I spoke to my good friend Barack Hussein Obama the other day, and he seemed troubled. He said his love life was in ruins, and I said Michelle? He said no, Vladimir.

Our love is gone, it’s hit the skids
He said with tear dimmed eye
And if it weren’t for the kids
I’d kiss the man goodbye
Count all the times over I’ve bent
When we both shared our love
How much to me our friendship meant
And then he slew the dove
The snow white dove, the sign of peace
He ran off with Ukraine
I cried and begged him please to cease
My pleadings were in vain
With narrowed eyes I clenched my fists
Cried Putin is to blame
He sneered and through my tear dimmed mists
Screamed Stalin was his name

Vladimir Putin in intent on bringing back the Soviet Union, but fortunately the American voters have elected an irresistible force for good in the magnificent personage of Barack Hussein Obama. How lucky we are to have him protecting us from harmful evildoers. Tyrants like Putin tremble at his merest glance, his smallest gesture of displeasure. Barack Hussein Obama is a man of the people, yes, but he is larger than the people, larger than life itself, more god-like than man-like, the very embodiment of the meaning of the word Divine.

He wins with just a stony stare
A smirk, a wink a nod
Defy him Putin if you dare
And you will feel the rod
As wrathful righteousness lays bare
The bruises on your bod
So Mister Putin have a care
You face ALMIGHTY GOD

President Obama knows full well that Vladimir Putin is cheating on every arms reduction treaty signed by the Russian government, and yet he refuses to call them on it, or ever to recognize it. He still believes that being nice to Putin will bring him around to Obama’s way of thinking, but it will not. The Russians are building new missile systems while we disarm. The armed forces of the United States, under Obama, have been reduced to a force level lower than before World War 2, while the Russians, not to mention the Chinese, are racing along on a gigantic military buildup. The Obama response is to pretend there is nothing there, no threats, nothing to see, all the while insisting there is no danger, that everything is under control.

No way that there is pretense
For we all know the best defense
Is to close your eyes and say there’s nothing there
If you know that Putin’s cheating
The best way to stop the bleeding
Is to trash your own defense to please the bear

Venezuela, once one of the wealthiest countries in South America, with a thriving middle class and oil and coffee exports, is now dead broke, unable to feed its people, and importing oil and coffee because the Marxist government of Hugo Chavez and his successor has taken over everything and destroyed it with its socialist nonsense. You cannot tell the poor to go into the shops and take what you want without the shopkeepers closing up shop. You cannot sell state run gasoline for four cents a gallon when it cost you two dollars a gallon to get it out of the ground and refine it. You cannot repeal the law of supply and demand. It is truly said, that when the votes of the unproductive outnumber the votes of the productive, the unproductive vote for fairness. We are not yet Venezuela, but we’re getting close, as the Democratic Party has re-established their slave plantations filled with people who feed off the teat of the productive population in exchange for votes.

I am an unproductive gent, a man of no known station
I sire children whom I do not know
How lucky thus I am to be a part of such a nation
That I can rise so high from one so low
My votes bring into office men and women I can trust to
Look out for me and grant my every whim
Because they know I am a man the rich won’t throw a crust to
A man whose chances in this life were dim
But now we have the votes and we’re the ones to call the piper
We only want what just belongs to us
The money stashed in big Swiss banks by every greedy viper
Apart from that we don’t want any fuss
We’ll take free gas and free healthcare and charge it to your Visa
For it is you who ground us into dirt
And now that we’re on top we sit and smile like Mona Lisa
Determined and resolved to make you hurt

I tell my grandchildren the world is now a different place than it was when I was their age, but I don’t think they believe me, as I didn’t believe my grandfather when he told me the world was a different place than it was when he was my age. And that’s because it isn’t the world that’s different, it’s the perception of the speaker that the world is different just because it doesn’t fit his memories. The sky is not falling on everyone, only on those who have reached the point where suicide is an option. Rome did not fall, Rome was pushed over the edge because the citizens of Rome were no longer a homogeneous ethnicity, and the new citizens of Rome, having no long term ties to the city, did not think it worth defending. And yet Rome lived in memory for three hundred years after it ceased in reality to exist. And so shall the United States live in memory for hundreds of years after the current inhabitants, those who came for the free lunch, those who trade votes for iPhones, have shrugged their shoulders and watched the country decay around them and because of them. The culture and the country built by the settlers who came here for freedom and opportunity have left behind them generations of women who decided they would rather have fun living off their inheritance than have babies. And so the European stock that built this country is declining in numbers every year while the outlanders, the occupiers, multiply. It will end with ever diminishing first world white enclaves surrounded by the invading third world, where the children of those who inherit the country will go to schools where English is taught as a foreign language. We have run our race and now there are others in the starting blocks. But maybe not. My grampop probably worried about my generation as I now worry about my grandkids’ generation, but kids have a way of fooling you.

