Verse-afire

The Aspen Daily News Online reports that Dan Rather wants the president to appoint a commission to rescue the struggling profession of journalism, arguing that the very survival of American democracy is at stake. Dan Rather is not the only reason the MSM is struggling, but he sure helped push it over the cliff.

In days of old when journalists were bold

And readers were not particular

We got the facts and some attacks

Both flat and perpendicular

When Murrow spoke we did not choke

And wonder who had paid him

We knew it was the truth becuz

The living God had made him

The New York Times for just two dimes

Produced a Sunday paper

That told when bought what whole world thought

As well as latest caper

But Cronkite’s tears while stoking fears

And tearing down the pillars

Led other guys to claim GIs

Were hulking, brutal killers

This turned the tide of the free ride

Once owned by comp’ny presses

And made us wince and ever since

We’ve seen beneath their dresses

They’re in the tank and they can thank

Their plight on one another

As readers flee their company

And now they cry for mother

To give them aid for which they’ve paid

The Dems in largest measure

They cry the first amendment’s thirst

For justice is their treasure

So we don’t need the Prez to feed

Their cries for a commission

I say they should be gone for good

Consigned to hell’s perdition

Today, Thursday, July 30^th, the President of the United States, Barack Obama, will host an informal beer fest meeting between Cambridge, Massachusetts police sergeant James Crowley and Harvard University professor Henry Louis Gates, Alphonse Fletcher University Professor and Director of the W. E. B. Du Bois Institute for African and African American Public Policy. President Obama and Professor Gates have chosen to live their lives as Black men despite both having White mothers, and will use the occasion as a teaching moment, to show Sergeant Crowley, and the rest of us, the error of his and our White repressive ways. Officer Crowley will be drinking Blue Moon beer, while Professor Gates will be drinking Red Stripe or Beck’s. And so, with deep and heartfelt apologies to Rogers and Hart, here is my version of that hit song of 1935, Blue Moon. Click here to listen to original.

Blue moon, you saw me standing alone

Without a key to my door

Outside the home that I own

And then you suddenly appeared before me

The only one who knew that I was Black

And then you heard me whisper please accord me

A little gentleman’s respect and slack

Blue moon, you need not taken that tack

There was no need to arrest

Except you saw I was Black

And now you suddenly appear before me

Drinking beer and claiming I was wrong

You say the station people did record me

I say you’ve got to listen to my song

Blue moon, I have big friends in high places

They’ve got my front and my back

You’ll disappear without traces

Don’t mess with me ‘cause I’m Black

French workers have taken to holding company executives hostage to further their wage demands, but a recent event at the New Fabris auto parts plant has taken the hostage scenario a step beyond. The workers have taken the factory hostage, planting bombs, and giving Peugeot and Renault until July 31^st to meet their demands for severance pay or they will blow up the plant. At least the teachers unions and the united auto workers don’t hold the schools and factories hostage; they just hold us hostage.

The French they are a funny race

They try to put you in your place

By sneers and shrugs and oft-times little smirks

But when it comes to work place rules

Their union bosses offer duels

To oligarchs who think they own the works

A few days past a shut down plant

Had offered workers just a scant

Amount of euros as their severance pay

The workers took it not too kind

And then they took it in their mind

To bomb the plant and put their plan in play

So now they sit and wait until

The company dips in the till

And count the days as union deadlines loom

They vow if they don’t get their way

The company will have to pray

That when they strike the match it won’t kaboom

Congressman Charley Rangle, D-NY, is asking for a 5.4% income tax surcharge. Charley Rangle has always, to my mind, been one of the good guys, not a hater like some of his Democrat colleagues, but more interested in the perks associated with being a powerful politician. You may recall a few months ago Charley was found to be a tax cheat, and explained his failure to pay his taxes on his being unable to understand the tax code, which is mildly humorous, since Congressman Rangel chairs the powerful House Ways and Means committee that writes the tax rules for the rest of us. You might think being found to be a tax cheat would cause someone shame, might cause that someone to feel he could not show his face again in polite society, but you would be wrong about that, at least as it applies to Charley Rangel. He has no trouble riding into town, even though he knows the sheriff has a Wanted poster in his office with Charley’s picture on it, and words TAX CHEAT in big, black letters.

