Category Archives: Verse

And A Bottle Of Rum

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There was a time pirates were hanged when caught. A few months ago a Portugese warship caught a bunch of pirates on the open sea with a boat full of grenade launchers, AK-47s and an aluminum ladder for climbing aboard a passing merchant ship. They caught them, but let them go, because there was nothing in Portugese law that dealt with piracy. Lawyers in Britain have advised the Royal Navy not to capture any pirates lest they seek asylum in Britain. In today’s West, pirates have rights just like every one else.

 

 

I say we take them at their word

Though some word combos sound absurd

Somali is a word that sings

Trips off your tongue like bluebird wings

But trouble comes when e’re I hear

The word Somali placed too near

A word that sounds like government

It’s then I sniff a certain scent

That tells me something is not right

And caution forms afore I bite

The simplest thing I guess to do

Is arm the willing merchant crew

Then when the pirate grapnel flies

The first man up the ladder dies

 

But we no longer hang pirates, we interview them. Scott Carney of Wired has interviewed a Somali pirate, asking when do they decide to kill hostages, who gets to go free, how do they set the ransom price and so on. It turns out the pirates have financiers, just like any other business. Read the whole thing.

 

 

So now the guys have financiers

Who plot out the hijacking

Arranging everything in tiers

And see that nothing’s lacking

And hostages are graded for

Ethnicity and value

A white man can be traded for

Whatever they can cow you

Into giving them what they

Think you by george are good for

And so because you always pay

They know what you have stood for

They raise the price in many ways

And we have always paid her

We need to get back to the days

Of old Stephen Decatur

 

 

Deeper And Deeper

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The US Treasury Department reports that 2nd quarter 2009 tax receipts are down from 2nd quarter 2008 receipts. Individual Income Taxes are down a staggering 43.5%; Individual Employment Taxes are down 1.5%; Corporate Income Taxes are down a mind-boggling 57.3%; and All Other receipts are down 8.3%. We are getting deeper and deeper in the financial hole. The money is running out, as is President Obama’s political capital. It is heartening though, despite the financial picture, to see that the Blue Dog Democrats are stiffing the attempted coup to impose socialized medicine on the country, and the planned destruction of the American economy through carbon taxes via the odious Cap and Trade fraud will now not likely see the light of day. It is becoming increasingly clear that we have a fighting chance of saving our country from the radical lefties who seek to destroy it. 

 

 

We must take heart even though we art

In doo doo deep and troubling

With O in charge it’s looming large

That taxes will be doubling

Cap and trade puts in the shade

All taxes gone before

It’s a good bet our national debt

Will melt our finance core

Economies when taxes ease

Rebound with mighty force

But O it seems will take our dreams

And stomp on them of course

When will it end when can we send

Chicago’s men back home

In three short years we’ll quell our fears

And elect the gal from Nome

 

 

Brother Can You Spare A Dime

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Bloomberg reports that the Department of Commerce now believes the first 12 months of the recession was twice as bad as previously thought. Are we heading deeper into recession? Does the staggering debt load the Obama administration has strapped to the already overburdened backs of the American taxpayer portend even worse economic news? Are we heading for a 1930s rerun? Does anyone remember what that was like? Listen to Bing Crosby, 1931. Brother Can You Spare A Dime. Lyrics by Yip Harburg, music by Jay Gorney. With apologies to Messers Harburg and Gorney, I have added additional lyrics to fit the times.

 

 

They used to tell me he was building a dream

And so I followed the mob

I thought that I was really part of a team

And so we gave him the job

Once I built a factory and I made it run

We made cars all the time

Now he’s given it to the union and they’re having fun

Brother can you spare a dime

 

On the campaign, gee we looked swell

Full of that Yankee Doodly Dum

Marching with Acorn, giving them hell

And I was the kid with the drum

 

Say don’t  you remember, we called him Barack

It was Barack, Barack all the time

Say don’t you remember, Barack was our pal

Brother can you spare a dime

 

 

High Noon

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Twenty-two prominent East European figures, including Poland’s Lech Walesa and The Czech Republic’s Vaclav Havel, wrote an open letter to President Obama, begging him not to forget them in the president’s lurch toward Russia. Will President Obama listen to this plea not to be forgotten, not to be cast aside by Obama in his missile defense and other deals with Putin? One has the feeling President Obama has no time for sentiment, no time for allies, no time for long standing friendships, if they stand in the way of his overarching design to remove the United States from a position of leadership to, in his words, just another country in a long list of countries. The plea not to be forsaken must have amused him.

