Papa Possum's New World Nursery Rhymes

Ten Years Gone: for The Fallen and for America.

2011-09-11T00:00:00.002-04:00

Ten Years Gone

for The Fallen and for America.

Some words for those who still recall
that sad September dawn
and mourn for all that we have lost,
today now ten years gone,

those who recall we held Our Flag,

and held each other's hand,
and wept, and steeled our resolve
to defend this Our Land.

We closed our ranks, we said our prayers,

we gently bowed each head,

and tried our best to honor our
Loved and Heroic Dead.

Ten Years of yesterdays have passed,
those memories don't fade,

but I no longer recognize

this country that we've made.

Some long see opportunity
in bleeding open scar,
crisis co-opting demagogues,

now look at where we are.

We're told the pictures of that day
are best hidden from view.
We're told that we are not to judge:
our faith is violent too.

We're told the attack was our fault.

We're told to "coexist".
We're told Islam now is our friend,
our neighbors terrorist.

We're told we must submit to search

to be allowed to fly.

We're told Our Constitution's our
"A Catcher In The Rye".

We're told one leader's war's a crime
for which he must be tried,

while the next wages the same war

and yet he's justified.

We're told Ground Zero's finally built
near Trophy Mosque acclaimed.
We're told Site 93 is not

a crescent Mecca aimed.

We're told Islam does not preach a
Destiny Manifest.
We're told theologies have rights
though we fought Shinto-blessed.

We're told Europe has riot "youth",

who share no common coat.
We're told P.C. is really not
a noose around our throat.

We're told our markets are robust

despite recession twice,

then told the fix is for us all
to further sacrifice. . .

Utopia requires bones:
no one will ever see

our rich old foolish Marxist King's

"Open Society".

His money speaks, our leaders bow
before his "Open" clout.
Surrendering behind our backs

our leaders sold us out.

They posture and betray our trust,
they fight for our defeat,
they played this game with Viet Nam,
now their game's near complete.

And so our enemy's within

yet some will not pay heed.
You doubt they hate America?
What more proof do you need?

I'll tell you what I learned that day

despite who'll whine or wince:

All I need know about Islam. . .
and about Marxists since.

So for the silent, ashen, shocked,
still reeling from the blow,

the Heroes, Towers, Country lost,

today ten years ago,

these words for all that we have lost
since that September dawn:
I've not forgot, nor will forget,

today now ten years gone.

Rice: A Vote of "No Confidence."

2011-08-12T20:48:00.008-04:00

Rice

A Vote of "No Confidence."

Each day I watch our leaders lie,
and lie with no remorse,
and drag our country further down
The Cloward-Piven course.

They promise a Utopia

once we share sacrifice.
I can't believe a word they say,
so me, I'm storing rice.

Canned goods are fine, and pasta too,

while some like M.R.E.,

but storage space and shelf life make
rice make most sense to me.
It fits in bins of any size,
can stack to ceiling heights,

and complements my outlaw stash

of incandescent lights.

Friends first thought it extreme now each
reluctantly agrees,
these Marxists aim to kill the goose

that feeds our families.

They spend and print and print and spend
and Keynes' nonsense quote,
so with each bag I buy, I cast
a "No Confidence" vote.

Historia fills page on page

with each game that they play.
Though few dare call it Treason, we
all think it anyway.
Loud they plump their Utopia,

demand more sacrifice,

and demonize who dare dissent,
and me, I'm storing rice.

Happy Birthday, O Dear Leader, Year Three: STILL Not Kneeling, It's Bamster Birthday Time!

2011-08-04T00:00:00.004-04:00

Happy Birthday, O Dear Leader, Year Three

STILL Not Kneeling,
It's Bamster Birthday Time!

Put on your Red Party beret,
throw your fist in the air:
it's Clubhouse Pennsylvania Ave's
huge rally of the year!

Compose Our Dead Leader your card

in slavish verse and rhyme,
alert the fawning, Marxist Press:
it's Bamster Birthday Time!

Come laugh with every dancing clown

from his Czar Cabinet,

there's donkey rides for one and all:
authentic Soviet.
Why scavenger hunt for a job,
gorge on taxpayer dime,

come kick the can of Mean Old Bush:

it's Bamster Birthday Time!

Join Reverend Wright as he leads cheers
about America,
while William Ayers lights fireworks

and pyrotechnica,

try Michelle's "Don't let them eat cake
unless partner in crime",
Our Dread King's playing "Soros Sez...":
it's Bamster Birthday Time!

But, of course if you're one of those

not kneeling, stubborn few,
those loons who love America,
this party's not for you.
It's for our chosen Left Elite

not you who toil in grime,

so shut your face and foot the bill:
it's Bamster Birthday Time!

