Only The Lonely

Lonely Western women are being seduced on social media by smooth talking ISIS operatives to join the Jihad, with some success. To avoid this enticement some are urging lonely women to gather a circle of friends and to visit a favorite website. This has resulted in my receiving the following message on my blog from a lonely young woman who has just returned from the Middle East.

I do recall my loneliness
I felt so doggone empty
When ISIS offered onlyness
It seemed so very tempty
I joined and worked out in a gym
To gain some strength and muscle
I wanted so to be like him
A hard man in a tussle
I flew to London then to Spain
Id get him to the altar
I tried and tried but all in vain
To get into Gibraltar
By luck I found a cruise line ship
To drop me off in Aden
I found him standing by the slip
Just waiting for his maiden
He looked so cool, so tough and strong
A manly man from heaven
And carrying, perhaps Im wrong
An AK-47
Around my waist he placed a vest
He said was one of Josef’s
I laughed and said I would have guessed
The pockets held explosives
We had us both a hearty laugh
He led me to a pickup
Regret I did my little gaffe
Till he said its a stickup
He took my iPhone, credit cards
My cash and watch and money
He left me there and joined his pards
His last words See ya honey
Im home now and I drop this line
To say I read you only
And wonder if you will be mine
But only if you’re lonely

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The Melissae

Liberal writer Matthew Yglesias has written that President Obama was right in comparing ISIS to bees, because the president is smarter than everyone else and Republicans are too dumb to understand him. As everyone who has gotten past fifth grade knows, the Melissae were the three nymphs Daphnis, Melaina and Kleodora, the goddesses of the bees. They are often confused with Valerie Jarrett, Susan Rice and Samantha Power.

I grant you he’s the smartest man
To ever walk on Earth
He knows about the Melissae
And of their noble birth
Three nymphs, the goddesses of bees
Melaina and sweet Daphnis
Three nymphs there are in Oval sit
To worship golden calf knees
Sweet Valerie as the Queen Bee
In charge of all the flora
In former times she would have been
The nymphty Kleodora
The keeper of the bees of course
Interprets signs and omens
And knows he’s smarter than the best
Of all the Greeks and Romans

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The Fledgling

Springtime in these parts signals birth, and the wood sounded with the calls of birds and the occasional sighing of a youngster wobbling about on the ground, looking rather uncertain, as if rudely deposited onto a strange and alien world, as indeed he had been. In our courtyard, hidden under a leafy bush, a baby robin perched on the lowest supple branch, an inch from the ground, the tiny branch swaying dangerously with the one ounce weight of the tiny babe who clung to the branch with all his might. I watched him for some time, and wondered what he was thinking.

Well here I am, the youngster thought
But where is mom and dad?
I’m safe for now from that tom cat
But things are looking bad
This branch I’m on is swaying like
A hurricane passed through
Enough to make a fella sick
And scared of falling too
The ground it seems so far away
And what was that I heard?
Is it the cat? I’m getting scared
Thank goodness it’s a bird
Just sitting on the bird bath lip
And now he flies away
But pretty soon I’ll get my wings
And maybe it’s today
It looks like it is gonna rain
I’m stuck here on this leaf
It’s getting dark and now I’m wet
It’s all beyond belief
I’m cold and wet and in the dark
I’m scared, is that that tom?
Oh phew! It’s only mom

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Neptune’s Daughter

The Rand Corporation published a preview of the war in the strategic waters of the western Pacific between the Chinese Navy and the US and Japanese navies. Interesting, in that it isn’t clear that the Americans will fight, but the Japanese will either fight or become a vassal of China, dependent on China for its imports of oil and rice and iron ore. America will not fight if Obama is still in office, but if China delays until after Obama leaves, then America will fight, and that makes it a different fight altogether. A mid-1980s book called Generations argued that US generations differed from each other in a cyclical way, moving clockwise from Aggressive to Aggressive-Passive to Passive to Passive-Aggressive and back to Aggressive, with Aggressive being defined as a generation willing to fight if necessary. The authors noted that every major American war was waged with an Aggressive generation culturally dominant, the theory being that that it takes two to tangle. Way back in the 1980s I counted ahead and calculated that an Aggressive generation would be culturally dominant in the US beginning in the year 2014, and that a major war would occur if our interests or security were seriously challenged. But I will stand on my conviction that the Chinese can build a blue water navy, but a navy is more than ships, it is tradition and leadership. The Chinese navy has zero tradition, and should it sail into blue water with hostile intent it would soon rest on the bottom of the South China Sea.

