In a democracy the two party system is a two-edged sword, or maybe a two handed game, where the contestants, the two political parties, are easily identified and the players, the voters, are fundamentally divided by their IQs, a selection process dictated by nature, for by definition one half the populace has an IQ below 100 and one half the population has an IQ above 100. The lower IQs tend to gravitate to, and vote for, the party that promises them things they value, like checks and government cheese, while the higher IQs tend to gravitate to, and vote for, the party that promises them things they value, like freedom and opportunity. The contest is essentially even, but when enough high IQ voters become enchanted with the smiling, good looking, smooth talking snake oil salesman, guess who wins.

Democracy, I will admit
Has much that’s recommended
And in return it will permit
A freedom that’s pretended
The people put in office, men
And women will then harden
Their grasp on power and who when
Arrested get a pardon
It matters not that thieves and crooks
Adorn the halls of power
They smile and slyly cook the books
And watch the money shower
But all this matters not a whit
So long as they deliver
The phones and checks they’ll be a hit
A sugar daddy giver
It’s all just a two handed game
The IQs no divider
When highs elect to their great shame
The low IQ provider

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A Bubbly Life

A recent survey of young Japanese men and women showed an astoundingly high percentage are uninterested in sex or marriage. After Hiroshima and Nagasaki you can’t blame the Japanese for shying away from nuclear families. And there is much to be said for a soft, warm, always smiling, no backtalk blow-up doll, although I understand the Japanese are working on a sex doll that sits in a corner and sulks if you touch it. In the United States more and more young men have taken to living in bubbles, living their lives on the internet, deterred from interaction with women by vicious feminism, thus avoiding the harridans altogether. As for avoiding the harridans by retreating into bubbles, I believe the feminist menace is overstated. In Sweden a feminist led campaign to force men to pee sitting down was defeated, and all the male politicians who supported it were unseated. I spoke to a man who had a different view of things, and he said feminists were hostile and aggressive because deep down they want to be slapped around.

A woman is a woman
But a good cigar’s a smoke
Was said by a wise man some years ago
It got a laugh, a giggle, grin
And taken as a joke
Just goes to show how little did we know
That years would pass, the women rise
Men’s mastery grew short
And women would not bow to master’s whim
Believing that their bodies
As sustained by every court
Belonged to them and never more to him
And so was born the feminist
Who cried she would not bow
To any man not even if he’s cute
Her body was her own and not
A man would tell her how
She’d use it for a man was but a brute
And thus we have a coterie
Of quite unhappy girls
Whose teenage years are bleak and full of pain
Whose only choice is whom to hate
And which foul word she hurls
The plaudits of her friends her only gain
Ah no my friends, do not retreat
To bubbles snug and tight
The feminist deserves your love, not scorn
Invite her in, profess your love
And if you treat her right
She’ll make you wish you never had been born

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To My Valentine

It’s the end of January, Valentine’s Day just around the corner, and just about this time in 1998 the Bill Clinton-Monica Lewinski sex scandal broke upon us, the titillating details keeping everyone amused for months.  Monica Lewinsky has recently resurfaced, now forty-one years old, and blames Drudge for ruining her life, evidently believing her actions had nothing to do with ruining her life, that being the nineteen year old mistress of President Clinton, servicing him orally while crouching under the desk in the Oval office had nothing to do with the resulting scandal. You would think that the scandal and headlines were close enough to Valentine’s Day for Bill to have sent her a valentine instead of insisting he did not have sexual relations with that woman. Had he done so it might have gone like this:

I handed you a pretty line
I told you that you looked so fine
We made my desk both yours and mine
So won’t you be my Valentine
Old Hillary will never know
Beneath my desk you’ll never show
This intern job is yours to blow
Oh Valentine I love you so

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Predictions 2015

It is almost February, time for 2015 predictions, and I asked my late friend Waltradamus which of the many predictions for the coming year will come true, and he said none of them. Ever enigmatic, he ticked them off:

 Student loan crisis:

The student looks beyond the sky
Beyond the moonlit bay
To where her dreams will surely die
If not now, yesterday

Imminent Libyan ground war:

In Libya the imminent
Will surely not be found
No longer Daffy himintent
But safely underground

Saudi succession:

The mirror shows succession
Be he who lately led
As tribal high procession
Anoints the quickened dead

Deep trouble in Venezuela:

Hussein consults the wizards
Then pays no mind to words
Imparted by the gizzards
Of migratory birds

The Bill Clinton/Epstein and young girls scandal:

With Billy sex no scandal
The is is what it is
While Hillary can handle
The bubble not the fizz

Retaking Mosul from ISIS:

Like every second city
There’s always the proposal
Always the bridal pity
And at someone’s disposal

The Palestinian Authority may dissolve:

A universal solvent
Perhaps a secret bribe
A lightning strike involvement
By a fierce neighbor tribe

DC statehood:

The dream of world dominion
Two Senators! the cry
But says public opinion
Some dreams are meant to die

The Eurozone crisis:

Gods live on milk and honey
Olympus life was swell
But they’ve run out of money
And now they have to sell

Micro aggression:

A look, a word a glance is
The same as sticks and stones
Observers say the chance is
This leads to broken bones

A Russian financial default:

The gods align the savage stars
And destiny fulfills
The dreams of conquest by the Tsars
Or what the Putin wills

There you have it. The seer, the sage, has seen the future and there is nothing there.

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The Brightest And The Best

I spoke to President Obama the other day, one of America’s best and brightest, and even while stoned and hung over he remained one of the best and brightest. I got him upright from time to time, and during his more lucid moments he explained how he got to be one of the best and brightest.

