Fueled by massive illegal immigrant votes and the mysterious behavior of voting machines in deep red precincts to return large Democrat majorities, a bright blue wave swept the House and Senate. The impeachment and trial of president Trump, filled with fake evidence provided by the FBI and intelligence agencies, lasted two years. The blue tsunami of 2020 brought a previously little known California congresswoman into the White House, and Attorney General Hillary Clinton immediately arrested her political opponents and anyone she perceived to be a threat. A wealthy singer/songwriter avoided the reeducation prisons by signing over all his possessions to the Clinton Foundation, allowing him to emigrate. He stood, now, alone, in a light rain, at the rail of the ship, looking back at the statue of Liberty, partially obscured and standing motionless in the rain. He stared fixedly at her slowly receding figure and silently composed a love song to her, superimposing his own words upon the melody of the Courtney Marie Andrews song 500 Nights. He sang the words in his mind, not moving his lips or changing his expression, for the surveillance cameras were everywhere, even on a ship bound for New Zealand. Lady Liberty was now totally obscured by the increasingly heavy rain, and with the words and music burning in his mind, he took one last look back, then faced the surveillance camera and sang the words aloud.

I saw you standing in the rain
My every thought being with you again
But I am not one to complain
Still I remember what we had back then
Five hundred nights, was all it took for darkness to descend
Five hundred nights, we never thought that liberty would end
Five hundred nights
Five hundred nights

When he felt the ship in the chop of the limitless sea he turned and left the rail.

Yes the past is here to stay
But the present’s in the way
Of that grand and golden future of our dreams
Gleaming cities on a hill
Old age vanished with a pill
No the future never comes or so it seems
When man first beheld the stars
He did dream that one day cars
Would propel him quickly to some sunlit shore
And one day when man has tamed
All the galaxies he’s named
He will close his eyes and dream of something more

Political writer Don Surber writes that Obama is the first communist president. He uses a lower case ‘c’, denoting a pacific form of communal governance as opposed to the upper case ‘C’ of Stalinist style communism. I believe Mr. Surber is too charitable. Obama and his entire administration, including CIA Director Brennan, were and are Stalinist Communists, though we have been brainwashed into believing that to say so is to betray the tinfoil hat. The Obama administration was full of red diaper babies who never took off the diapers and who wear them proudly to this day. Anyone remember the Cabinet member who said whenever she felt frustrated or depressed she reread Chairman Mao’s Little Red Book? Or Obama’s principal White House adviser who was born in Iran to American Communist Party parents? Or how the Obama administration was and still is behind the attempt to overthrow the legal government of the United States? And now our colleges and universities are handing out diplomas to tens of thousands of little Stalin grads. As my mom used to say, don’t get me started. They would all be in jail if we had an Attorney General.

Jeff Sessions likes the word ‘recuse’
It lets him sit eyes closed and muse
About the world and all its faults
And all the while there sits in vaults
The documents that surely prove
That if poor Jeff would only move
That Mueller’s part would be disclosed
And all his people be deposed
And Hillary would then stand trial
With treason charges yet to file
On Comey and the DOJ
And then in cuffs be hauled away
The game is not king versus king
It’s who has got the big brass ring
The carousel is slowing fast
And many die will soon be cast
The dice will show who did the crime
And come up snake eyes every time

Several billion dollars has been stolen from a Malaysian government fund over the past few years and the United States Justice Department has revealed that the Leonardo DiCaprio Foundation and the Clinton Foundation profited from the stolen money.

Oh for the days corruption, crime
Was done by guys like Harry Lime
Who plied their trade in local scenes
And never lived beyond their means
DiCaprio’s titanic scam
Sent many fleeing on the lam
And shocked we are the Clintons too
Saw dollar bills and took a few
Before the Global there was space
For men to roam, not see a face
The spaces wide, the fields and hills
Today though many get their thrills
Online or jetting to and fro
To anyplace they want to go
The crime now global, not by chance
The hills remain, but now we’re ants

It has been said that time is nature’s way of seeing that everything doesn’t happen all at once. But what if everything did happen all at once, and time is just a perception, what if the universe runs on different rules than we, and Julius Caesar is alive and well, at least until the Ides.

