Why do young women, and especially young, unmarried white women, love Obama so dearly? Well, he’s cool and handsome, an alpha male, and he’s black. But why do they still love him no matter how he treats them, no matter how much harm he is doing to the country? Well, he’s cool and handsome, an alpha male, and he’s black. He’s the boyfriend they can’t forget, the cold, indifferent boyfriend they love and lust for, no matter what.

 

He left her crying, in the lurch

She waited for him at the church

He laughed as she began the search

For the boyfriend

He’s somewhere near, she said at last

I never thought he’d run so fast

He hadn’t done that in the past

The boyfriend

She cried, I’m done with him for good

I’ll even leave the neighborhood

I’d kill the bastard if I could

The boyfriend

I’ve got a new man, brave and strong

I should have had him all along

How could I have been oh so wrong

About the boyfriend

I’m sorry babe, he called that night

I beg you let me make things right

I love you babe with all my might

Your boyfriend

I’ll care for you and keep you warm

I’ll shelter you from every storm

Remember when we shared that dorm?

Your boyfriend

That new guy he’s just not your kind

A name like Mitt? Well never mind

Come back to me and you will find

Your boyfriend

I love you so, she sobbed and wailed

They said that all you did has failed

My ballot is already mailed

My boyfriend

I doubted yes your love for me

I’ll make it up to you, you’ll see

And you, Barack, will always be

My boyfriend

 

Muslim violence increases, Muslim killings of Americans and westerners grows apace. Muslims feel their god is on their side, and they are about to succeed in conquering the infidel West after 1400 years of trying. They see weakness on every side, and are determined to take advantage of it. They see the West as on the way out, and they on the way to world subjugation. But they are wrong. At some point the elephant can no longer ignore the ants biting his ankle, and stomps on them

.

The God of the Muslims commands them to war

Insisting the infidel die

And Allah’s bright sword is with laughter swift drawn

For they know that the vic’try is nigh

They see that the West is afraid of them now

They see that Obama won’t act

They see that the killing of Yankees will bring

Only words spoken after the fact

But what they don’t see is that old Western man

Is living despite the elites

Who live for the pomp and wine and the spoils

And mind not at all the defeats

And deep in the souls of the white northern men

There stirs the faint traces of lust

Of lust for the blood of the dark Arab man

Who kills us ‘cause told that he must

In the great northern forests the feeling has grown

In the hills of the great western states

On the grass of the great Mississippi washed plains

The men of the West mull the fates

Of killers, beheaders and players with fire

Who think that their Allah will strike

The infidel dead should he dare to resist

Parading their heads on a pike

It’s coming to pass that enough is enough

The thousand year bill must be paid

In blood of the guilty and innocent alike

The end of the ancient Crusade

For hubris will take them, the Arab mad street

To follow the Allah command

To take out our cities with Persian made nukes

Not knowing they don’t understand

That war as conducted in the Western way

When war is decided at last

Will end in destruction of all that they own

And come not so slowly but fast

As fire is rained down on cities and towns

And villages fill with despair

They scream for their God to deliver the foe

Not knowing their God isn’t there

 

The Libyan consulate in Benghazi is torched and the Ambassador killed, along with three ex-Navy Seals. Simultaneously, American embassies around the world are attacked and torched by Muslims. “In the next four years, an unforeseen crisis, challenge or conflict is going to seize the country. Whose leadership, whose judgment, whose values do you want in the White House when that crisis lands like a thud on the Oval Office desk?” Rahm Emmanuel, speaking to the Democratic convention not so long ago. But Rahm was speaking of UNFORSEEN crises and challenges, and this one was entirely foreseen.

 

I tell you, Rahm, Obama said

His face a mask of gloom

That we knew this would come about

Must never leave this room

It all fits in with our big plan

The timing though’s not right

I thought I’d have the crisis come

After election night

But now the cat’s escaped the bag

Advantage we must take

Our friends at NBC will claim

That for our country’s sake

We must maintain the status quo

Must keep Obama there

He knows the Middle East unlike

That Mitt who doesn’t care

How many embassies are torched

How many staff are killed

How poor the starving Muslims are

So long as he has filled

The coffers of his Mormon friends

With gold and silver coins

Nor does he care about the folks

In places like Des Moines

Advantage, Rahm! Those chanting mobs!

The burning flags, the screams

Of death to all Americans

Have hastened both our dreams

Of power over all the world

A thousand years to come

Is now within our grasp, dear friend

With all beneath my thumb

I tell you, Rahm, Obama cried

Fist pumping in the air

Another embassy or two

And Rahm, by God we’re there!