An Accounting

2011-05-19T22:44:00.000-04:00

An Accounting

“Who are you?” you asked.
“Egoist? Eudaimonist?
Stoic of Grand Style?”

If I'm a very lucky man
I'll reach a ripe old age
'ere I do my accounting last
and sum up every page:

all good I've willed, all ill I've illed

tugging war on the scales,
determining the mood in which
I'll set my Charon Sails.

Last moments come to one and all,

prepared for it or no;

Fate always deems the middle scene
best place to close the show.

Thus tragically end all our lives,
so much unsaid, undone;

great questions not answered or asked;

great journeys unbegun.

So accountings from time to time
a humble man will make,
knowing soon comes the final hour

and final breath to take.

In such accounts truth can be found
by those who seek it so:
to place more good upon the scales
then oneself one must know.

As such, I must ask who I am

with each accounting's mark
and, as I answer, ascertain
the import of my arc.

And since I am a lucky man,

I find this same concern

drove wiser men than me to write
so men like me could learn,

could read, could think, and then decide
which methods echo true

inside that place one calls The Self,

and so a path pursue.

And so I've read what I could find
and tried to make some sense
of ancient, current, of sublime,

of foolish, wise, of dense.

While more there is still left to read,
to understand and weigh,
of all I've read, of all I've thought,
here's what I am today.

I spurn Progressive petulance

and finger-pointing twist:
Bad Karma comes from shaking of
Mad Marx's angry fist.

The Liberals of Classic kind

are more my cup of tea.

Locke, Hayek, Rand, is where I stand;
Freedom rings well with me.

Deontology leaves me cold.
With Duty as baton,

Kant's grand list of Imperatives

makes man automaton.

Utility falls short as well.
Joy through Adding Machine,
despite all of Mill's Calculus,

End just won't pardon Mean.

Epictetus, Epicurus?
I like The Stoic best:
care of the things you can control,
pay no mind to the rest.

And while Fate has its final word

I'm still allowed some say;
Compatibilist Nature gives
man chance to disobey.

Thus Emerson and Nietzsche urged

do so in Style Grand,

from Emerson: God manifest,
from Nietzsche: Will to stand.

With Nietzsche's Dionysus and
Emerson's “Thyself trust.”,

I find myself as Silenus,

gold Self inside clay bust.

Imperfect, flawed, yet meaning well,
ideal self as guide,
I chart a path to tip my scales

onto the better side.

So to Aristotle I nod,
The Ethics of Daimon,
what works in a life of extremes,
a humble faith, my own.

In all I work, in all I think,

in all I rest and play,
I try to stay true to myself
and out of others' way.

And so I finish this account,

course set to fickle sea,

'til next time Fate says “Sit you down.”,
my humble hero, me.

The Bones of Bolívar: Toma!

2011-03-20T14:50:00.000-04:00

The Bones of Bolívar

Toma!¹

How deluded dares a despot?
How desperate and bizarre?
Sit back and hear the sad tale of
The Bones of Bolívar.

A man named Simón once there was,

General in Freedom's War,
e'er marked down by Historia
as El Libertador².

For Sovereign Rights, Natural Law,

and Private Property

he rallied forces against Spain,
these Things to guarantee.

Like Heroes in The North, he fought
and soon, both near and far,

The Southern Continent was freed

by Simón Bolívar.

But as time passed he saw his dream
misused, misunderstood
and feared he only "plowed the tide"³

for future thug and hood.

For while the North had Founders rife,
Simón and South had few
and some of those thought Republic
a foolish thing to do.

So Simón made his sad mistake

which haunts him to this day:
he had himself declared supreme
to keep those wolves at bay.

While intentions may have been pure

and legacy immense,

he gave to villains image false
to use in their defense.

When Death found him, a broken man;
regrets, uncertainty

filled his last thoughts, all was for naught

to make The People free.

And once he died men said their words
and soon denied their debt;
"Convenient Myths" convenient men

conveniently forget.

And now a petty thug Hugo
enslaves a southern land,
through fraud and fist and fear and fib
forces his red command.

He learned from ev'ry tyrant mad

to make People obey,
like Cuban crimelord Castro and
his psycho-killer Che.

There are no depths he will not plumb

to wear his precious crown:

he'll fix Elections, silence Speech,
and shut Industry down,

punish Dissenters, run The Press,
and hold The People slaves,

he'll trample bodies, step on skulls,

and even dig up graves.

He acts the fool before the world,
so Simón's words came true:
plowing the sea for thugs, Chávez,

means he predicted you.

Yet with his head made out of huff
and heart made out of stone,
Hugo dares to compare himself
night and day to Simón!

