Embassies in Cairo and Benghazi stormed, the American ambassador to Libya and three staff members murdered, mobs chanting Death to America and burning the flag, celebrating their glorious victory of 11 September 2001. And of course Obama and the Democrats blame the violence on Romney. Just can’t trust them Mormons. Somebody needs to teach these Muslim adherents of the religion of peace a lesson, and who better than Stormin’ Norman. One armored division ought to do it. Or maybe just the Kentucky National Guard.

Let us give them Stormin’ Norman

I don’t know if he’s a Mormon

But he’s just the man to put the ME right

Tell the camel humpers lookit

Here we come and you can book it

If you wannna fight we’re giving you a fight

You will learn to call us “Meester”

As a bullet up your kiester

Says you’ll get more if you say so much as Boo

Now we hope this little lesson

Shows you you should not be messin

With the guys who wear the old Red, White and Blue

In Charlotte, NC, hard by the site of the Democrat National Convention, an artist built a sand sculpture of Barack Obama, smiling at us, not from the heights of Mount Rushmore, as Obama firmly believes he belongs, but from a pile of sand. Neither Obama nor the sand sculptors counted on Mother Nature to be unamused, for a rainstorm washed away a good part of the statue. A statue built of sand is eerily representative of Obama the man. Sand and water is not enough to make concrete.

They built Barack with loving hands

They used the very finest sands

They built with care as love demands

Convinced that it would stay

The rain god said who did this stunt

This little man, this silly runt

To disrespect with this affront

A storm I’ll send today

The wind and lightning came and went

And when the storm was fully spent

The sandy sculpture of the gent

Had gone and washed away

And so it is with mighty airs

That thinks the public really cares

For sandy busts with vacant stares

Of some slick poppinjay

The time approaches that he’ll go

His works all sand that breezes blow

To the four winds with naught to show

As he gets washed away

Today is the anniversary of the attack on the World Trade Center, and I am confident you will not see much about it in the papers or TV. No, according to the Left, not much of anything happened on that day, September 11, 2001. The Democrats are pleased that whatever it was that was supposed by some to have happened on that day is now no longer cluttering up the official memory banks. We can all relax. Nothing to see here, move along. There are no Muslim fanatics trying to kill us. How could there be? They are, after all, disciples of the religion of peace. Let’s all go back to sleep, for we have more important things to do than worry about some peaceful young men in far away lands. Things like turning the United States into Mexico or Argentina. Things like destroying the finest healthcare system in the world and running the national debt to astronomical heights in order to grow the power of the Left. No, nothing happened on September 11, 2001, for if there had been it surely would be remarked upon.

El President, the smooth man said

I have the proclamation

The one in which the honored dead

Again remind the nation

Of that sad, sad September day 

Of Muslims’ fierce attack

And how we all joined hands to pray

That they would not be back

My friend, I know not what you mean

El Presidente sighed

For nothing happened at that scene

And no one really died

‘Twas all a ploy by that mad Bush

To get the people cowed

And bomb the folks of Hindu Kush

To make himself feel proud

But I will never fall for such

A dismal, dirty lie

And I have always said as much

And will till day I die

Now back to work we’ve things to do

The country’s in our hands

We’ve time to turn into Peru

Be like other failed lands

Ah no, my friend, I make no speech

To honor our war dead

For doesn’t Holy Koran teach

That some things be unsaid?

The Federal Government has an office of Diversity Management, whose director sits around all day composing lists of words he believes are racist. Words like ‘niggardly’, and ‘Chicago’. This is what we have come to, Orwell’s 1984, where the government rearranges the language into Newspeak, so the peons do not even have the words with which to voice displeasure with government offices like the Office of Diversity Management. Recently appointed Chief Diversity Officer for my Condominium Association, I compiled a list of forbidden words and phrases and put them to a vote, where they were passed by acclimation.

Mop was out because the cursed word began with M

Which upside down spelled out the cruel word Wop

And using Mick for Michelob was not the thing to do

As several of the boys begged me to shtop

The use of Poleaxe to describe a very heavy blow

Was now a word offensive to the Poles

And Aspic was illegal in the eyes of many folks

While Foster gives offense to Aussie souls

Now Slant must not be used at all, nor anything be Square

Our Chinese neighbors have their inner needs

While Square reminds the rest of us of slurs about the shape

Of heads of we Norwegians and the Swedes

We must not say we Pack our things, it sounds the same as Pak

Our Pakistani neighbors are annoyed

So if you find you’re on the road just take another tack

Or peace and good relations are destroyed

And then of course you’re never Fagged, you’re only merely tired

And plans for Dikes on wetlands must be dropped

And if your children play and laugh they really aren’t Gay

And feeding them those Burghers must be stopped

The meeting was a great success, I made my points quite well

And gathered up my dog, a minor glitch

For many in the crowd protested at my choice of pets

By pointing out she was a handsome Bitch

A group of high minded civic types conducted a survey of black Milwaukee neighborhoods that voted overwhelmingly for Obama in 2008, producing thousands of votes, and found that hardly anyone lived there, and they wondered where all the people who had voted in 2008 had gone. The answer, of course, is that they were never there in the first place, all those fake votes just the Democrats’ way of spreading democracy. I visited one of those Milwaukee neighborhoods this past Spring and found a woman who said yes, there were empty houses, but more than that, a lot of empty hopes and dreams.