Julie, kid, why did you cross
That river on that day?
To change the world, to change your luck?
Collect your owed back pay?
But did you know, as you got wet
Another man set sail
In tiny ships and headed west
While elsewhere one more nail
Went through the wrist and it was done
They crowned a man who tried
To teach us all what honor means
And for that crucified
At Valley Forge they froze and starved
While elsewhere brave men flew
The bombers that brought freedom home
The brave, the proud, the few
And while these things are going on
Concurrently it seems
A million billion more are busy
Living out their dreams
An instant to the universe
When all that happened did
Look heavenward, the stars are us
Step lightly, Julie kid

Do we say this more in Soros than in anger? No. We say it in anger. The con game is over. The European elites’ vision of perpetual rule by open borders and unlimited third world immigration has collapsed like a pricked soufflé. Using American taxpayers as a piggy bank for seventy plus years is at an end. Brexit opened the door and Donald Trump tore the door off its hinges. He called out the G7 for what It is – a bunch of ingrates who insist the United States continue to allow them to live in its basement rent free. Back home President Trump will bring those manufacturing jobs back from overseas cheap labor by causing the CEOs who wittingly and willingly destroyed the American middle class for increased profits and yearend bonuses to suffer excruciating financial pain. This time that great sucking sound will be the jobs coming back and the EU’s collective mouths being ripped from the American teat. There is a striking similarity between the young Arthur and the old Donald. Both have raised the sword from the stone with consummate ease, where many had tried and failed. Young Arthur had youth and purity, old Donald has age, experience and a flair for the brilliantly inconsistent. No one knows exactly what the Donald is going to do, or how he is going to do it, which made him an x-caliber gunslinger. What we do know is that anyone who elects to meet him in the street in front of the saloon is going to be lying inert and face down in the dust.

Young Arthur stood before the stone
The shimmered inner glow
Within the shining sword, alone,
His hand extended slow
The sword rose slowly in the air
Rose of its own accord
The gape-mouthed crowd reduced to stare
Until the shining sword
Was taken in young Arthur’s hand
And kneeling, men fair pledged
Their crowns, and crops and family, land
To Arthur and the edged
Bright weapon that was bathed in light
And showed them that the way
Was lit by Arthur and the fight
Was won this sunny day
And so with Trump who grasped the sword
Where others tried and failed
And turned it on the swampy horde
Who promptly cried and wailed
Like fireflies put in a jar
The swamp made disappear
How fortunate we surely are
To have young Arthur here

The tower stands upon the hill
Surrounded by the serf worked fields
Inside the local chieftain’s will
Commands by right of force he wields
The tower stands against the might
Of neighbors who would plunder all
And enemies who take delight
In planning for the tower’s fall
But towers seldom fall by force
They fall from weakness from within
What seems to all the men and horse
On guard are but the chieftain’s kin
Who prattle long of glories past
And tell of marvels yet to be
Until the tower falls at last
The rubble there for all to see

Down the Guadalquivir, the old river of war
From Seville to the sea and then west
To the sun spattered lands of the Aztecs they bore
en of steel, men of Spain, Europe’s best
That was then, this is now, golden days are long gone
When the ships and the men put to sea
And returned with the gold to Cadiz with the dawn
A fair harbor and safety to lee
The Platte fleet now sails in the night in the dreams
Of a nation whose glory is past
But the river of war in the moonless night gleams
With the river and time running fast

The mullahs are quite sincere in their desire and ultimate aim to completely destroy the hated Zionist Entity, Israel, seemingly undeterred by knowledge that Israel has hydrogen bombs and survivable means to deliver them, and any attack on Israel will be met with the full fury of the Israeli Defense Forces that wlll leave Iran a smoking ruin. But maybe that’s the mullahs’ plan. You know – Armageddon, chaos, the release of the 12th imam from the well he;s been hiding in for 1400 years, after which the world will be subjugated by Islam and the establishment of a worldwide caliphate. Now that would be worth being incinerated for.

The mullahs seem to be quite deaf
To warnings that the IDF
Is far superior in fact
And if Iran sudden attacked
Would quick respond with savage force
That not Mohammed or his horse
Could save the Quds from quick defeat
Who run like rabbits in retreat
No Muslim army can withstand
The fury of the steel clad hand
Of Western armies, and the fight
Turns quickly into Muslim flight
So listen close, you who are deaf
Do not annoy the IDF

Flawed first drafts of history are written by flawed writers about flawed subjects and flawed policies, and read and believed or disbelieved by flawed readers. The word flawed rhymes with fraud, especially and particularly in politics. So when a flawed man such as Donald Trump who is not a fraud emerges in full public view, it is as refreshing as a cold shower on a cold winter morning, and just as startling in its effect. Donald Trump is the cold shower of reality that is so rare in public life that when it does appear it is undoubtedly sung about by the angels.

We give some slack for we’re all flawed
Until the saint becomes the bawd