An Overgrown Child
American Digest banner - “A poet more than thirty years old is simply an overgrown child.” – H. L. Mencken
Where did I put my tinkertoys
Who took my ball and glove
How dare I write of girls and boys
Too young to know of love
Throw out all your Rudyard Kiplings
That mildish childish man
Who wrote of war and Empire’d things
Insisting that you can
And what of songs that Tennyson sang
About fair Camelot
In words that down the ages rang
That will not be forgot
Of course I’m not a poet so
It’s all right if I rhyme
But if I’m just a child I know
I’ve been here a good long time
When The Winged Ships Come
For many years we have been sending radio signals to the universe at large announcing, Here We Are, Come See Us! The assumption is that any interstellar travelers will be advanced liberal worlds that have foresworn violence and war, much like the liberals who run SETI, the Search for Extra-terrestrial Intelligence. I’m fairly certain those assumptions will prove incorrect should any space-faring people or beings accept our invitation to drop in. Non-aggressive types stay home; aggressive types roam the world or universe, taking what they need, taking what they want. When the winged ships come, they will not be bearing gifts. This planet’s history of what happens when a more advanced civilization meets a less advanced civilization has proved an unhappy one for the less advanced. And so it shall be when the winged ships come.
The mighty Zulu nation, mighty conqueror and king
Armed with amulet and spear and shield
When faced with British rifles and the discipline they bring
Were forced despite their bravery to yield
The Aztecs built their temples to their blood demanding gods
They held in thrall as slaves surrounding tribes
And then the winged ships came and young Cortes ‘gainst fearful odds
Demolished everything with Spanish jibes
Oh yes they had successes, Isandlwanda comes to mind
And Noche Triste cost the Spanish dear
But in the end the higher culture wins is what you’ll find
The verdict of our history is clear
So send your SETI memos out, announce your peaceful ways
But when the winged ships come don’t be surprised
When Cortes steps out of the ship that we’ve seen better days
And find that slaves was how that we were prized
The Shadow Knows
The foreign policy of the Obama administration is centered on the concept of soft power, a shadowy, ephemeral mist entirely dependent on the persuasive powers of an increasingly shadowy and irrelevant president. Soft power, smart power, engagement - the insubstantial words drip from not quite visible lips, to drift away, into the mists, where sometimes is seen the shadowy shape of the President of the United States, intent upon his mission of change and hope. Lamont Cranston is not the Shadow, Barack Obama is. Cue the organ music - Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows.
Capable of clouding strong men’s minds
The Shadow drifts like smoke
Across the landscape where he finds
They think he is a joke
“Engagement,” whispers from the dark
“Smart power,” whispers back
The Shadow shifts from Drive to Park
Oft-times the safest tack
The press corps sits in massed array
The Great Seal briefly hid
A shadow drifts but does not stay
A murmur “It’s the kid!”
The open door to Air Force One
Starched honor guard erect
A fleeting shadow blocks the sun
Salutes of hushed respect
The engines rev, she starts to roll
No passenger to see
The crew though knows their current goal
Lies far beyond the sea
The Shadow knows his only chance
To save what he loves most
Is ask his partners one more dance
Then revel in the toast
That his success will surely bring
In bringing lasting peace
To all, both beggar and great king
By labor without cease
The Shadow knows that without him
The world would come to blows
Bestride the world, yet feebly dim
The Shadow always knows
Political Truth
We believe there is such a thing as objective truth, and there is, but that is not what we get from the media or our political and cultural betters. What we get from them is political truth. For instance:
POLAR BEARS – there are more polar bears now than there were 30 years ago, but that doesn’t fit the man made global warming narrative so what is true is not true for political purposes.
IQ – Hundreds of millions of IQ tests administered in the United States over the past 100 years have revealed quite convincingly and emphatically that some racial groups score better on the tests than others. Asians, for instance, score higher on IQ tests as a group than Whites score as a group, and Whites score higher as a group that Blacks score as a group. This does not fit the politically correct narrative that everyone is equal in every way, so what is true is not true for political purposes, and government social policy is predicated on the truth being false.
These are only two of many truths that have been rendered non-truth by the purveyors of political correctness, and accepted as truth by the vast majority of the public, who believe what the Left wants them to believe.