But one sowed Locke, the other Marx,

so know them by their fruits
(that renegordo⁴ is not fit
to spit shine Simón's boots!).

Bolívar didn't make his name

through petulance and gall.

He didn't torture diplomats
making Peace through fútbol.⁵

He used his power with regret
to salvage what he could,

and not to serve as role model

for power hungry hood.

He didn't posture, and pretend,
and aggrandize himself,
and didn't claim Utopia

and point to empty shelf⁶.

Despite all this the world's "elites"
give to Chávez prestige,
as our ivy league overlords
cite rule is best by liege,

as to him puppet Barry O.

extends bestring-ed hand⁷,
as dread king Soros deals him in
to further spite Our Land.

But we here in The North don't trust

our "elites" or our king,

as The South doesn't trust Hugo
or his red following.

So Hugo turned more paranoid
and spun a fable grim:

assassins took out Bolívar

and now they'll take out him.

But Bolívar died sick in bed,
consumption fatal grew.
Still, Hugo had Simón dug up

to foist fable as true.

100

So speak these words as oft you will
in loud resounding tones:
"The grave of Simón was defiled,
Chávez dug up his bones."

Tyrants obsessed so with a man

105

will not just let him lie,
they'll reach their ends by any means:
Dead Heroes, You, or I.

So let's affirm it plain and clear,

so there'll be no dispute:

110

he's a special kind of crazy,
still the "elites" stand mute.

But Bolívar who battled Spain,
would join Juan Carlos, Rey⁸,

and shout at Hugo if he could,

115

¿No te callas, por qué?⁹

From Hugo he'd take back his sword¹⁰
and end that tyranny
del Piqueño Renegordo¹¹

and set The People free.

120

But Death comes even to Chávez;
Castros, Ortegas fall,
and Simón, like Historia,
is waiting for them all.

Notes

1	"Take that!".

2	"The Liberator".

3	From Bolívar's remarks when he resigned his Presidency of Venezuela on April 27, 1830.

4	"fat renegade". "Renegado" means "renegade", a popular term of contempt in Venezuela for Chávez. "Gordo" means "fat".

5	The Jan 2003 politically motivated beating, incarceration, and sodomization of Jesús Soriano who tried uniting Venezuelans with fútbol. Chávez officials deny Soriano's charges.

6	Chávez's policies are directly responsible for food shortages throughout Venezuela.
7	President Obama posed for pictures with Chávez before The 5th Summit of the Americas in Port of Spain, on April 17, 2009.
8	"King", King Juan Carlos I of Spain.

9	"¿Por qué no te callas?", "Why don't you just shut up?", Asked of Hugo Chávez by King Juan Carlos I of Spain at the Ibero-American Summit, Nov 10 2007, after repeated outbursts by Chávez.The incident spawned internet memes of the phrase including a popular ringtone.

10	Chávez uses Bolívar's sword as a prop in speeches to reinforce his claim of being Bolívar's heir.

11	"of the fat little renegade".

Leviathan: The Left's Ultimate Social Contract

2010-12-14T23:59:00.000-05:00

Leviathan

The Left's Ultimate Social Contract.

The fruit of all your labor
is full forfeit to Its will.
The bread earned for your infant's mouth,
instead Its maw must fill.

Those guilty of ability

serve sentence to Its need.
A new day has arisen and
Leviathan must feed.

Of, by, and for The People

is a quaint concept of old.

The Stewards you elected
have Your Constitution sold.
So bow to Its New Order
and Its sovereign mandate heed:

all things exist for It alone,

Leviathan must feed.

Don't bleat at It your “freedoms”
like a stupid, naïve youth.
Don't ask It, “What's for dinner?”,

if you can not bear the truth.

Don't bore It with your hardships
and of how you sweat and bleed;
your role now is to sacrifice,
Leviathan must feed.

Do not question your betters,

and do not forget your place.
Don't pine above your station,
humbly serve this god with grace.
Lie back upon Its altar,

and renounce your selfish greed,

accept your fate, and bare your throat,
Leviathan must feed.

Happy Birthday, O Dear Leader, Year Two: The Peasants' Birthday Wish; Still Not Kneeling

2010-08-01T09:42:00.000-04:00

Happy Birthday, O Dear Leader,
Year Two

The Peasants' Birthday Wish;
Still Not Kneeling

It's Dear Leader's second birthday
as The President and so
Dread King Soros will fête him
at D.C.'s Versailles Nouveau.

The Courtiers invited are the

Ruling Class Noblesse:
Celebrities, and Ivy League, and
Congressmen, and Press.

The staff has laid the place settings

and set up the buffet

to whet their Far Left Appetites
with Golden Goose Flambé.

And games wait in the garden
for their tastes refined and haute,

like “Taxpayer Piñata” and

“Pin Blame on the Scapegoat”.

