Wikileaks founder Julian Assange, who attracted little attention until he stumbled on the anti-American line so popular with the global Left, is now under house arrest in Britain, holing up in the mansion of a leftist friend, the sort of friends Assange is at pains now to disavow, and they him, for his days of usefulness to the Left are drawing to a close. His Swedish paramour, a lefty who offered him her apartment and her bed, which he accepted, and who is now charging him with rape, under the leftist reasoning that anything a Lefty woman says is rape is by definition rape, even if she not only consented to the sex but initiated it. And so Assange finds himself on the outside looking in, his sometime Lefty friends no longer caring for him as much as they once did.   

 

 

Sverige’s mostly cold and dreary

Drinkers’ eyes bright red and bleary

Women’s  dreams both sharp and eerie

Baltic winter blues

Into this place Assange did wander

A woman who was more than fonder

Now leaves him with so much to ponder

Now with much to lose

Found his anti-Yank work paid more

Found his anti-Yank work made more

Friends and women who now laid more

Flowers on his shoes

Is there now a further story

Is there more to Assange’s glory

Where is now his Swedish houri

Now that he’s old news

 

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