The White House of Obama laughs a lot, especially when they lie and when they are incompetent, which is all the time. But the deeper the country sinks into the black hole brought on by the incompetence and malfeasance and outright fascism of the Obama administration, the White House ceases to be a fun house and becomes a madhouse. And when the funhouse becomes a madhouse, the mirrors reflect the demonic face of a mad King who rules by diktat and by whim, a madness that becomes increasingly mad the deeper into the darkness we go.

The Funhouse beckoned slyly to the fairground’s happy crowd
The entrance so inviting and so near
The cool slim barker crying only hope and change allowed
So step right in, there’s nothing here to fear
We walked inside to find ourselves amused by how we looked
In mirrors briefly lit by lightning flash
But as we walked into the dark we knew we had been hooked
And trusting in the barker now seemed rash
The deeper in the darkness now the mirrors subtly changed
No longer so amusing as at first
The images of monsters loomed so horribly deranged
And soon we understood we had been cursed
The image of the barker now lined every mirrored wall
His grin the grin of evil overdone
We knew that in his funhouse we were trapped beyond recall
As all we had was taken, one by one
With horrifying screams the patrons pressed on in the dark
The exit seeming oh so far away
We knew that we were someplace we would never hear dogs bark
Or see the rising sun bring light of day
Yet in our panic there appeared before us one small door
On opening it showed the fairground bleak
No longer crowded, void of laughter, lacking all allure
And stepping out we found no one would speak
The posters on the midway screamed we owed our lives to him
Whose picture rose in giant size all ‘round
The barker’s face, no longer smiling but severe and grim
Overlooked a fairground without sound
A young man whispered All is lost, all gone as with the wind
Our freedom, rights and Constitution gone
The barker rules by fiat and the rest of us are pinned
The King is loose and we are but a pawn

Back in the day, when elementary school was serious education, we learned how the small town of Rome protected itself from its enemies by placing geese and thistles on the hills surrounding the city, all to give the alarm. Barack Obama does not believe in being prepared, he believes in palaver, talking, making agreements that only he believes in. As a consequence, he has defanged the US military and left the country vulnerable to anyone who wants to do us harm. I do not believe this is incompetence, as many believe, but deliberate policy, intended to harm the country as his communist mother and father so ardently wished.

All those who believe in palaver
Will soon find themselves a cadaver
Don’t worry, Obama is clever
The country is safer than ever
So what if the Russians build missiles
We’re safe with our geese and our thistles
They’ll warn us if danger is lurking
They’ll tell us if something is perking
Our dead eyes will never feed starlings
So sleep well at night then my darlings

Many are the pundits who have psychoanalyzed Barack Obama, and the number of conclusions equals the number of pundits voicing their opinions. For me, Obama is relatively easy, after five years, to peg. He lusts for domestic power the way a drunk lusts for whisky. He lusts for domestic power in order to turn the United States into the fevered radical red image of his communist parents. Neither public opinion nor the Constitution of the United States deters him from the pursuit of absolute power. We shall see if he meekly relinquishes that power at noon on 20 January 2017. I spoke to President Obama just the other day and this is what he said:

Of all the promises I make
There’s only one that isn’t fake
The New York Times thinks this is jake
And that’s my lust for power
I love that I’m the man on top
And your destruction will not stop
I’ll knock out every single prop
To show my lust for power
You kneel to overwhelming might
That I possess by divine right
Respect for law I have but slight
I only lust for power

I sometimes wonder why I’m here, besides the obvious one of adding my DNA to the next generation and beyond, and lately I have taken to believe that my life, and all our lives, are not truly ours, but gifts, a loan from God. How that loan is repaid depends entirely on what we do with that gift.