And since He's their messiah
they've set up a Birthday Tree
and decked it with The Founders

all strung up in effigy.

And as fête turns to soirée,
to extend their Merriments,
they'll light a bonfire of our Flags
and Founding Documents.

Then, as Nero played for Bacchus,

gathered with his Marxist Chums,
they'll Grave Dance in the firelight
like November never comes.

But those outside, not kneeling

for a cake crumb from the dish,

cry, “History remembers all!”...
The Peasants' Birthday Wish.

Historia Dea Stili: Historia, Goddess of The Stylus

2009-09-02T22:33:00.000-04:00

Historia Dea Stili

Historia, Goddess of The Stylus

Of Tigris, and Euphrates, and
Civilization's day,
men still can read the records baked
cuneiform in clay.

Of Egypt's three millenia

through which The Nile rolled,
men still can read The Pharaohs' deeds
on papyrus enscrolled.

Of Marathon, Thermopylae, Plataea

men still speak,

and those inclined can read accounts
penned in the Ancient Greek.

Of Catiline's denouncing,
the day of his failed coup,

in Cicero's own very words

men read in Latin too.

In long dead tongues the ancient texts
are still read every place,
for what The Goddess scratches down

no mere man can erase.

At Alexandria Her Temple
was burned to the ground,
yet even now in legend,
lyric, mythos She is found.

For She will not be silenced.

Her favor can not be plied.
She will not remain long obscured.
She will not be denied.

Yet tyrants try to force Her pen

to sweeten their own page,

and when they pass She outs their truth
with swift and lasting rage.

She has two special volumes, thus,

and always keeps them near,

for those who fight for Liberty,
and those who rule by fear.

So, you D.C. Elitists, know:
She's taken down your names.

Equivocate your actions now,

and play your little games.

do your “Divide and Conquer”,
state which debate you'll allow,
deny what's due tomorrow,

demand, “Now! Now! Now! Now! Now!”.

betray the people, smiling,
and do all things tyrants do,
and know: Goddess Historia
will not look kind on you.

Happy Birthday, O Dear Leader: I'm Not Kneeling

2009-08-04T17:18:00.000-04:00

Happy Birthday, O Dear Leader

I'm Not Kneeling

Happy Birthday, O Dear Leader,
and on this, your glorious day,
if I were a kneeling peon,
I'd wish that all things go your way:

that our evil land be humbled

so Utopia might flower,
that our economy be leveled
to secure your seat of power,

that your detractors be punished

so your Marxist Will be done,

that your drones stay loyal, sleeping.
Happy Birthday, O Dear One.

Brother Al's Traveling Ecopalypse Show: Establishment Clause?... Anyone?.... Anyone?...

2009-08-02T16:41:00.000-04:00

Brother Al's Traveling Ecopalypse Show

Establishment Clause?... Anyone?... Anyone?...

Once upon a long, long time,
before the age of Man,
The Earth was green
and quite pristine,

an Eden wonderland.

Far wiser creatures roamed The Earth
pre-Man's ascendancy.
Tooth, and claw,
and tarpits all

just lived in harmony.

Fireball, and earthquake,
glacier ice, volcano flame
would rip and tear
The Ecosphere,

yet Eden stayed the same.

Then Man, the evil wretch, appeared
with greed, and carbon sin,
arrogant stride,
and market pride;

Man did poor Eden in.

But from patrician pampered privilege
a Prophet answered the plea
a Promised One,
Senator's son,

(failed doc divinity).

He collated contextless graphs
and false cause photo clips
and made a go
of a roadshow

preaching Apocalypse.

He soon was Senator, like Dad,
and even became Veep.
2000 went,
lost President,

and went off the end deep.

Then took the roadshow to the screen
to mass evangelize,
and pushed the vid
upon the kids

and won The Nobel Prize.

Though infidels and heretics
denied The Truth they heard
and dared profess
no consensus,

The Prophet preached The Word.

'Til in the halls of Congress,
His Gospel at last obeyed,
by their will
came Holy Bill

for Carbon Cap and Trade.

So rejoice, all ye brethren,
for His Glory is at hand,
His Sacraments
for low footprints

will justly rule the land:

light bulbs, trees, toilet paper,
hybrid cars, and compost piles,
windmill spins,
recycle bins,

and eco-Marxist smiles.

Soy milk, organic honey,
Green Delights now all in store;
Liberty stilled,
with no Free Will,

The Holy Church of Gore.

Come The Next Cold Morning: Senator who? Oh right, him.

2009-05-16T01:50:00.000-04:00

Come The Next Cold Morning

Senator who? Oh right, him.