My grandchildren may never see
The country as it was when free
When free men kept the torch alight
And kids slept peacefully at night
For mom and dad were always near
And little kids had naught to fear
And all were taught the golden rule
And there were never guns in school
When tyrants quaked to hear the name
All knowing free men bore the flame
But that is gone, the day is done
And we, like Rome, have had our run
But maybe not, there still is hope
That we may yet escape the rope
You never know about these kids
A downward slope is not the skids

A couple of Finnish guys named Fry and Soderberg, with or without the umlaut, have looked at some rather dodgy data gathered from modern hunter gatherers, (are there still hunter gatherers around?) and conclude that people a hundred thousand years ago were benign pacifists. I spoke to a naked ape just the other day, and this is what he said:

“I know that people think I was a rude and naked ape
And stealing women from my neighbor’s clan
But that is so untrue that it is just a joke or jape
I tell you I was quite a peaceful man
Of course when times were difficult and berries hard to find
And hunting parties came home without meat
We kindly asked a neighbor clan if they would be so kind
To give our children something they could eat
But when we did those dirty rats all had the nerve to say
That they had just enough to feed their own
Enraging us to scream and shout that they would rue the day
And that is when we turned them all to bone
We gathered all our infantry and sappers and the like
Surrounded them declaring it was war
At the command we marched on them with lowered lance and pike
And taught the meaning of the phrase What For
But it was such a tiny show, it happened now and then
Not more than once a week or so it seemed
And now you say there’s folks who say we’re peaceful way back when
I smile at such absurdity undreamed

James Hilton wrote a best selling novel in the Thirties called The Lost Horizon, in which there was a peaceful, wonderful land called Shangri-la. In the United States today there is also the search for Shangri-la, but today’s Shangri-la has a different meaning for each half of the country. Believers in big government believe Shangri-la will be found in ever bigger government interfering in every facet of our lives, all for our betterment, and the other half believing that Shangri-la will be found in the return to small and Constitutional government as outlined by the Founders. One will eventually win, but in the meantime the real Shangri-la was the USS Hornet CV-8. On 18 April 1942 the Hornet carried sixteen B-25 Mitchell medium bombers under command of Lieutenant Colonel James Doolittle to within six hundred and fifty miles of Tokyo and launched a raid that galvanized the country. When asked by reporters where the planes took off from, President Roosevelt laughingly said, “Shangri-la.”

The stormy North Pacific skies
Had hid her well from prying eyes
She launched the bombers one by one
Who set off for the Rising Sun
The Mitchell boys, Doolittle pa
Now for all time in Shangri-la

The world’s a stage and Barack Obama dances through history with a light heart and a smile upon his lips, unaware of anything but his own beauty.

An entrechat, a pirouette
A canvas flat, a stagey set
The skin clad tights, the leaps and bounds
The flaring lights, the shushing sounds
The darkened wings, the stage so smooth
The quiet strings, designed to sooth
Up on his toes, his arms raised high
The lips rouged rose, the dainty sigh
The world’s a stage, the play’s the thing
The dance the rage, the plaudits ring
The flowing gown, the dancing done
The curtain down, the setting sun

There are those who say Barack Obama is whistling past a graveyard when he smiles and say all is going well with Ukraine, with China, with Syria and Iran, and any number of foreign policy disasters. Barack Obama is not whistling past the graveyard, Barack Obama is IN the graveyard, crouched behind a convenient headstone, and when Putin or Assad or Kim Jung Un or other unsavory character walks past he jumps up, makes a face, and cries “BOO!” believing the world trembles at his words. I asked President Obama just the other day what his foreign policy was, and he said,

I make a face and roll my eyes and then I holler “BOO!”
And mighty tyrants tremble at my voice
I fix them with a steely stare and then cry, “I MEAN YOU!”
Thus leaving them with very little choice
Defy me and such consequences terrible to bear
Will be their lot and everlasting shame
And if they thumb their nose at me and say they do not care
There’s always little Georgie Bush to blame

To those who say they don’t care how often President Obama golfs, it keeps him from getting the country into trouble. To that I say Obama has driven the United States to the edge of the cliff financially, by doubling the debt to untold trillions of dollars, militarily by reducing the military to before WW2 levels in an increasingly hostile world, and politically by reducing the authority of the United States and its president to the point where even tinpot dictators like Assad in Syria view Obama with much deserved contempt. I say we have an incompetent president, we might as well go out and hire a competent golfer.

If we hafta have a golfer for a president, I say
Then why not get a good one for the job
I’d rather have a Palmer or a Nicklaus any day
Or maybe someone from the Jersey Mob
At least the mob guys only steal our money and our wives
Our freedom’s safe as ever in their hands
They’d be content to take the dough and stay out of our lives
As president we’d all know where he stands
The current White House occupant’s a shadow on the wall
A pivot here, a divot there, a smirk
I’d rather have Dick Nixon back, his tapes and warts and all
And Kissinger looks like he needs the work