Category Archives: Verse

Mary Mary Quite Contrary

Richard Fernandez at The Belmont Club has an excellent post on the various and contradictory reactions to the recent capture of Taliban leaders by the Pakistani military. Some believe the Pakistani military has finally concluded that the Taliban are a threat to Pakistan, and are weeding the garden, a garden they, the Pakistani military and Intelligence Services, have sown. Others are not so sure. Time, as they say, will tell. But if they are weeding the garden, there appears to be a not inconsiderable amount of noxious weeds need pulling out.

Mary Mary quite contrary

How does your garden grow

With silver bells and cockleshells

And pretty maids all in a row

Mullah Omar lost your Baradar

How does your garden grow

With IEDs sir if you please

And dead infidels all in a row

Paki Paki Talib lackey

How does your garden grow

With pulled up weeds and planted seeds

And good Taliban all in a row

Barack Barack on the attack

How does your garden grow

With silent drones and bleached out bones

And dead Taliban all in a row

Mary Mary quite contrary

How does your garden grow

With welcome scenes of brave Marines

And Predy raids all in a row

The Obama Tapes

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In 2072, in response to a Freedom Of Disinformation request, White House conversations between President Obama and Chief of Staff Rahm Emmanuel were released to the public. Offensive language has been sanitized.

My new healthcare plan, Rahm

It’s (expletive deleted) beautiful, Mr. President

Taxes, rationing, price controls, Rahm

Your people (expletive deleted) love you, Mr. President

Was watching Fox News the other day, Rahm

(expletive deleted), Mr. President

And that hot blonde was on

They’re all (expletive deleted) hot, Mr. President

Yes they are, Rahm

And often now I wonder, well

How come it is I got Michelle

But to the biz at hand today

These tea party folks won’t go away

(expletive deleted), Mr. President

On top of that my health care plan

The public loves, but if they can

Republicans will kill it dead

And put their own plan up instead

(expletive deleted), Mr. President

And climate change is on the ropes

Just dashing all our fondest hopes

That cap and trade will trash the USA

I talked last night to Karl Marx

And what he said just struck some sparks

We’ll fight them, Rahm, and truly make them pay

The way it looks it’s less than firm

That I will have a second term

(expletive deleted), Mr. President

So ‘twere it done it must be quickly done

Just get our troops to fall in line

And after that we’ll be just fine

Just stomp ‘em, Rahm, and show them just who won

I fear we have no time to waste

We need a crisis and in haste

A big one, Rahm, so big I can declare

That next election be delayed

And once that happens mark it paid

That I’ll be sitting here and you’ll be there

We’ll hit ‘em high, we’ll hit ‘em low

Yes martial law’s the way to go

And then we’ll be in power for all time

Republicans will slink away

And cry and weep and sob and pray

And scream that what we did was such a crime

(expletive deleted), Mr. President

I’m glad we had this little talk

It’s always good to make them squawk

I value your wise words and sound advice

We’ll win this thing, just you and me

And then Republicans will see

That crossing me they’ll weep and pay the price

Just squeeze them, Rahm, and squeeze them hard

Just squeeze those suckers into lard

And squeeze those mothers at Fox News as well

And that reminds me, my old pal

That Megyn Kelly’s on right now

I’ll watch a bit then go home to Michelle

The Contradictions Of Punchless Pilot

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President Obama is ruled by contradiction. He claims to be fighting a war, but offers captured enemy combatants, who respect no rule of law, the full constitutional rights accorded an American citizen, an insane policy no nation, including ours, has ever employed. To get around the business of actually capturing anyone, the president has embarked on an energetic drone campaign, loosing lightning from the sky, thereby eliminating the need for taking prisoners. This keeps him pure in the eyes of the left, at least for a time. Another benefit of taking no prisoners is that President Obama does not have to send them to the country club facility at Guantanamo Bay, otherwise known to the left as that hell-hole Gitmo, an act that would enrage his leftist base and leftist world opinion. And so, the president, the pilot of the American state, must defend the country, something he would much prefer be done by the United Nations and the Human Rights Commission, and washes his hands, like another Pilate, absolving himself of the dirty business of waging war.