Once every six years or so
right in the mid of fall
people queue in freezing lines
to heed their civic call.

Folks here in Connecticut

again see something odd,
a name there on the ballot,
long-lost Senator Dodd.

They wait at dawn and shiver

while morn ascends the sky.

They shake their heads and murmur,
"Almost forgot that guy".
'Cause there's just two occasions
his name's heard 'round their shoals,

There's a brand new scandal or

it's time to hit the polls.

For almost thirty years with
no remorse or regret
he's raided their cookie jar

and hoped that they'd forget.

He'd lay low and speak softly
until the time was right
then he'd sneak his hand right in
and snitch himself a bite.

Like taking deals from lenders

immersed in the extreme
Freddy Mac and Fannie Mae
socialist ponzi scheme.
Then pointing blaming fingers

doling defaming thanks

at every "guilty party"
but him and Barney Franks.

Like public keelhauling
of so-called vile execs

who got an "unfair bonus"

when he pushed through the checks.
Like other checks forgotten
and bounced in '92
The House Bank and Post Office

main "patron" was him too.

But he's smug and protected
while he votes the right way,
follows his marching orders,
heeds Obama's, "OBEY".

He lasted thirty years now

with scandal blame and fuss.
He's representing someone,
it sure the hell ain't us.

So come the next cold morning

when the polls have a queue

and folks shake their waiting heads,
they will know what to do.
A thing a long time coming.
A thing too long, by God.

A civil good thee riddance

to their Senator Dodd.

Marx The Angry Munchkin: Need more be said?

2009-04-20T04:55:00.000-04:00

Marx The Angry Munchkin

Need more be said?

Marx The Angry Munchkin
was a malcontented elf.
He seethed with hate when someone had
something more than himself.

He thought it an injustice,

he thought it naked greed,
that someone else should have something
that he himself did need.

He'd crouch inside his hovel

and he'd curse and damn his fate,

and while he could make his life better,
he preferred to sit and hate:

those he thought his betters,
those he thought more blessed,

those who saw their glass half-full,

those who hated themselves less.

He'd sit and brood in envy
then he hatched a master plan,
turn his envy into "Virtue"

and spread "Justice" through the land.

So he penned a manifesto
and turned envy inside out,
those who owned were now, "The Greedy",
those who coveted, "Devout".

And then with his toady, Engels,

as the sycophant emcee,
he pushed his petty pamphlet
of his new morality.

The Self-loathing celebrated

and toasted with half-empty glass,

"We now have justification,
let's go kill the upper class!"

So they offed the aristocracy
and placed their heads on sticks

then cried, "The middle class is next!",

and hurled their "Justice" bricks.

And when they took a breather
they stood shocked and surprised,
their dose of "Justice" still left those

more blessed in others eyes.

They saw for "Justice" to be perfect
it must be equally applied,
so they redefined "The Privileged"
to include some on their side.

Thus the spiral cycled downward

and man fought amongst himself,
first for claims on others' riches,
then for the last scrap on the shelf.

Bloody knives and flying bullets,

broken bats and rocket sparks,

all for elusive "Justice"
of The Angry Munchkin Marx.

And with every burning city,
and with every dispatched ghost,

The Angry Munchkin Marx just laughed,

because he hated Man the most.

And with every rampant famine,
with every tortured scream,
with each destroyed desire,

Munchkin Marx attained his dream.

And the spiral down continues,
The Self-loathing catch their breath,
and soon we'll all know Marx's "Justice",
and his "Equality" of death.

Now In The Center Ring: Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain...

2009-03-20T02:30:00.000-04:00

Now In The Center Ring

Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain...

Ladies and Gents, I urge you now,
turn toward the center ring,
and trust your eyes when they perceive
a deft and skillful thing.

The apex of ventriloquy

now for your wonderment,
it's Barry O., The Famous
Prompter Puppet President!

Dramatic pause and turn of phrase

of focus grouped sound bytes

all skim across the prompter's face
and Barry O. recites!
A soaring speech, a harsh rebuke,
a sad and somber tone,

a most amazing act because

the words are not his own!

His mouth it moves, his voice it speaks
with scripted savoir-faire,
leaving those less charmed to ask,

"who put the words in there?"

Axelrod? Emanuel?
George Soros (our King)?
'Cause when the prompter is turned off,
he can't say anything.

Just "um"s and "ah"s and stammers

as he picks each word with care,
in hopes he will not channel
Reverend Wright or William Ayers.
And when it's on he'll staunchly read

any text off the shelf

with no concern to content, heck,
he'll even thank himself.

But wizards never share their tricks,
illusionists, the same,

and con men never tip you off

to how they run the game.
So just relax, enjoy the show,
and watch as everything
Americans once held so dear

is run from circus rings.