 

 

Do not forsake me, oh my darling

She cried and sobbed please come back soon

But in DC with visage gnarling

Obama says it’s past high noon

We’ve got some fish to fry with others

The Russians and some others too

Now Puti-poot and I are brothers

And deals are made that don’t count you

The world has changed since last we saw you

Stand athwart the commie tide

And as the bear tried hard to paw you

You stood up for your country’s pride

But that was then and this is now, sis

Your days of freedom left are few

I’m sorry that I have to say this

I have to flush you down the loo

 

 

We’d Rather Not

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The Aspen Daily News Online reports that Dan Rather wants the president to appoint a commission to rescue the struggling profession of journalism, arguing that the very survival of American democracy is at stake. Dan Rather is not the only reason the MSM is struggling, but he sure helped push it over the cliff.

 

 

In days of old when journalists were bold

And readers were not particular

We got the facts and some attacks

Both flat and perpendicular

When Murrow spoke we did not choke

And wonder who had paid him

We knew it was the truth becuz

The living God had made him

The New York Times for just two dimes

Produced a Sunday paper

That told when bought what whole world thought

As well as latest caper

But Cronkite’s tears while stoking fears

And tearing down the pillars

Led other guys to claim GIs

Were hulking, brutal killers

This turned the tide of the free ride

Once owned by comp’ny presses

And made us wince and ever since

We’ve seen beneath their dresses

They’re in the tank and they can thank

Their plight on one another

As readers flee their company

And now they cry for mother

To give them aid for which they’ve paid

The Dems in largest measure

They cry the first amendment’s thirst

For justice is their treasure

So we don’t need the Prez to feed

Their cries for a commission

I say they should be gone for good

Consigned to hell’s perdition

 

 

Blue Moon

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Today, Thursday, July 30th, the President of the United States, Barack Obama, will host an informal beer fest meeting between Cambridge, Massachusetts police sergeant James Crowley and Harvard University professor Henry Louis Gates, Alphonse Fletcher University Professor and Director of the W. E. B. Du Bois Institute for African and African American Public Policy. President Obama and Professor Gates have chosen to live their lives as Black men despite both having White mothers, and will use the occasion as a teaching moment, to show Sergeant Crowley, and the rest of us, the error of his and our White repressive ways. Officer Crowley will be drinking Blue Moon beer, while Professor Gates will be drinking Red Stripe or Beck’s. And so, with deep and heartfelt apologies to Rogers and Hart, here is my version of that hit song of 1935, Blue Moon. Click here to listen to original.

 

 

Blue moon, you saw me standing alone

Without a key to my door

Outside the home that I own

And then you suddenly appeared before me

The only one who knew that I was Black

And then you heard me whisper please accord me

A little gentleman’s respect and slack

Blue moon, you need not taken that tack

There was no need to arrest

Except you saw I was Black

And now you suddenly appear before me

Drinking beer and claiming I was wrong

You say the station people did record me

I say you’ve got to listen to my song

Blue moon, I have big friends in high places

They’ve got my front and my back

You’ll disappear without traces

Don’t mess with me ‘cause I’m Black

 

 

Ka-Boom Times

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French workers have taken to holding company executives hostage to further their wage demands, but a recent event at the New Fabris auto parts plant has taken the hostage scenario a step beyond. The workers have taken the factory hostage, planting bombs, and giving Peugeot and Renault until July 31st to meet their demands for severance pay or they will blow up the plant. At least the teachers unions and the united auto workers don’t hold the schools and factories hostage; they just hold us hostage.

 

 

The French they are a funny race

They try to put you in your place

By sneers and shrugs and oft-times little smirks

But when it comes to work place rules

Their union bosses offer duels

To oligarchs who think they own the works

A few days past a shut down plant

Had offered workers just a scant

Amount of euros as their severance pay

The workers took it not too kind

And then they took it in their mind

To bomb the plant and put their plan in play

So now they sit and wait until

The company dips in the till

And count the days as union deadlines loom

They vow if they don’t get their way

The company will have to pray

That when they strike the match it won’t kaboom

 

 

He Went Thataway

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Congressman Charley Rangle, D-NY, is asking for a 5.4% income tax surcharge. Charley Rangle has always, to my mind, been one of the good guys, not a hater like some of his Democrat colleagues, but more interested in the perks associated with being a powerful politician. You may recall a few months ago Charley was found to be a tax cheat, and explained his failure to pay his taxes on his being unable to understand the tax code, which is mildly humorous, since Congressman Rangel chairs the powerful House Ways and Means committee that writes the tax rules for the rest of us. You might think being found to be a tax cheat would cause someone shame, might cause that someone to feel he could not show his face again in polite society, but you would be wrong about that, at least as it applies to Charley Rangel. He has no trouble riding into town, even though he knows the sheriff has a Wanted poster in his office with Charley’s picture on it, and words TAX CHEAT in big, black letters.

