Stocking Up

We are in a pre-war time, just like the 1930s. The principal difference between today and the 1930s is that there doesn’t appear to be a Churchill waiting in the wings. Then it took only one bridge, the Rhineland Bridge, to be crossed to set things in motion, while today so many bridges have already been crossed and burnt that the ending is inevitable. Which is why I am stocking up on pre-war Irish Whiskey.

I’m stocking up on pre-war Irish whiskey
And Amazon is shipping nylons free
I know that smoking cigarettes is risky
But soon enough no more of them I’ll see
The government will list what they will ration
And Goodyear tires a thing of the past
The newsreels will raise ire to a passion
As wimpy leaders scream no stone be cast
But once roused fed up free men won’t be stopping
Until those stinking Muslims are all dead
And that is why I’m doing pre-war shopping
And have some Irish whiskey then to bed

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Reality And The Mirror

It is claimed that the next step in technology is upon us, technology that will not only mirror our thoughts, but talk back to us. The new technology will be more than just a passive mirror, it will be a mirror that talks back to reality, in close touch with Spiritus Mundi, the spirit of the world. Or such is the claim. This is all very well, but what if reality doesn’t want to talk to the mirror? I found my mirror sulking the other morning, and I asked what the matter was. She said she’d tried to strike up a conversation with reality and he just ignored her. I said reality was like that.

Reality is sometimes like a Sunday
At ease, relaxed, content to take a nap
At other times it knows there is a Mundi
And hates to look up on the false drawn map
The places where there seems to be the trouble
Most likely to cause strife and also pain
Where people sit uneasily on the bubble
Just longing for reality in vain
She said she understands why he’s not talking
It’s just that techies try but can’t perfect
An interface where folks like me are gawking
At images that we can but reflect
Why do I only see my own reflection
Why can’t I see the wide world as it is
Why is it that reality’s perfection
Why is I’m so flat and he’s the fizz
I left her on the wall so quiet sobbing
Alone she was and wanting so much more
Her dream of sweet reality hobnobbing
As silently I closed the bathroom door

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The Essence Of Sweet Purity

Obama wants to take the task of gathering Intelligence from the National Security Agency and give it to the unionized Department of Homeland Security, who yearly receive praise and bonuses for being only slightly less honest and competent than the IRS. So competent has Homeland been in its treatment of passengers at the nation’s airports, so much the essence of competence and sweet purity, that it is justly considered to be the only conceivable choice to guard the secrets and privacy of American companies and citizens, doubters and malcontents to the contrary.

The essence of sweet purity
Is our own Homeland Security
They’ll guard your secret data with their lives
They’ll make you take your shoes off
And fight to keep the clues off
Front pages and will help on paper drives
They take the war on terror
So seriously that error
Cannot creep up or out or even in
They’ll keep safe all your data
From alpha clear to beta
And if they lose it you’ll know where it’s been
They do great jobs at airports
And while they sometimes share warts
With other agencies they’re miles above
The folks who hired Snowden
And swear by Zeus and Wodin
That you’ll be fine and what is not to love


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The Actors And The Acted Upon

The steady, almost inch by inch advance by Russia westwards into the sovereign country of Ukraine continues despite wringing of hands by Western leaders. There are two kinds of people – those, like Putin, who do what they want to do when they want to do it, and those who are always surprised the Putins of the world are doing what they want to do. Nobody sees the moving shadow until it blots out the light. The Rheinland bridge was just a bridge, the Marco Polo bridge was just a bridge, until the tolls came due. British music halls once rang with the defiant cry of “The Russians shall not have Constantinople!” No more. Lord Cardigan will not throw his light brigade upon the Russian guns, nor will the ghosts of the Wehrmacht’s 17th Army appear in the Crimea any time soon. Go back to sleep, child, it’s just a dream.

Upon the lake the setting sun
Cast shadows deep and dark
And somewhere, noting day is done
There sang a plaintive lark
The darkness crept from east to west
Unheard the loon’s shrill cries
Important people who knew best
Sang soft sweet lullabies
Inside the dark the red eyes stared
Fixed tight upon the prey
Who woke at last, and trembling, scared
Prayed for the light of day

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Kicking The Tires

Rudy Giuliani has fired a well-aimed shot in the nomination war by saying what John McCain and Mitt Romney were afraid to say, for fear of being called racist, that Barack Hussein Obama does not love the United States, that on the contrary he is determined to destroy it. He is kicking tires and finding a heartening response from supporters and squeals of rage from the enemies of this country.

Kicking tires, Giuliani
Arched a brow and slyly smiled
Then said to Moe and Jack and Manny
I’ve told the truth, the man’s defiled
The Constitution and our laws
Our health care system he’s destroyed
His actions give me more than pause
I tell you more than just annoyed
I’m kicking tires ‘cause this race
Is too important to stand by
It sure can stand another face
One unafraid to raise the cry
That Hussein is an evil man
Determined to destroy us all
Raised by those who had a plan
To drive this country to the wall
He played upon white women’s guilt
Encouraging white women’s lust
He offered them a diverse quilt
And when elected came the thrust
The sword of Islam to the heart
Does Hussein love this country? No
Well trained he was to play the part
But it’s not us that he loves so
He loves the minarets at dawn
He loves the morning call to prayer
Prepared to be the deadly pawn
To be this country’s Muslim slayer

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Setting The Record Straight

It has been reported that President Obama told a White House conference on Countering Violent Extremism on Wednesday that Islam has been woven into the fabric of our country since its founding, something he has said in the past. There are those who roll their eyes and scoff at this as the delusional words of a true Muslim believer, but this scoffing and eye rolling must give way to recent scholarship. Marine archaeologists have recently recovered the wreck of the Pilgrim ship Goodwill off the Massachusetts coast, and were astonished to find that the name on her stern, still legible after all these years in the cold North Atlantic water, read Insh’allah, not Goodwill. The mistranslation of the Arabic God’s Will to Goodwill is completely understandable.