The Tolerant Ones: The song lyrics to the anthem of our Politically Correct Do-Gooders-And-Know-Betters.

2009-02-01T16:09:00.000-05:00

The Tolerant Ones

The song lyrics to the anthem
of our Politically Correct
Do-Gooders-And-Know-Betters.

How can you live with your... self
when you won't think like everyone... else?
While you might have your own point of... view,
if you don't think exactly what we tell you to,

Then you're a racist,

sexist, bigot, homophobe.
If we had sticks and stones
we'd smash your frontal lobe.
We know you're burning crosses

while you're wearing robes,

'cause you're all racist,
sexist, bigot homophobes!
Sinners!

You'd better watch what you... say,

we've got lots of "ism" cards to... play.

And while you might have your freedom of... speech,
if you don't repeat exactly what it is we preach,

Then you're a racist,
sexist, bigot, homophobe.

Your speech is hateful

and it's warming up the globe.
If we had sticks and stones
we'd smash your frontal lobes,
'cause you're all racist,

sexist, bigot homophobes!

Sinners!

We are The Tolerant... Ones.
We tolerate you all so much we're... stunned
Maybe you all might evolve one... day

but until then we hope you'll die and rot away,

'Cause you're all racist,
sexist, bigot, homophobes.
We'd like to tap your phones,
subject you all to probes.

We know you're burning crosses

while you're wearing robes,
'cause you're all racist,
sexist, bigot homophobes!
Sinners!

George Bush's Fault: What we can learn from the presidency of the much maligned George W. Bush.

2009-01-18T13:04:00.001-05:00

George Bush's Fault

What we can learn from the presidency
of the much maligned George W. Bush.

"Polar bears now all are drowning,
hurricanes and storms assault,
bees are dying in their hives,
and it's all George Bush's fault."

"Fire now is melting steel,

those airplanes he didn't halt,
9-11 was an inside job,
and it's all George Bush's fault."

"There's no Universal Healthcare,

there's no distributive vault,

there's no Socialist Utopia,
and it's all George Bush's fault."

Each traitor co-opting crisis,
each loon's conspiracy gestalt,

he countered with just his "New Tone",

so it is George Bush's fault.

Americans, please harken closely:
to earn and keep your salt,
learn that Socialists are not your friends,

learn from George Bush's fault.

Georgie Sorgie: A Coronation Day tribute to The Masters of The New Regime.

2009-01-18T13:04:00.000-05:00

Georgie Sorgie

A Coronation Day tribute
to The Masters of The New Regime.

The 20^th approaches,
listen to the fanfare play.
We'll cast the straw-dog villain out
on Coronation Day!

Marvel at the minions marching,

their children heil in harmony.
We'll not only change a President,
we'll gain a Monarchy.

A figurehead will be the Pres

and he who pulled his strings

and funded his ascension
will be our de facto King.

The media will spin the truth,
up as down and south as north,

and we'll have a brand new President

and a new King George The Fourth.

A Sovereign self appointed,
a Figurehead oath-sworn,
and while our Sovereign will be foreign,

our Pres just might be native born.

The 20^th approaches,
listen to the fanfare play.
We'll cast the straw-dog villain out
on Coronation Day!

Georgie Sorgie,

dollars and yen,
paid the Pols
and made them bend.
To wear our crown,

barrel, stock, lock,

Georgie Sorgie
ran Barack.

Old Sun Tzu: A commentary on The Left and their utter scorn for all things military. (Dedicated to our troops.)

2009-01-09T17:33:00.000-05:00

Old Sun Tzu

A commentary on The Left
and their utter scorn for all things military.
(Dedicated to our troops.)

The sign read, "Halp us Jon Carry,
We R Stuck In Irak!"¹.
The soldiers meant it as a swipe
to his elitist crack².

He dissed our fighting men,

against advice from Old Sun Tzu³.
So, Democrats, what makes you think
we'd ever fight for you?

Dick Durbin called them NAZI's,

Soviets, and Khmer Rouge⁴.

He claimed on TV to the world
they played the fascist's stooge.
He ceded moral ground,
against advice from Old Sun Tzu⁵.

So, Democrats, what makes you think

we'd ever fight for you?

Jack Murtha called them murderers
and rapists, without trial⁶,
and when they were found innocent,

refused to reconcile⁷.

He has two codes of law,
against advice from Old Sun Tzu⁸.
So, Democrats, what makes you think
we'd ever fight for you?

Pelosi met the enemy,

our President to shame⁹,
and wore an Hermès hijab
to top off her traitor's game¹⁰.
She undermined command,

against advice from Old Sun Tzu.¹¹

So, Democrats, what makes you think
we'd ever fight for you?