Nelson and Halsey and Cochrane, Pellew
Decatur and Stewart and Perry and Hood
Old Ironsides and Vincennes, the Vinny Maru
Iron men with steel ships and iron ships built of wood
They conquered the sea and defended their nations
They braved fierce run gales and the guns of the foe
At Savo they took it but stayed on their stations
As ships littered Ironbottom Sound far below
The Chinese may bravely sail into blue water
To find attack submarines lying in wait
The sound of the ships meeting old Neptune’s daughter
Will carry to China across Sunda Strait

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The Hegemon Saloon

For sixty years and more after World War 2, the United States was the world’s sheriff, keeping the peace, using force where necessary, all to prevent the world from collapsing into anarchy. Every aspiring writer is advised to shoot the sheriff in the first paragraph, in order to immediately engage the reader. It took a long time for the post WW2 narrative to unfold, but unfold it did, for in the final chapter the sheriff got shot. Shot in the back by Barack the Kid, shot in the back while playing cards in the Hegemon saloon, his winning hand fluttering to the floor, full house, aces up. Young Barack was elected sheriff, and all seemed well at first, until the Clanton gang rode into town.

I seen it all, the old man said
The Kid come down the street
He walked inside an’ shot him dead
His aces hard to beat
He walked through them there swingin’ doors
I follered just to see
I seen one had a pair of fours
The Kid’s gun hung real free
The barkeep follered with his eyes
But no one else took note
An’ then to everone’s surprise
The Kid pulled back his coat
His gun come out just sorta slack
Real slow as you might say
An’ shot the sheriff in the back
Then calmly walked away
Ain’t no one moved for quite some time
At least that’s how it seemed
The sheriff dead, a heenus crime
Just felt like we all dreamed
The Kid says he’s the Sheriff now
An’ all but me agrees
The Kid says we all have to bow
An’ he’ll do as he please
He made us give up all our guns
He says it’s hope and change
An’ says that ‘fore there’s many suns
That peace be on the range
Not long though till the church bells rang
An’ all come fallin’ down
‘Cause that’s the day the Clanton gang
Come ridin’ into town

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Nil To Nil

It has been revealed that the top leadership of FIFA, the governing body of the world soccer association, has been selling the World Cup soccer games, with countries paying tens of millions of dollars to the members of FIFA for the privilege of hosting the games. Russia bought the 2018 games and Qatar bought the 2022 games, with resulting world-wide indignation. But does anyone really care if Qatar bought the games? I think not. So long as the games are honest who cares where they are played or how much it cost the host country to get them there. Everyone knows, and has known for many years, that the UN is a criminal organization, that Bill and Hillary are Bonnie and Clyde, lacking only the 1934 Ford V8, that Brussels is the Sodom and Gomorrah of political corruption, so why should anyone believe FIFA walks with the angels? Forbes recently had a list of the 20 top money earners in sports and almost half were soccer players, so it is no wonder the guys in the suits at FIFA feel they deserve a slice of the pie.

The guys at FIFA all ask why
Ronaldo should get all the pie
Beckham should get all the girls
Why Messi should have all those curls
It’s jealous fury all around
And FIFA guys say they are bound
Determined, yes, to own the stage
While football worldwide is the rage
And get it while the getting’s good
And live the kind of life that could
Appeal to blokes who never score
All through a game that tends to bore

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Trade Winds

Barack Obama is trying to get an international trade agreement that will give him more power than he already has, and the institutional Congressional Republicans seem to want to give it to him. Why? Trade does not need secret agreements, trade does not need bureaucrats shuffling paper, trade needs only two partners who agree on price and product. Ross Perot might have been nuts but he was right about NAFTA sucking jobs out of the United States never to return. Keeping your jobs and factories at home is not protectionism, it is common sense, but neither party has much common sense these days. I have been waiting for a Tea Party revolt since 2010 but have yet to see the establishment Republicans give up anything or learn anything. I am sane and have the best interests of my country at heart and so do not qualify for public office, but if elected I will get all those jobs back from China and Mexico. So stuff will cost more at WalMart, but at least the stuff will be made in America by Americans.