Oh polar bear you look so nice
Lying on the sun-baked ice
I hate to tell you that your floe
Will melt in thirty days or so
As global warming raises seas
And humans die despite their pleas
One hundred is the IQ score
That fits most people, maybe more
But some score higher, some score low
While others scoff, say it ain’t so
The scores are tainted, they would say
For culture surely rules the day
The thing is rigged, that’s what we find
That’s why some races lag behind
I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles
Simon Jenkins of MIT’s Sloane School of Management, and Peter Boone from the London School of Economics, say the party’s over, and that the world is close to its final bubble, after which comes world financial doomsday, le deluge. Sure looks that way. Maybe it’s time to just sing along.
I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles (1919)
Music by John Kellette
Lyrics by James Kendis, James Brockman and Nat Vincent
I’m forever blowing bubbles
Pretty bubbles in the air
They fly so high
Nearly touch the sky
Then like my dreams they fade and die
Fortune’s always hiding
I’ve looked everywhere
I’m forever blowing bubbles
Pretty bubbles in the air
Now we’re on our last big bubble
Soon the bubble won’t be there
It’s blown so high
Nearly touched the sky
Taken my dreams and made them die
My fortune’s gone in hiding
Can’t find it anywhere
Now we’re in our last big bubble
Soon the bubble won’t be there
Bankers love those great big bubbles
Bonuses just fill the air
Salaries so high
Nearly touch the sky
Too big to fail you hear them sigh
Their fortune’s they are hiding
Burst bubbles they don’t care
Wall Street loves those great big bubbles
Pretty bubbles in the air
Saving Their Arses
Representative Alan Grayson (D-FL), famous for his bitter opposition in Congress to private military contractors, was rescued from a life-threatening situation in Niger by guys from Xe Services, formerly Blackwater, and when asked if the experience had changed his views on private military contractors, he said it had not. A similar lack of gratitude occurred when a British pacifist named Norman Kember was kidnapped by terrorists in Iraq in 2006, and had to be rescued by the British SAS, the Special Air Service. Kember not only refused to thank his rescuers, but the pacifist organization to which he belonged refused to give the SAS any information on his whereabouts. Alan Grayson and Norman Kember were and are distinguished by being culturally elitist lefty ideologues, and thus exempt from common courtesies, remaining surly and distinctly ungrateful for being rescued from certain death by people of whom they disapprove. I believe that next time there should be no next time.
If Saul of Tarsus had saved their arses
Would that acceptable be
Or would they squirm and remain firm
To ideology
If Robin Hood before them stood
And nocked his stout longbow
Would they then cry I’d sooner die
Than brutish force to show
Methinks that when such as these men
With arrogance unbound
Believe when they fall in harm’s way
That they must then be found
By folks with whom they have no room
To pass the time of day
It’s time say I to let them die
And leave them where they lay
Mary Mary Quite Contrary
Richard Fernandez at The Belmont Club has an excellent post on the various and contradictory reactions to the recent capture of Taliban leaders by the Pakistani military. Some believe the Pakistani military has finally concluded that the Taliban are a threat to Pakistan, and are weeding the garden, a garden they, the Pakistani military and Intelligence Services, have sown. Others are not so sure. Time, as they say, will tell. But if they are weeding the garden, there appears to be a not inconsiderable amount of noxious weeds need pulling out.
Mary Mary quite contrary
How does your garden grow
With silver bells and cockleshells
And pretty maids all in a row
Mullah Omar lost your Baradar
How does your garden grow
With IEDs sir if you please
And dead infidels all in a row
Paki Paki Talib lackey
How does your garden grow
With pulled up weeds and planted seeds
And good Taliban all in a row
Barack Barack on the attack
How does your garden grow
With silent drones and bleached out bones
And dead Taliban all in a row
Mary Mary quite contrary
How does your garden grow
With welcome scenes of brave Marines
And Predy raids all in a row
The Obama Tapes
In 2072, in response to a Freedom Of Disinformation request, White House conversations between President Obama and Chief of Staff Rahm Emmanuel were released to the public. Offensive language has been sanitized.