Documents dating from the American Civil War have been discovered in a Pennsylvania barn that clearly show the Civil War was a religious civil war between the Shia North and the Sunni South, an affiliation that gave rise to the formulation the Sunny South. After the Shia victory Imam Oliver Wendell Holmes predicted the Twelfth Imam would emerge from his well in the Christian year 2008, bringing about the end of days and the establishment of the world Caliphate.

And so the present is explained
‘Twas Allah from the start who reigned
The Founding Fathers standing in His stead
The Twelfth Imam the White House gained
A Christian leader he had feigned
And set about the country to behead
Soetero was his name at birth
But knowing that to rule the Earth
He needed something catchy like Barack
And cackling with an elfin mirth
The country’s sacred home and hearth
Upon ascension came under attack
The Twelfth Imam was free at last
Free of the well that held him fast
Now free to command all to Allah’s law
Obama boasted how he’d cast
Into the fire all the past
And all would feel the fury red and raw
The Twelfth Imam, Barack Hussein
A man so narcissistic vain
That he believes his very words inspire
The world to leave its bed of pain
And join the Muslims as they rain
Down death on all, to die by sword and fire

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The Faux Elite

Some weeks ago the leftist elites of the civilized world gathered in Davos, Switzerland for a conference on global warming. There are far greater problems in this world than the doings of the faux elites of Davos and their global warming scam. Nevertheless, they invite mockery just for being who they are and who they pretend to be. One thousand seven hundred private jets have deposited our betters in Davos, in an attempt to coordinate tactics for their favorite game, destroying Capitalism and changing the economic system of the world to one more suited to their leftist tastes. It has been said of Royalty that Royalty knows nothing and forgets nothing, and the faux royalty of Davos are no exception. Poseurs they are, and when the ice is as thick as their heads they will come to understand that it is not they who rule the world. The Earth has been warming for the last eleven thousand years, beginning with the end of the last ice age, and will continue to warm, in fits and starts, until the beginning of the next ice age, despite what is said and decided at Davos. And for all we know the next ice age has already begun.

They toast themselves with bravos
Do the faux elite of Davos
Successors to the old ancien regime
The bejeweled, the glitterati
The well-bred, the literati
But the world may not be quite what it may seem
They dote on Global Warming
Despite the winter storming
And meet in Switzerland to play their game
By private jet they travel
To watch their game unravel
As ice and snow puts all their fears to shame
For ice is fair upon us
And while they try to con us
The ice caps grow and glaciers start their slide
There’s ice upon the river
In summer while we shiver
But Davos calls and once again they ride

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In a free society Destiny is what you make it. In an unfree society Destiny is what someone makes for you. We are perilously close to becoming a relatively unfree society, in the sense that we are no longer completely free of government interference in the lives of ordinary Americans. Culture is learned, and is difficult, if not almost impossible, to unlearn, absent a catastrophic event. The culture of the United States at the moment is antithetical to the freedoms granted us by the Founding Fathers, and I suspect the generation of twenty and thirty somethings has little concept of what it was to be completely free. Indeed, they believe they are.

 The life of man reflects eternal
Circles of the sun
A man is born to freedom or to strife
He moves through cycles of his life
His journey never done
While circling ‘round the central point of life
A thousand years of tyranny
Gives way at very last
To moderation then to freedom’s door
And tyranny is thought to be
The very distant past
Where destiny is wretched, sick and poor
As freedom follows tyranny
So tyranny returns
And man again impaled upon the horn
Of tyrant’s crown and lance and
Once again man sadly learns
That destiny lies where and when you’re born


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The Deep Sleep

There are those who will tell you, with deep satisfaction, that God is dead and man is thereby released from the bonds of superstition. But God is always dying. The gods of the cold northern forests are gone, yet they are not truly dead, but merely asleep beneath the snow. The gods of Assyria lay beneath the ruins of the ziggurats, waiting for the day they will wake. Aristotle did not believe the god he believed in was superstition. God is real, by whatever name, for man must believe in a greater power than himself or he is nothing, will have come from nothing and will return to nothing. Rome abandoned its gods for the cult of Hercules and was returned to God by Constantine. As so the cult of secularism will go the way of all cults, and God restored.

The temples rise above the plain
To glisten in the sun
For only god can bring the rain
Or see that life’s begun
The northern forests snowbound slept
In silence and the cold
Yet men still knew where Wodin stepped
And knew the message told
Alive they were to those they led
No superstitions they
And yet today we deem them dead
In deepest sleep they lay
And so it was until the morn
A stable filled with joy
And unto us a child was born
A tiny baby boy

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The Art Of The Deal

Secretary of State John Kerry said that the U.S. expects to achieve a deal on reining in Iran’s nuclear program within three or four months, and suggested that an agreement could be possible months sooner than previously anticipated. There is nothing wrong with making a deal, so long as the deal is between equals and it is not made in bad faith. Our problem is President Barack Hussein Obama has agreed to the terms set by Iran eighty percent of the time, and seems to be acting in bad faith in everything he does.

The deal is done! cried Ribbentrop
His words made all the presses stop
With deals like that who needs a cop?
We know what happened next
The Nixon White House, truth to tell
Knew what would come and knew quite well
That peace would mean that Saigon fell
The treaty a pretext
The Mullahs smile and all agree
The deal with Barack soon will see
The hidden Imam well and free
Thanks to Barack Perplexed
A deal ‘tween equals can be struck
But if your guy is Friar Tuck
Hussein and John you’re out of luck
Disaster runs unvexed

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