The textile mills across the track
Are shuttered and forlorn
The jobs there they ain’t coming back
Whole towns were left to mourn
Our shipyards closed and on the block
The steel mills now are dark
Where once were three shifts on the clock
Men now sit in the park
And watch their children run and play
While mom’s still waiting for
That waitress job to keep away
The wolf from their front door
NAFTA benefits the few
And China but not us
Our leaders smiled and then they threw
Us all under the bus

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My Hometown

It has been said that democracy is like a train, and we’ll get out when we arrive at the station we want. The station the Democrats want is a minority white country in which they have permanent power. When I look back on it I wonder how we let it happen. How did we allow the Democratic Party to surrender the country to two third world cultures, Mexicans and American Blacks? We are in serious danger of becoming a third world country, in danger of becoming a minority in our own land, the land white people built out of a howling wilderness. The recent history of third world countries is one of tyranny, corruption and presidents for life. We are very close to being there. Politicians lie, the media lies, and we even lie to ourselves, but demographics tells the truth.

I was eight years old and in my hometown
I wandered all alone
In the summertime from the dawn to dusk
I had no need to phone
I was out of touch but my parents knew
That I would be okay
For the neighborhood took good care of us
When we went out to play
But the times they changed and the neighborhood
Turned color overnight
And I went to school where I tried to keep
Out of the daily fight
When the country changed into us and them
And they said we kept them down
I was now a man and a stranger in
What once was my hometown
As the years went by and the Mexicans
Came across the Rio Grande
And the jobs were gone and the mills were closed
We who built it lost our land
As the votes went to all the lefties who
Promised stars and apple pie
And the blacks and browns left us all to ask
What had happened, how and why
I’m an old man now and I tell my kids
My granddaughter and grandsons
That worse will come and it won’t be long
You had better get some guns
But I still can see what it is we’ve lost
As we’ve torn the country down
In my mind’s eye the streets still shine
In what once was my hometown

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Burgers And Horses

Robots are now capable of doing things that humans can do, and do them better. In China, plans are afoot to replace millions of human workers in labor intensive factories with robots. China is determined to march into the mercantile future, but what happens to the displaced millions of workers? Way back in the early 70s an Architectural firm I was associated with designed a County Health complex that included a hospital, a geriatric high rise, an array of smaller buildings and a brand new food preparation facility. The centerpiece of the food facility was a burger making machine that not only cooked the burgers without human aid, it flash froze them, ready for placement in the electric food carts that would be wheeled into the corridors of every patient building in the complex. When the project went out for bids there were screams of rage and anguish from the unions, the local Democrat politicians could not stand the pressure, and the burger maker was cancelled. The new food facility was redesigned to have long stretches of stainless steel counters, ranges, sinks and so forth, making work for the local tin-knocker union and work for many dozens of burger flippers. The moral of this story is, many plan the glorious future, but the unions and the politicians have the horses, and the horses always win.

Mao smiled and all the flowers bloomed
A billion folks all cheered
And now those billion folks are doomed
The future now is feared
A robot stands now in the place
Of what was once a man
Who suffers unemployed disgrace
With this new Five Year Plan
But here at home we’re safe of course
The robots will not win
For on our side we have the horse
Whose votes will save our skin
No politician worth his salt
Denies the horse his vote
For robots to be the default
Means that his pleasure boat
Is gone forever with the wind
His pals, his gals, his perks
Against the horse no pol has sinned
They keep what always works

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A Thoughtful Man

I sometimes think the world would be a better place if thoughtful men replaced the ambitious, the driven. It will never happen, but it would be nice if our leaders took the time occasionally to consider that thought should precede action.

He softly walks the forest of his mind
Each bole the storehouse of his threaded thought
The leaves and branches supple, intertwined
His life full laid upon what he’d been taught
He rests beside the freely flowing brook
Each pebble washed to brilliant diamond shine
The dancing light to him an open book
The air upon his tongue like new made wine
The evening light grows dim and day’s events
Are catalogued and filed as bird calls cease
He lights a lamp and knows without pretense
That at the end of day he is at peace

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