The brow caressed by laurel wreathes

The toga cleaned and pressed

Our punchless pilot softly breathes

And puffs his manly chest

We do things by the law, he cried

Not our law, which has failed

These killers will be fairly tried

And afterward impaled

We’ll close that horrid Gitmo down

That place of US shame

The cause of every lefty frown

Or might just change its name

I am the pilot of this State

The greatest land on Earth

And that is why I am so great

For years I’ve proved my worth

I don’t like everything I do

Our enemies I love

A Predator that roams the blue

Is but a gentle dove

The things I do in secret, yea

Of them I wash my hands

Then punchless pilot turned away

Not knowing where he stands

The Bolt From The Blue

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President Obama has ordered more drone hits in Afghanistan in the last six months that President Bush did in three years. Why is that? Is it because more drones are available now? Is it because it is cleaner and nicer to kill from ten thousand feet than ten feet? Israel relies more on human attacks, as witness the recent affair in Dubai, but which is better, man or robot? Which is better, the shot in the dark or the bolt from the blue?

In nature’s balance, all would say

Is predator and prey

In Pakistan by night or day

It’s Predator and pray

In Israel it’s if I may

We have a different way

We show that terror does not pay

And leave him where he lay

Now who can say the better way

To bring the foe to bay

In truth I think they’re both okay

And dare you to say nay

The Punch

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The president of Iran recently promised a “Punch” to the West on the occasion of the anniversary of the Iranian Revolution, and we now know what that punch was. Iran announced they had reached 20% uranium enrichment, the stepping stone to 80% enrichment and a workable bomb. But it could have been worse, as the original “Punch” draft has come into the hands of Verse-afire, and the severity of the punch was toned down by cooler heads. The original draft “Punch” is reproduced here.

As Allah’s mighty host assembles

We see how infidel host trembles

Before our mighty Allah and his wrath

We beg relent ye unbeliever

Give up your god the great deceiver

And follow us down Allah’s golden path

For if you don’t we shall deliver

A blow to make your foul hearts shiver

A blow that shakes your brave mustachios

A punch that rips your world asunder

For if you don’t retrieve your blunder

We’ll raise the price of our pistachios

Which Is It – Man The Stan Or Stan the Man

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General Stanley McChrystal apparently convinced the politicians in Pakistan that the Afghan Taliban and the Pakistani Taliban were conspiring to overthrow the government in Islamabad, and that is why the Pakis suddenly remembered where the leader of the Pakistani Taliban was and arrested him. No one could have been more surprised at the arrest than Mullah Baradar, the leader of the Pakistani Taliban, who had regularly attended meetings with Pakistani Intelligence officials, and who thought he was perfectly safe. Double dealing like this goes on all the time. Sometimes the Afghan and Pakistani politicians betray us, sometimes they betray the Taliban, sometimes they betray each other. But that’s life in the Stans. My question is, if we are in Afghanistan because it borders Iran and we want air bases in easy flying distance, then why not say so? If there is no strategic or geopolitical reason for being there that benefits the United States, then we should get out of those backwater and useless Stans and stick to our own Stans.

How did we get here, how and why

This Stan, this place of clans

This place where Muslim killers rule

Just like in other Stans

We’ve had our own Stans in the past

Stan Laurel comes to mind

Stan Musial was a lefty but

One of the hitting kind

The purest hitter I did see

And that includes DiMag

Not like the hitters in these Stans

Who come back from the hajj

All full of hate and fear and spite

Determined just to kill

And if they die those virgins wait

No sweat, it’s Allah’s will

I’ll take our Stans and they keep theirs

Stan Laurel makes me laugh

As General Stan McChrystal writes

The Taliban epitaph

The Days Go Slow But The Years Go Fast

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We have all been assured that the older we get the wiser we get, but I’m not so sure. The only thing of which I am completely certain is that the days go slow but the years go fast. And not just fast, but a whirlwind of flashing scenes and faces when looking back down the dark rimmed corridor of time. Wasn’t it only yesterday I asked that pretty little girl to the prom? Why do I remember my first pair of roller skates? My first bike? How is it I remember the names and faces of everyone in my eighth grade class? I think I know the answers. It’s because memory works in fast years, so they didn’t happen all that long ago. When counted in slow days they happened sometime around the Permian, but that’s in slow days. In memory it all happened yesterday.