My new healthcare plan, Rahm
It’s (expletive deleted) beautiful, Mr. President
Taxes, rationing, price controls, Rahm
Your people (expletive deleted) love you, Mr. President
Was watching Fox News the other day, Rahm
(expletive deleted), Mr. President
And that hot blonde was on
They’re all (expletive deleted) hot, Mr. President
Yes they are, Rahm
And often now I wonder, well
How come it is I got Michelle
But to the biz at hand today
These tea party folks won’t go away
(expletive deleted), Mr. President
On top of that my health care plan
The public loves, but if they can
Republicans will kill it dead
And put their own plan up instead
(expletive deleted), Mr. President
And climate change is on the ropes
Just dashing all our fondest hopes
That cap and trade will trash the USA
I talked last night to Karl Marx
And what he said just struck some sparks
We’ll fight them, Rahm, and truly make them pay
The way it looks it’s less than firm
That I will have a second term
(expletive deleted), Mr. President
So ‘twere it done it must be quickly done
Just get our troops to fall in line
And after that we’ll be just fine
Just stomp ‘em, Rahm, and show them just who won
I fear we have no time to waste
We need a crisis and in haste
A big one, Rahm, so big I can declare
That next election be delayed
And once that happens mark it paid
That I’ll be sitting here and you’ll be there
We’ll hit ‘em high, we’ll hit ‘em low
Yes martial law’s the way to go
And then we’ll be in power for all time
Republicans will slink away
And cry and weep and sob and pray
And scream that what we did was such a crime
(expletive deleted), Mr. President
I’m glad we had this little talk
It’s always good to make them squawk
I value your wise words and sound advice
We’ll win this thing, just you and me
And then Republicans will see
That crossing me they’ll weep and pay the price
Just squeeze them, Rahm, and squeeze them hard
Just squeeze those suckers into lard
And squeeze those mothers at Fox News as well
And that reminds me, my old pal
That Megyn Kelly’s on right now
I’ll watch a bit then go home to Michelle
The Contradictions Of Punchless Pilot
President Obama is ruled by contradiction. He claims to be fighting a war, but offers captured enemy combatants, who respect no rule of law, the full constitutional rights accorded an American citizen, an insane policy no nation, including ours, has ever employed. To get around the business of actually capturing anyone, the president has embarked on an energetic drone campaign, loosing lightning from the sky, thereby eliminating the need for taking prisoners. This keeps him pure in the eyes of the left, at least for a time. Another benefit of taking no prisoners is that President Obama does not have to send them to the country club facility at Guantanamo Bay, otherwise known to the left as that hell-hole Gitmo, an act that would enrage his leftist base and leftist world opinion. And so, the president, the pilot of the American state, must defend the country, something he would much prefer be done by the United Nations and the Human Rights Commission, and washes his hands, like another Pilate, absolving himself of the dirty business of waging war.
The brow caressed by laurel wreathes
The toga cleaned and pressed
Our punchless pilot softly breathes
And puffs his manly chest
We do things by the law, he cried
Not our law, which has failed
These killers will be fairly tried
And afterward impaled
We’ll close that horrid Gitmo down
That place of US shame
The cause of every lefty frown
Or might just change its name
I am the pilot of this State
The greatest land on Earth
And that is why I am so great
For years I’ve proved my worth
I don’t like everything I do
Our enemies I love
A Predator that roams the blue
Is but a gentle dove
The things I do in secret, yea
Of them I wash my hands
Then punchless pilot turned away
Not knowing where he stands
The Bolt From The Blue
President Obama has ordered more drone hits in Afghanistan in the last six months that President Bush did in three years. Why is that? Is it because more drones are available now? Is it because it is cleaner and nicer to kill from ten thousand feet than ten feet? Israel relies more on human attacks, as witness the recent affair in Dubai, but which is better, man or robot? Which is better, the shot in the dark or the bolt from the blue?
In nature’s balance, all would say
Is predator and prey
In Pakistan by night or day
It’s Predator and pray
In Israel it’s if I may
We have a different way
We show that terror does not pay
And leave him where he lay
Now who can say the better way
To bring the foe to bay
In truth I think they’re both okay
And dare you to say nay
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