And then you called Petraeus up,¹²
and then predamned his words,¹³

and then let your protesters in

so he could not be heard¹⁴.
You fenced your General in,
against advice from Old Sun Tzu¹⁵.
So, Democrats, what makes you think

we'd ever fight for you?

You call us thugs, deny our vote¹⁶,
straw-dogs to kick and whack.
Did you ever take the time to think
we'd start to hate you back?

When you need help what you might find

would not shock Old Sun Tzu¹⁷.
"No, Democrats,", we'll answer back,
"we will not fight for you".

Notes

1	A group of soldiers serving in Iraq responded to John Kerry's insulting assumptions about their education with this photo.
2	John Kerry addressed Pasadena City College students on 10/30/06. He warned them that a poor education would leave them with onerous military service as their only option. His comments can be viewed here.
3	Sun Tzu cites troop morale as a key factor both in sizing up an enemy force (or in an enemy force sizing up your forces) and in commanding respect from the troops: "And therefore those skilled in war avoid the enemy when his spirit is keen and attack him when it is sluggish and his soldiers homesick. This is control of the moral factor." Sun Tzu, The Art of War, Manoeuvre 22 (trans. Griffith). "Because such a general reguards his men as infants (his children) they will march with him into the deepest valleys. He treats them as his own beloved sons and they will die with him." Sun Tzu, The Art of War, Terrain 20 (trans. Griffith).
4	Senator Dick Durbin's comments on the Senate floor were broadcast on C-SPAN 2 and can be viewed here.
5	Sun Tzu cites moral influence as the very first thing to consider when about to go to war: "¹ War is of vital importance to the State; the province of life or death; the road to survival or ruin. It is mandatory that it be thoroughly studied. ² Therefore, appraise it in terms of the five fundamental factors and make comparisons of the seven elements later named. So you may assess its essentials. ³ The first of these factors is moral influence; the second, weather; the third, terrain; the fourth, command; and the fifth, doctrine. ⁴ By moral influence I mean that which causes the people to be in harmony with their leaders, so that they will accompany them in life and unto death without fear of mortal peril." Sun Tzu, The Art of War, Estimates 1-4 (trans. Griffith).
6	A digest of Senator Murtha's remarks and the media's coverage of them can be found here.
7	Senator Jack Murtha was confronted on video about his accusations. He refused to answer any questions and ducked the interviewer.
8	Sun Tzu cites an enlightened code of law as necessary for victory: "¹¹ If you say which ruler possesses moral influence, which commander is the more able, which army obtains the advantages of nature and terrain, in which regulations and instructions are better carried out, which troops are the stronger; ¹² Which has the better trained officers and men; ¹³ And which administers rewards and punishments in a more enlightened manner; ¹⁴ I will be able to forecast which side will be victorious and which will be defeated." Sun Tzu, The Art of War, Estimates 11-14 (trans. Griffith).
9	Speaker of The House Nancy Pelosi met with the enemy allied President of Syria Bashar Assad on 04/04/07.
10	Examples of the genuine and fake Hermès scarf "A Walk in the Park", which Speaker Pelosi wore as a hijab while in Syria, can be found here. The scarf is haute couture French silk and came in many color variations. Compare these against the photo in the prior link. It is highly doubtful that Speaker Pelosi would have been wearing a knock-off. The scarf retailed for about $325.00.
11	Sun Tzu cites covert warfare as preferable to overt. Pelosi, in her blind ambition to embarrass Bush and to consolidate her power allowed Bashar Assad of Syria to use her to weaken U.S. strategy and the alliance between the President and Congress: "⁴ Thus, what is of supreme importance in war is to attack the enemy's strategy; ⁵ Next best is to disrupt his alliances." Sun Tzu, The Art of War, Offensive Strategy 4-5 (trans. Griffith).
12	The 2007 Iraq Progress Report.
13	A history of the hit piece ad which George Soros funded MoveOn.org ran in The New York Times can be found here.
14	Video of Code Pink interrupting the Petraeus hearing can be found here.
15	Sun Tzu cites the importance of the sovereign leaving a general unfettered by politics: "¹⁹ Now there are three ways in which a ruler can bring misfortune upon his army: ²⁰ When ignorant that the army should not advance, to order an advance or ignorant that it should not retire, to order a retirement. This is described as 'hobbling the army'. ²¹ When ignorant of military affairs, to participate in their administration. This causes the officers to be perplexed. ²² When ignorant of command problems to share in the exercise of responsibilities. This engenders doubts in the minds of officers." Sun Tzu, The Art of War, Offensive Strategy 19-22 (trans. Griffith). "He whose generals are able and not interfered with by the sovereign will be victorious." Sun Tzu, The Art of War, Offensive Strategy 29 (trans. Griffith).
16	A couple of examples of the many times Democrats have colluded to suppress the military vote can be found here.
17	Sun Tzu recognizes that there are times when the judgement of the sovereign is not to be trusted: "There are occasions when the commands of the sovereign need not be obeyed." Sun Tzu, The Art of War, The Nine Variables 8 (trans. Griffith).