The sheriff moseyed up the street

Boots kicking up the sand

The Wanted poster of the cheat

Gripped firmly in his hand

He’d seen that face ride into town

And head for the saloon

A smiling face, a tiny frown

The time was just high noon

A-past the swinging doors he strode

His six-gun at his hip

A-past the horse the stranger rode

Still sweaty from the trip

He saw his quarry in the dark

A-standin’ at the bar

His voice commanded in a bark

Just stand right where you are!

I’ve come here to arrest you, sir

For cheating on your taxes

You’ll spend a goodly time in stir

Depending what the max is

The man looked up and smiled a smile

Said you know who I am?

It’s well for you I do not rile

Or you’d be in a jam

For I’m beloved Congressman

Chuck Rangle from New York

And I’m the guy who writes the plan

For guys like you who work

Must follow under pain of law

The penalties are clear

No matter how quick is your draw

You’ll serve at least a year

But none of this applies to me

Because, son, I’m your better

So you can not arrest me, see

But you can write me a letter

With that he put his shot glass down

And climbed upon his horsey

And headed north for New York town

Though he’d have to cross New Jorsey

President Obama, in an interview with ABC News, said he does not like to use the word victory. “I’m always worried about using the word ‘victory’,” he said, “because, you know, it invokes this notion of Emperor Hirohito coming down and signing a surrender to MacArthur.” This is astounding, though not astonishing, given what we now know about Barack Hussein Obama and his utter contempt and dislike for the United States, its traditions and culture. Disregarding the fact known to most schoolboys that Hirohito was nowhere near the USS Missouri on the day in question, it is not clear to me whether Obama thinks surrendering to the Americans was a humiliation to the Japanese not to be borne, or whether it was a personal embarrassment inflicted by vengeful and vindictive white people on a dignified man of color. Whatever, the import of what Obama said is clear. He does not believe in victory. He strove mightily, as did other Democrats, to lose the war in Iraq, in the belief that losing the war would be beneficial politically to Democrats. Which raises the question, what are we doing in Afghanistan? Why is he sending men to die if not for victory?

Victory or death, men used to say

But such words now are quite passé

And victory as such is much deplored

Our president has said as much

And he is surely more in touch

With matters military ‘cross the board

Than those of us who seem to think

That when at war one should not shrink

From doing what we need to do to win

So we should follow Obie’s lead

And when we fight we should concede

That victory in war’s a mortal sin

For enemies that kill our guys

Are merely friends that we may prise

Away from habits warlike, harsh and cruel

And turn them into people who

Believe in all the things we do

And all who don’t believe this is a fool

But somehow I can’t quite believe

That wearing hearts upon our sleeve

Is quite the way to show them we are right

For in a war you win or lose

And which is not for you to choose

And victory or death be why we fight

You remember Tim Geithner, the big Wall Street honcho who was confirmed as Secretary of the Treasury even though it emerged that he had not paid his income taxes. President Obama dismissed this lapse in judgment as of no consequence, saying Tim Geithner was indispensable to the country, and the only man capable of rescuing the economy from the near bottomless pit it was left in by George W. Bush. Yes, that Tim Geithner. Or rather, this Tim Geithner.

