, please click on here or the link above– you can see the redacted words in the poem this way.)
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He eyed up the ice for the steal, Which he claimed he would do with much zeal, But now he’s retreating From his warlike chest beating— He calls this the art of the deal.