 

The consulate in Benghazi burned, Americans killed and dragged through the streets, the president of Egypt saying the United States is between being an enemy and an ally, and rage against the United States has spread to other regions of the Muslim world. Obama has cast his lot and that of the country with the radical Islamists, and it is we who shall pay for it. Our leaders never seem to heed the warnings of those who know the Middle East best, and insist on allowing the scorpion to climb upon our back as we cross the river.

 

The Arab Spring has turned to Fall

In Egypt ancient gods resume

Their rightful place in pantheon

Harakhty soars, while sonic boom

Disturbs the gentle earth beneath

As o’er the mountain crest he climbs

Into the sun, Amon the great

As in DC Obama mimes

A white faced man trapped in a box

Who silently with stoic grace

Explores the bound’ries of his world

A look of pain upon his face

In Tunis too the gods have stirred

And stirring are now full awake

With Melqart Baal in full throat roar

Demanding blood his thirst to slake

Our puny minds think we command

And order universes play

The part we have assigned to them

But gods seem still to have their way

The Arab Spring has come full ‘round

From despots on our side at least

To scorpions upon our backs

But then that is the Middle East

 

It is fashionable, in certain circles, to speak of crime as a disease, to be cured like any disease, with love and outreach. In gang ridden Chicago, the land of the constant neighborhood funeral, outreach people talk of interrupting the cycle of violence by introducing the kids to peaceable pursuits, and rewarding them for good behavior. I spoke to Sigmund (Sig) Sauer, head of an outreach organization called Coltus Interruptus.  When I asked if the organization was geared to interrupting gang killings, he said no, we’re geared to interrupting killers, with a Colt or whatever comes to hand.

 

He scoffed when told crime’s a disease

And said if that’s the case

Then vaccinations held the keys

And crime would take its place

With Dodos and Neanderthals

And soon would cease to be

And frantic nine eleven calls

No longer come to me

I have a scanner in my car

And when the shots go down

I’m off no matter near or far

It’s my Chicago town

I always get there ‘fore the cops

The shooter still be there

I shoot him then until he drops

I think that’s only fair

For he’d just killed another boy

A gang hit it is true

And I believe if one is dead

Then why not make it two?

We interrupt their lives, you see

Dispatch them with a Colt

I tell you man it’s guys like me

That love to feel the jolt

That comes with doing social good

And putting bad guys down

We’re cleaning up the neighborhood

It’s my Chicago town

 

A recent study suggests that sex and food is not the principal driving force of human existence, but that belonging is. Belonging to something greater than oneself. Belonging to another person, belonging to the group, belonging to an idea, an ideology. I don’t know about that. I don’t believe belonging is the end all and be all of one’s existence. Take me, for instance.

 

BELONG! I screamed, I BEG OF YOU!

BELONG TO YOU I MUST OR I SHALL DIE!

She laughed out loud and walked away

Not wishing to behold a grown man cry

And that’s the way my life has gone

I cannot join a club or walking tour

I try and try but I have found

It always comes I’m turned down at the door

I tried out for Olympic teams

The women’s swim team saying I was Marge

Although a man I made the cut

But then let go, my boobs were much too large

I tried a church, they were so nice

Invited me to join and that was new

But Sunday morning came and went

And no one there would join me in my pew

I try so hard to get along

I even bought a dog that was for sale

But even he, a lesser breed

Refused to lick my hand or wag his tail

I’m used to it by now of course

I have my own computer and a mouse

Anonymous is now my friend

And I’m content just sitting in my house

 

The administration has finally conceded, after a week of stonewalling the obvious and apologizing for having as a citizen a vicious Mohammed hater, that the attack on the Benghazi consulate was planned. They did so by simply changing the tenses from present to past. At first the attack on the Benghazi consulate IS the result of an obscure YouTube movie trailer that no one had seen, and now, a week later, the administration admits it WAS a planned attack, as those dirty Republicans insisted. But now, it seems, the whole thing is best forgotten as an unfortunate and unforeseen incident, to join other unfortunate and unforeseen incidents in the past tense.

 

Benghazi was a peaceful place

Indeed had not a single trace

Of Muslim men attacking like some Huns

So sayeth State, and what is more

They saw no need to guard the store

And so they hired locals armed with guns

 

That had no bullets just in case

Some peaceful men might rush the place

And burn it down and curse the Yankee flag

And kill and thrill the cheering crowd

Who loved what Allah had allowed

And cheered and spit on that star spangled rag

 

But State had seen no need for guns

For we don’t want to be the ones

To foster violence where there was no cause

They had some locals there to guard

The consulate inside the yard

When trouble came they ran without a pause

 

But not to worry State did say

There is no trouble on the way

Although some peaceful protests there may be

But in Benghazi don’t you know

The people there just love us so

Their love is just quite wonderful to see

 

But then on an unforeseen day

A nine eleven by the way

A group of men armed with both bombs and guns

Attacked and killed four of our men

The State Department acted then

By saying such a thing just simply stuns

 