The days go slow, but the years go fast

We sit beside the roadside

And watch our days on earth go past

Denying it’s an ebb tide

Till much too late we chance upon

The notion that we’re mortal

And soon we’ll board that great white swan

And pass through heaven’s portal

We dream at length of golden things

But know they’re not for keeping

We know the tears that sorrow brings

And know how joy comes leaping

We watch our children skip and play

And prize the things we taught ‘em

Till one sad day they go away

Like falling leaves in Autumn

That’s not to say that we’re alone

In looking back in sorrow

At things for which we can’t atone

At least not til tomorrow

Mein Fuhrer

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Senator Blanche Lincoln, (D-AR), is in deep trouble at home due to her vote on Obamacare, and desperately wants to keep her job. And so she politely asked President Obama to move to the center to avoid a disaster for the Democrats in November. The president coldly told her no, that he was pressing ahead with his healthcare agenda, because if he didn’t there would be nothing to differentiate between his administration and those that had gone before. Senator Lincoln left the Oval Office a sadder but not much wiser woman.

Mein Fuhrer, poor Blanche Lincoln cried

I do not like to shout

But I can’t leave without I’ve tried

To make you turn about

Your policies are driving us

To ruin and defeat

You lefties are depriving us

Of any chance to beat

Opponents who will run on your

Large debts and broken promises

You’ve turned our solid base in four

Short months to doubting Thomases

Obama slowly paced the floor

Not looking at Ms Lincoln

Then silently he closed the door

And said, with cool eyes blinkin’

It matters not that others lose

That’s not what I’m about

And call me Fuhrer if you choose

But please use an umlaut

A Tin-roofed Bar

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In Santos City, the Philippines, a series of killings in open air tin-roofed karaoke bars has been attributed to growing rage over the too frequent singing of the old Frank Sinatra song My Way. Much too often a patron who has consumed too much Red Horse beer will stagger to the microphone, belch a few times, get out a few quavering bars of My Way, and POW! Shots, lights out, screams, and one fewer singer of My Way. It is to wonder.

In a tin-roofed bar in General San

As the midnight hour drew near

At the end of the bar sat a bow-tied man

Drinking a Red Horse beer

He tilted the felt hat to the side

Then strode to the microphones

The room grew hushed and women sighed

Then sighing turned to groans

As the first faint notes came to the ears

Of assembled dames and men

Fierce cries of rage well fueled by beers

Erupted “Not again!”

The crooner paid no slightest heed

He bade the music play

A single shot that made him bleed

But still he sang his way

Another shot that killed him dead

They watched him as he sank

Onto the floor where someone said

My God, you’ve shot poor Frank!

Rhymes With Tax

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With the national debt reaching astronomical and unsustainable heights, with 10% unemployment and decreasing consumer confidence, Jeffrey Sachs, of Time Magazine, says the answer to our problems is simple. He argues that the United States should be more like Europe, that the United States has the lowest tax rates in the industrialized world, and that raising taxes, not reducing spending, is the only sensible and moral answer.

Jeffrey Sachs, he rhymes with Tax

Says we should be like Norway

Or Spain or Greece, despite the facts

That show, Jeff, going your way

Will lead to higher taxes still

And higher unemployment

Insuring that the government will

Bring massive debt enjoyment

We’re much too much like Europe now

In debt up to our tookus

But guys like Jeffrey always bow

To lefty schemes to cook us