Our Treasury Sec he pays no tax

Tim Geithner is his name

He says the IRS expacts

Us all to play the game

According to the rules laid down

By people such as he

Who laugh at those who get paid down

By year or quarterly

The rules all have an angle for

The Sec and guys like him

And guys like Charley Rangel or

The other cherubim

He was confirmed despite the fact

His taxes were not paid

For some the deck is always stacked

And allegations fade

He says he has a plan to save

The country and its folks

He says to shut our eyes, be brave

And tell each other jokes

While he in secret lays the plan

For rolling back the tide

He’ll tell us as soon as he can

But now he has to hide

The details from our very eyes

Since we don’t have a clue

What those so bright financial guys

Are really gonna do

So what is it we need to ask

Tim Geithner has in store

To pay the bills our only task

Just that and nothing more

But that was then and this is now. Robert Stacy McCain, writing in The American Spectator, tells of Mr. Geithner’s escalating war with Neil Barofsky, the special inspector general for the Troubled Asset Relief Program (SIGTARP), the bailout that sent hundreds of billions of dollars to such as insurance giant AIG and financial giants Bank Of America and Geithner’s pals at Goldman Sachs. Mr. Barofsky has reported that the bailout will eventually total 23 TRILLION dollars, a figure vigorously disputed by Geithner spokesmen. What is more irksome to Treasury is that Mr. Barofsky suggested strongly that Goldman Sachs and other recipients of taxpayer money should be required to report what they did with the funds so that the American people would know the money wasn’t being sent down a black hole. With polls showing the American people now believe the Obama administration has bungled the economy, with bailout billions going to political pals, it is a near certainty that President Obama will soon be looking for a scapegoat, and that scapegoat will be the once indispensable man, Timothy Geithner.

“Will no one rid me of this meddlesome priest?”

Cried English king Henry the Second

Words Timothy Geithner must think of, at least

As Treasury’s Tarp troubles beckoned

As billions uncounted rolled out the front door

To pals and to all he called friend

An inspector general began to explore

How much it would cost in the end

The numbers he crunched told the story of how

If continued the figures did show

That from mere hundreds millions it stood at just now

Into twenty-three trillions ‘twould grow

Obama could see that poll numbers to date

Showed the public would hold him at fault

So in order for him to continue to skate

He’ll lock Timmy in Treasury’s vault

Barack Obama’s overheated disciples are even now saying that the One deserves to be on Mount Rushmore for his speeches alone, which are, they assert, of transcendent brilliance. Obamaspeech.com offers the text of 100 speeches going back to 2002. The electronic library of his speeches and remarks runs to 36 pages. But will speeches alone, no matter how brilliantly read from the teleprompter, gain Obama access to Mount Rushmore? The answer is yes, if the Main Stream Media have anything to do with it. On the other hand, for those who believe Barack Obama is a Muslim, the question is will Mohamed come to the mountain or will the mountain come to Mohamed.

Mount Rushmore beckons

But who reckons

Obama will be there

Not I said the hen

Not I said the wren

Nor I said the gentle hare

Mount Rushmore’s face

Will take its place

With monuments of old

Each likeness one

Of battles won

Of action brave and bold

Since time began

What sort of man

Used words instead of deeds

To gain the flame

Of fleeting fame

And think that he succeeds

We know of one

A Kenyan son

A master of disguise

But joining those

Whom history chose?

He’s not one of those guys

As of this writing Rasmussen shows President Obama’s job approval rating at 49% approve, 51% disapprove, down from the high 60s approval rating just a few short weeks ago. RealClearPolitics poll average for Right Track/Wrong Track now shows 36.5% of the people think the country is on the right track, while 55.7% believe the country is on the wrong track. These numbers indicate there is still a chance the country may not be blindly following the Pied Piper down the road to socialist destruction so desired by President Obama and the radical left. The public seems to be rejecting the notion that prosperity will come with gargantuan deficits as far as the eye can see, that crippling the economy with a punitive and completely unnecessary carbon tax is a wise thing to do, that destroying the finest health care system the world has ever known is an exercise in rational behavior, and rewarding unions with billions of taxpayer dollars will stimulate the economy. We have three more years of President Obama, but there is hope now that the country may live.