I had such hopes, the woman said

In such a quiet voice

She said she thought she’d get ahead

That’s why she made the choice

To vote for him back in oh eight

His vision and his dreams

Were hers as well but as of late

They’ve turned to scattered reams

Of so much paper promises

That haven’t any truth

Now we’re all Doubting Thomases

Who’ve moved now to Duluth

Though some have gone to better climes

Down South for Red State jobs

My neighbors felt that in these times

Obama weaves and bobs

And takes us all for granted when

It’s time for us to vote

She asked where I was going, then

Said, “Wait, I’ll get my coat”

In a conversation with Vice President Joe Biden, Obama describes how letters to the dead lead to votes, at least in Chicago. “I write a letter to an alderman, Joe,” he said with a knowing smile, “and voters rise from the dead.  And if it works in Chicago there’s no reason it won’t work in Duluth. I’m gonna write myself a letter, Joe, and make believe it came from Abe Lincoln.” And with that, in a perfect Fats Waller falsetto, Obama began to sing.

I’m gonna sit right down and write myself a letter

And make believe it came from Abe

He’s gonna write words oh so sweet

They’re gonna knock me off my feet

A lotta kisses at the bottom

The folks will see I got ‘em

Abe’s gonna write and say he knows that I’m the better

Man for the job of president

I’m gonna sit right down and write myself a letter

And folks will think it’s Abe who sent

To which Biden replied, off key but with a goofy grin

It’s the Chicago way and no way else is better

A note from Abe is just the thing

The voters will be so impressed

Those racist Pubs will be suppressed

We’ll drive them all right to the bottom

I tell you Boss we’ve got ‘em

Old Abe is one of us, and you’re a real go-getter

There’s votes in every graveyard too

So you just sit right down and write yourself that letter

And I won’t tell it came from you

It has been revealed that 70% of the millions of Obama’s Facebook and Twitter friends are fake. It seems there is a cottage industry that collects fake friends and sells them to people like Obama who can then claim they have enormous social network followings. Things are often dull here in the nursing home, except when my pleasingly plump sitter spends the evening with me. Engaged in idle conversation,

I said to my sitter

I hear you’re on Twitter

She said yes and I come quite cheap

I’m on Facebook as well

It’s my name that I sell

And that’s how that I earn my keep

Now here’s how it works

There’s money and perks

For we who are willing to say

That we all follow you

And we read your stuff too

And do so at least twice a day

Now Obama can claim

That my very own name

Is on his big followers list

Now I don’t want to gloat

But when I go to vote

Obama will never be missed

Barack Obama, who sees himself as a modern and better looking Adonis, began his reign with a temple built to his glorious likeness, an empty space with Styrofoam columns.

The Temple of Adonis

High bestrides a hundred hills

And overlooks the harbor of our souls

It gathers up the rising sun

Whose glory it fulfills

And shines like beads of argent glowing coals

And yet upon inspection

One observes the truthful jest

That shining columns made of Styrofoam

Hold up the tinseled structure

In a manner that’s at best

An unsound way to build yourself a home

The Temple of Barack Adonis

Four years newly built

Is trembling in the gentle ocean breeze

And silent waves that creep ashore

Eat at the founding gilt

And Styrofoam foundations shake their knees

The blow will come as tempered winds

Gain strength in days to come

And fissures in the structure start to show

While columns made of Styrofoam

Move slowly out of plumb

And roof and walls of shoddy start to go

The Temple of Barack the Great

Whose builders claimed would last

Beyond the lives of man a thousand years

Is coming down and coming down

And coming down right fast

To weeping women crying false lashed tears

President Obama runs his Syrian policy by Joe Biden, who loves it, even though the words are enough to curl his hair plugs.

I tell you, Joe

He’s got to go

It’s for the Arab Spring

And for the guys

Who’re in disguise

Pretending they will bring

Good government

‘Cause they were sent

By Allah to bring peace

To Middle East

If not at least

To see the killing cease

From what I’ve read

Joe Biden said

He’s got some poison gas

It’s under guard

So won’t be hard

To give the guy a pass

Joe, that’s the point

So we’ll anoint

Al Qaeda as the boss

The fix is in

And they will win

And that is Romney’s loss

For ‘twill be seen

That when I lean

On someone they obey

A far off stare

A scary glare

That’s the Chicago way

That’s brilliant sir

And I concur

Assad has got to go

A silent dirk

Your plan will work

Or my name isn’t Joe

Obama’s dream of a world in which the world ran on hope and change instead of oil and gas and coal is illustrated by his support, to the tune of a ten thousand dollar rebate to everyone buying a Chevy Volt, has come a cropper. It seems nobody wants a Chevy Volt, even with the government picking up twenty-five percent of the price tag. I saw a Chevy Volt in a neighbor’s driveway, the only one in the entire neighborhood, and asked him about it.

The Volt’s a real neat car, he gushed

I like the way it amps

Of course on highways when you’re rushed

It can’t get up the ramps

I love it, love each single watt

I take the wheel and roam

But there’s one thing it hasn’t got

The range to get me ohm

I said that’s why the sales are few

And then went on my way

And wished him well and told him to

Have a nice Fara day