It has been truly said, my friends
Our lives are ours on loan
At times we need to make amends
And other times atone
For we are granted heaven’s gift
Of God’s eternal life
And whether purposed or adrift
We deal with pain and strife
And yet God’s grace will see us through
If we will but accept
The love that’s ours whate’er we do
And promises He’s kept

We have all seen the Western movies where the US Cavalry comes charging over the hill, all bugles and flags, to rescue the wagon train full of women and children from the thousands of hostile Indians attacking it. But before the charge the cavalry is proceeding at a more leisurely pace, not yet aware of the plight of the wagon train up ahead, riding along singing, spurs and bridles jingling, while in the background the studio orchestra plays The Garry Owen, the song of the US Cavalry. Few moviegoers recognize the music, but all have heard it many times, including Europeans, who have come to expect the US Cavalry to show up whenever and wherever needed. And they have. But this time it’s different. The US is not riding to the rescue of Ukraine, and we have told the Europeans that if Ukraine is to be rescued, it is European cavalry that will ride to the rescue. Obama is confident the EU cavalry is saddling up, but the EU cavalry is not quite so sure.

The cavalry’s coming, with music by Liszt
With banners and bugles ablaze
Aflame for the battle that’s not to be missed
Though they say it will take a few days
The horses you see have no saddles or shoes
They haven’t been used for some time
The unionized soldiers are waiting to choose
A horse on whose back they will climb
The lances are blunted no points on their tips
So sharpening them is a must
The depots are scattered, ‘twill take many trips
To find sabers not covered with rust
But we shall be there when the time comes to fight
With no single moment to waste
We know you’ll be waiting for us at first light
With confidence always misplaced

Barack Obama promised to fundamentally remake the United States, and he has done so. He has remade the United States in the image of failed European socialism, a broken, defanged and humiliated ex-superpower, all to the approval of the majority of those who now have the right to vote in a country they had no hand in building. This country was built on sweat and blood, and the past two generations have decided they prefer to live subservient lives as dutiful serfs, beholden to the government for their very existence. Barack Obama has done nothing he has not promised to do. Barack Obama is not to blame for any of this; we are to blame, for we have betrayed our fathers.

He has made the promise, he has made it plain
That he would remake us, that there would be pain
We gave him our freedom, and he took it all
In return he grants us, the right to recall
What it was we squandered, what we threw away
What our fathers fought for, in that bygone day
Twice now we have planted, power in his hand
Knowing what he stood for, knowing what he planned
Who of us can blame him, who can then deny
That we had grown tired of, mom and apple pie
Looked we did for someone, looked for good things free
Someone who would trade us, phones for liberty
Ancient Constitution, lawful written laws
Are to him as nothing, so much lacy gauze
Meant to do his bidding, bending to his will
Use them as his playthings, used to keep us still
Now a new beginning, now a new born State
Cry now if we want to, but it is too late
We who’ve had such freedom, bow now to a King
We’ve betrayed our fathers, and lost everything

Everybody thinks he’s smarter than the next guy, and sometimes they’re right. The professor thinks he smarter than his students, the students think they’re smarter than their parents, the poet thinks he’s smarter than the campesino, and the campesino thinks he’s smartest of them all. But mostly people are smarter in one thing but not as smart in other things, so it’s all a wash.

The poet knows not of the wild neutrino
That travels at the stately speed of light
A datum that astounds the campesino
Who asks if light’s so fast how come there’s night
To sculptors marble marks their lives as lithic
The painter lives for pigments and for tints
While I who thinks my life has been terrific
Remembers long times past but nothing since

A State Department spokeswoman was asked to name a significant action or initiative by Hillary Clinton while Secretary of State and was forced to admit that she knew of none. Hillary herself, when asked the same question, replied that she had, single handedly, saved the world several times, but could provide no details. Most of us remember Hillary Clinton as the woman who always wore a pink pantsuit just a bit too small to adequately contain the overly abundant gluteus maximus.

I saved the world, she gaily said
Though I cannot say just how
My travels through this troubled world
Have brought hopeful peace for now
I’ve done great things that even those
Who hate cannot now refute
Bestride the world, I did these things
In my little pink pantsuit