The time of the Fall

Is apparent to all

It comes when the people perceive

That the God that they took

For divine is a crook

And that’s when they no longer believe

When the MSM turns

And the vast public learns

The Messiah has feet built of clay

They will spurn him no doubt

And demand he be out

And his whole crew of clowns on their way

But of course we all know

That we can’t make him go

Till his time left in office is done

He will still be our prez

No matter who says

That the country must shed of the One

Yes that’s right girls and boys

Though I know it annoys

All of us to know that’s understood

We can only just pray

That we live till the day

That he’s turned out of office for good

An amateur astronomer in Australia was the first to see the comet slam into Jupiter a few days ago, raising questions about how well prepared we are to detect something big heading our way, and if we did detect it, what could we do about it. Another question is if a large planet killing rock is discovered heading our way should people be told they have x days to live. Some would prefer not to know, others would want a last chance to tell that special someone that they love them. Or would the planet erupt in mayhem as millions of people get even with whoever they have always wanted to get even with. But what happens if the astronomers are wrong? What happens if the comet misses? Can you undo telling your best friend’s wife you love her? Can you bring the neighbor who spoke ill of you back to life? Serious questions. And perhaps a more serious question is why are we dependent upon amateur astronomers to find these things?     

The amateur the heavens scanned

And then with barely trembling hand

He cleaned the lens to calm his growing fright

A great big rock showed in his ‘scope

Mistake, he thought, his only hope

And scanned again to see if he was right

Oh no, he said on second glance

That big old rock sure has a chance

Of hitting pretty close to where we are

And that, his Aussie buddy said

Means pretty soon we’ll all be dead

Methinks the thing is quite a bit bizarre

Let’s have a look, see what we’ve got

A little time or quite a lot

Aha! I see we’ve hours till impact

We’ll spend it wisely, you and I

By staring ‘tently at the sky

Except for us I’ll bet the thing’s untracked

Ya think we should alert the press

Inform the public of the mess

About to come our way from outer space

Or should we let them go their way

We shouldn’t need to spoil their day

Though perhaps they need some time to die in grace

It’s too late now, his buddy yelled

And dropped the ‘scope that he had held

And ran about the room in sudden fear

It’s on us now and that’s a fact

It’s minutes now we have to act

And what is worse we’re almost out of beer

The dials on the Debt Clock update the out of control spending at an alarming rate: the national debt; US spending year to date; social security year to date; US government bailouts year to date, and so on. The numbers are staggering. The Obama administration has saddled uncounted generations of Americans yet unborn with massive debt, a great deal of it to pay off his union buddies. Vice President Biden has recently said, “We have to spend money to get out of debt.” This is Alice In Wonderland, except we won’t be going through a looking glass, we’ll be going through economic Armageddon. But I have a solution. Gertrude Stein famously said she and her friends in Paris in the twenties supported themselves by taking in each others’ washing. I believe we can sell our pets to each other for huge sums, thereby jump-starting the economy, leading to higher taxes, and thus paying off President Obama’s debts and not leaving them to our grandchildren and great-grandchildren.   

A dog was for sale for a million

No offers came in and so that’s

Why the owner gave up and called Lillian

And traded for two of her cats

One cat was named Miles ‘tother Standish

Five hundred thou each was the price

A half a mil each seemed outlandish

But Miles was especially nice

The notion soon gained wide acceptance

That selling one’s pets for huge sums

Was the way to get out of the debt stance

And see that economy hums

And so Spot and Fido were sold off

For sums that astonished them all

And pretty soon all debt was told off

And kitties were now put and call

The market chimed in and the Dow Jones

Climbed fast and soon saw record heights

As doggies who only could chew bones

Were sold for their barks not their bites

The collapse when it came came most quickly

As shaggy dogs found their way home

And owners, some pleased and some prickly

Got out the dog brushes and comb

It all ended up in our favor

It ended up nice as you please

With an ending one really could savor

With the bag being held by Chinese