He closed his eyes and shook his head
The effort seemed intense
He paused a moment and then said
You see, it all makes sense
I went to all the finest schools
My politics was right
I learned that most were only fools
And certainly not bright
I got good grades on every test
Professors were amazed
I climbed the mountain, reached the crest
‘Twas then that I was dazed
To find that I was all alone
The world spread out below
And all of it was mine to own
I only had to show
My face to the adoring crowd
My words were sung in chants
The people cheered me long and loud
A two way sweet romance
Elected twice by margins great
To huzzahs and to cheers
The pilot of the ship of state
The first among my peers
And here he paused and closed his eyes
And with a trembling lip
He sobbed and said and then the prize
Began at last to slip
He cried and slumped down in his chair
As quietly I left
He looked so worn just lying there
So childlike, so bereft
The meteor had spent its force
It’s flaming tail dispersed
The Marxist era far off course
The brightest now the worst

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The Nerd

I had given the lecture many times without incident, but today a feminist was in the audience and took umbrage at something I said and called me a loathsome nerd, then reported me to the Dean, telling him I had used hate speech so vile she had fainted. There is only so much a man can take. Sometimes he just has to take matters into his own hands and let them know he is not a nerd, but that he is, in his inner being, an action hero, a Zorro secretly righting wrongs or Zorro’s opposite, a demon, stalking the streets with sharpened teeth and raking nails.

I will confess I hate that word
I hate it when I’m called a nerd
I know that’s how I look to you
A PhD from Podunk U
I didn’t want to go to Yale
For like all nerds I knew I’d fail
That’s why I lived alone so long
Afraid of always being wrong
But come the night I join the moon
And make them sing a different tune
With sharpened teeth, on darkened street
I lurk in shadow till I meet
The feminist who called me dull
She’s frightened, yes, and in the lull
As she lay dying I explain
How all my life I’ve been in pain
In sympathy she nods her head
Her breathing stopped but still she said
Your whiteness is beyond the pale
But worst of all is being male
I’m glad I got your lectures nixed
But there’s still hope, you can be fixed
I left her there without a word
And slunk on home, still just a nerd

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The Collective

The United States, once a collection of individuals, is now an individual collective, thanks to eighty years of creeping and now metastasized socialism, for which all of us, whether we voted for socialism or not, are collectively guilty and thus are collectively punished.

I work with my collective friends
We earn collective pay
No time to follow all the trends
We work so hard all day
We live in a collective State
We are collective stats
Collected by, without debate
Collective bureaucrats
We live under collective laws
And share collective guilts
While bureaus issue without pause
The Shall Nots and Shall Wilts
But men once free are soon to find
The nearest handsome tree
And with tormentors all aligned
Hang them collectively

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We live in a time when deadly peril is described as debt crisis, plummeting oil prices and various other temporary and historically almost meaningless random motions of the financial and political systems. Consider the year end outlook of the people of the Mediterranean in the sixteenth century. Muslim corsairs and Ottoman fleets sailed their galleys with impunity, taking coastal villages and killing all the elderly, selling the women and children into slavery and chaining the men to the benches of their galleys. The effect of plummeting oil prices on the global banking system is laughable compared to what people endured in the good old days.

The galleys silent run up on the beach
The torch and sword for everyone in reach
While further north the rains had failed again
And coming death was not an if but when
Religious faith meant death to infidels
Depending if ‘twere minarets or bells
Disease endemic took the young away
The question but tomorrow or today
We live today without a thought for those
Who lived through winters where the cattle froze
Whose blood runs through the generations yet
To wonder why we think a crisis debt
Or falling prices hurting global banks
Instead of on our knees and giving thanks

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La Forza Del Destino

There are those who believe in the force of destiny, that what is to be will be, that what is shown in destiny’s mirror is inevitable. And so it may be. The mirror of destiny shows a darkness blotting the sun, coming nearer and darker with each passing day, and no one, not God nor man, able to stop its relentless inevitability.

The Ottoman is on the march
Vienna is in sight
The sun is setting in the West
And soon will come the night
The mirror in the White House shows
That all is going well
Yet in the mirror sounds unheard
The tolling of the bell
Our destinies are darkly shown
If we would do but look
Yet many seem content to see
The closing of the book
The death of Western majesty
Of science and of art
Will all be dead without the rise
Of men with fighting heart
The darkness closes in as we
Drift off in dreamless sleep
Assassins creeping to our beds
To leave no one to weep
Our destiny is in our hands
The mirror does not lie
The darkness closes in and we
Must fight or we shall die

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The Presidential Outhouse

It has been suggested that we drop movies over North Korea to show the average North Korean what the West really looks like. It is believed that doing so may make the people of North Korea rise up and depose the Kims. My choice for movie dropped into North Korea would be Dr. Strangelove. Not only is it a great movie, but maybe the ordinary North Korean will believe that if they only got rid of the Kims they could, in just two or three generations, build a replica B-52. They would have to import the balsa wood, of course, but the IMF would probably advance them the money. On the other hand it might just be easier to drop a bomb on the presidential palace outhouse while Kim is in it. Just a thought.

The presidential outhouse
To where the flagstones led
Sits silent in the moonlight
Awaiting Kim Un’s tread
As he upon his bedtime
His nightly sortie made
To sit alone and ponder
The morrow’s plans he laid
Unseen the drones had loitered
Above the outhouse roof
And when the door had fastened
A missile’s silent poof
Left nothing but the wreckage
Piled high on flagstone path
Upon which all the mourners
Had placed this epitaph
Somewhere here lies Dear Leader
We know not where he went
Know only he is part of
This handsome excrement

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