Little Billy Pipebomb: A commentary on the life and times of a friend of The New Regime, Mr. Bill Ayers.

2009-01-07T16:28:00.000-05:00

Little Billy Pipebomb

A commentary on the life and times
of a friend of The New Regime,
Mr. Bill Ayers.

Little Billy Pipebomb
had a very misspent youth,
forecasting Weather Underground,
a terrorist "for Truth".

He and his buddies set their sights

to take the system down,
then bombed the cops and then
The Congress and The Pentagon.

Billy never went to prison

'cause he took it on the lam,

and while he hid the things he did
he hatched some other plans,

like teaching Marx to kids,
launching political careers,

a fuzzy "reformed" terrorist

with a bunch of crazy years.

But on the day The Towers fell,
there in The New York Times,
was Little Billy Pipebomb's wish

he had done further crimes.

His policies are in our schools,
he's launched a President,
yet no one talks of Billy Pipebomb
and his very youth misspent.

Chopenhange: A commentary of the campaign promises of The New Regime.

2008-12-31T18:17:00.000-05:00

Chopenhange

A commentary on the campaign promises of The New Regime.

A little town called Freedom
once stood out on the range
when a wagon steered
into the square

with the banner, "Chopenhange!"

The wagon was well worn,
its mule overcome with mange,
still the wagon stopped,
and set up shop

to sell some Chopenhange.

The Barker started calling, "Oyez!
People, what will you exchange?
Absolve your Sin!
Ring Justice in!

All with some Chopenhange!"

He motioned to a row of bottles
dusty, wondrous, and strange,
"I'll take anything
to which you cling

for an ounce of Chopenhange!"

The people offered up their treasures,
stupored, babbling, deranged:
Pride, and Health,
and Guns, and Wealth,

for a taste of Chopenhange.

The Barker took all of it gladly,
as this crisis he arranged.
And know: he lied.
Air was inside

the bottles of his Chopenhange.

The people stood there dumbstruck,
could they all have been shortchanged?
But The Barker weaved,
"You must believe

for there to be some Chopenhange!"

They lost their property and power,
every deed to every grange;
Propaganda,
Utopia,

Elusive Chopenhange.

And here the story endeth,
Freedom gone, not rearranged.
So drink your cup,
you bought it up.

Here's to your Chopenhange!

Papa Possum's New World Nursery Rhymes

Ten Years Gone: for The Fallen and for America.

Ten Years Gone

Rice: A Vote of "No Confidence."

Rice

Happy Birthday, O Dear Leader, Year Three: STILL Not Kneeling, It's Bamster Birthday Time!

Happy Birthday, O Dear Leader, Year Three

An Accounting

An Accounting

The Bones of Bolívar: Toma!

The Bones of Bolívar

Leviathan: The Left's Ultimate Social Contract

Leviathan

Happy Birthday, O Dear Leader, Year Two: The Peasants' Birthday Wish; Still Not Kneeling

Happy Birthday, O Dear Leader,Year Two

Historia Dea Stili: Historia, Goddess of The Stylus

Historia Dea Stili

Happy Birthday, O Dear Leader: I'm Not Kneeling

Happy Birthday, O Dear Leader

Brother Al's Traveling Ecopalypse Show: Establishment Clause?... Anyone?.... Anyone?...

Brother Al's Traveling Ecopalypse Show

Come The Next Cold Morning: Senator who? Oh right, him.

Come The Next Cold Morning

Marx The Angry Munchkin: Need more be said?

Marx The Angry Munchkin

Now In The Center Ring: Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain...

Now In The Center Ring

The Tolerant Ones: The song lyrics to the anthem of our Politically Correct Do-Gooders-And-Know-Betters.

The Tolerant Ones

George Bush's Fault: What we can learn from the presidency of the much maligned George W. Bush.

George Bush's Fault

Georgie Sorgie: A Coronation Day tribute to The Masters of The New Regime.

Georgie Sorgie

Old Sun Tzu: A commentary on The Left and their utter scorn for all things military. (Dedicated to our troops.)

Old Sun Tzu

Little Billy Pipebomb: A commentary on the life and times of a friend of The New Regime, Mr. Bill Ayers.

Little Billy Pipebomb

Chopenhange: A commentary of the campaign promises of The New Regime.

Chopenhange

Happy Birthday, O Dear Leader,
Year Two