They said the fault was some poor slob

Who did a horrid hatchet job

On their beloved Prophet who they claimed

Was much insulted by the flick

Produced by some poor redneck hick

And so it was that this was who got blamed

 

At first it was the present tense

Yes even though it made no sense

To say the killings were no fault of those

Who peaceably had gathered there

To say they didn’t think it fair

That some dumb movie made them so morose

 

But now the tense has turned to past

The lies of State just could not last

They now admit attacks were quite well planned

Of course denying they’re at fault

They want the stories now to halt

That claim it’s they who saw the place not manned

 

By men with guns who shot to kill

And all because State lacked the will

To face with force the mob who stormed the gates

And so the tenses twist and turn

As O and State just never learn

That lies and cover ups just tempt the fates

 

And so the story that they told

Is changing now it’s grown so old

That Muslim movie critics said thumbs down

On a brief piece of what some said

Was quite enough to see us dead

And State instead of learning just dumbs down

 

I met a man, a countryman, who fights for the other side, in the belief that the United States, as depicted by the press and the universities and the Democratic Party, is an evil curse upon a peace loving world. He was young, and lost, and unafraid of death, or so he said. Dirty, bearded, he stopped in for a drink, and I engaged him in conversation. When I asked why he fought for so unsavory a cause, he said

 

I have a life that’s mine to give

To do with as I please

From dust I came, to dust return

I’m but winemaker’s lees

So saying thus he turned to go

His ideals brave and strong

To die for causes he held dear

Yet could this man be wrong?

There’s more to life than wine made lees

I said in quiet way

And not from dust have you appeared

As some would perhaps say

So now it’s God, he scoffed, amused

He’s long been dead and gone

I live my life till it is done

There is no second dawn

But what, I said, if it is true

That you and I have souls

And God is there for you to find

To show you men have roles

Beyond the empty daily strife

You find so dull and drear

He’s here, in flesh, if you but see

He speaks, if you but hear

A shadow world, he scoffed again

Sharp tales for boys and girls

A mix of fables brought to froth

A drink of bubbled swirls

He turned and left, I watched him go

A man borne on the tide

But we shall meet again one day

Upon the other side

 

 

President Obama reminds us daily of the sanctity of his values. So valuable are Obama’s values that he has created a special Cabinet position to keep them secure from enemy hands. A frightening job, for it calls for unalloyed obedience and obeisance to Obama. To deviate is deviance, and that cannot be tolerated. But the holder of this Cabinet position does not sit at the big table in the White House conference room. No, the holder of this position sits deep in the bowels of the Obama White House, below the swimming pool where frolic the ghosts of JFK and Fiddle and Faddle. He may be found on any day, sitting in the darkness, a solitary figure, The Keeper Of The Values.

 

In darkness deep, behind the stone

Lined door that leads to what

In former times would have been called

A corridor whose shut

And moldering doors are fairly lined

In rectangles of rust

With signs brief lit in flickered light

In Naught but O we trust

The Keeper, bent and frail he is

Works steady at his task

Of shining values with a cloth

Yet pausing now to ask

What are the values of this man?

Has he a core belief?

Has anything he’s said or done

Stood out in stark relief

To show he has the inner strength

To lead in crisis times

Or faith to face down wickedness

And punish tyrant’s crimes?

He doubted now his very work

He doubted Hussein’s heart

And doubting, heard the footsteps fall

And heard the heavens part

As down the corridor it came

To punish doubter’s sin

The screaming Keeper watched the door

Slam shut and lock him in

 

     “Boss,” Joe Beden said, the beginning of a goofy smile upon his lips, “I was reading Verse-afire today and it said you told an interviewer back in oh four that a sin was anything that did not conform to your values. Or something like that.”

     “Hillary doesn’t read Verse-afire,” Obama said icily. “It isn’t too late to call her, wherever she is.”

     “Sorry boss, I misspoke. I was reading The Daily Beast.”

     The air in the room was heavy with unspoken threat and abject contrition, as Obama closed his eyes and sighed.

 

It isn’t sin, Obama said

Unless I say it is

My values may be dressed in red

Most can be found in Ms

For I believe my life’s a trial

I’m put here for a cause

And though I’m here for but a while

My values give me pause

So strict am I in my belief

That no one is exempt

From heresy and to be brief

It’s just that to attempt

To put in words you understand

Is taxing me but then

As my VP I’ll take your hand

We’ll speak as honest men

My values, Joe, and here is truth

I am the Chosen One

And none, no matter how uncouth

Can say I’m not the Sun

Who gives the light that all live by

The Father who knows best

Whose children balk at all I try

And try to flee the nest

So sin is what I say it is

And Joe, I’m not a crier

Just stick to reading stuff in Ms

And not that Verse-afire