 

 

The sheriff moseyed up the street

Boots kicking up the sand

The Wanted poster of the cheat

Gripped firmly in his hand

He’d seen that face ride into town

And head for the saloon

A smiling face, a tiny frown

The time was just high noon

A-past the swinging doors he strode

His six-gun at his hip

A-past the horse the stranger rode

Still sweaty from the trip

He saw his quarry in the dark

A-standin’ at the bar

His voice commanded in a bark

Just stand right where you are!

I’ve come here to arrest you, sir

For cheating on your taxes

You’ll spend a goodly time in stir

Depending what the max is

The man looked up and smiled a smile

Said you know who I am?

It’s well for you I do not rile

Or you’d be in a jam

For I’m beloved Congressman

Chuck Rangle from New York

And I’m the guy who writes the plan

For guys like you who work

Must follow under pain of law

The penalties are clear

No matter how quick is your draw

You’ll serve at least a year

But none of this applies to me

Because, son, I’m your better

So you can not arrest me, see

But you can write me a letter

With that he put his shot glass down

And climbed upon his horsey

And headed north for New York town

Though he’d have to cross New Jorsey

 

 

Victory Is Not An Option

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President Obama, in an interview with ABC News, said he does not like to use the word victory. “I’m always worried about using the word ‘victory’,” he said, “because, you know, it invokes this notion of Emperor Hirohito coming down and signing a surrender to MacArthur.” This is astounding, though not astonishing, given what we now know about Barack Hussein Obama and his utter contempt and dislike for the United States, its traditions and culture. Disregarding the fact known to most schoolboys that Hirohito was nowhere near the USS Missouri on the day in question, it is not clear to me whether Obama thinks surrendering to the Americans was a humiliation to the Japanese not to be borne, or whether it was a personal embarrassment inflicted by vengeful and vindictive white people on a dignified man of color. Whatever, the import of what Obama said is clear. He does not believe in victory. He strove mightily, as did other Democrats, to lose the war in Iraq, in the belief that losing the war would be beneficial politically to Democrats. Which raises the question, what are we doing in Afghanistan? Why is he sending men to die if not for victory?

 

 

Victory or death, men used to say

But such words now are quite passé

And victory as such is much deplored

Our president has said as much

And he is surely more in touch

With matters military ‘cross the board

Than those of us who seem to think

That when at war one should not shrink

From doing what we need to do to win

So we should follow Obie’s lead

And when we fight we should concede

That victory in war’s a mortal sin

For enemies that kill our guys

Are merely friends that we may prise

Away from habits warlike, harsh and cruel

And turn them into people who

Believe in all the things we do

And all who don’t believe this is a fool

But somehow I can’t quite believe

That wearing hearts upon our sleeve

Is quite the way to show them we are right

For in a war you win or lose

And which is not for you to choose

And victory or death be why we fight

 

 

It’s A Long Way To TARPerary

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You remember Tim Geithner, the big Wall Street honcho who was confirmed as Secretary of the Treasury even though it emerged that he had not paid his income taxes. President Obama dismissed this lapse in judgment as of no consequence, saying Tim Geithner was indispensable to the country, and the only man capable of rescuing the economy from the near bottomless pit it was left in by George W. Bush. Yes, that Tim Geithner. Or rather, this Tim Geithner.

 

 

Our Treasury Sec he pays no tax

Tim Geithner is his name

He says the IRS expacts

Us all to play the game

According to the rules laid down

By people such as he

Who laugh at those who get paid down

By year or quarterly

The rules all have an angle for

The Sec and guys like him

And guys like Charley Rangel or

The other cherubim

He was confirmed despite the fact

His taxes were not paid

For some the deck is always stacked

And allegations fade

He says he has a plan to save

The country and its folks

He says to shut our eyes, be brave

And tell each other jokes

While he in secret lays the plan

For rolling back the tide

He’ll tell us as soon as he can

But now he has to hide

The details from our very eyes

Since we don’t have a clue

What those so bright financial guys

Are really gonna do

So what is it we need to ask

Tim Geithner has in store

To pay the bills our only task

Just that and nothing more

 

But that was then and this is now. Robert Stacy McCain, writing in The American Spectator, tells of Mr. Geithner’s escalating war with Neil Barofsky, the special inspector general for the Troubled Asset Relief Program (SIGTARP), the bailout that sent hundreds of billions of dollars to such as insurance giant AIG and financial giants Bank Of America and Geithner’s pals at Goldman Sachs. Mr. Barofsky has reported that the bailout will eventually total 23 TRILLION dollars, a figure vigorously disputed by Geithner spokesmen. What is more irksome to Treasury is that Mr. Barofsky suggested strongly that Goldman Sachs and other recipients of taxpayer money should be required to report what they did with the funds so that the American people would know the money wasn’t being sent down a black hole. With polls showing the American people now believe the Obama administration has bungled the economy, with bailout billions going to political pals, it is a near certainty that President Obama will soon be looking for a scapegoat, and that scapegoat will be the once indispensable man, Timothy Geithner.

 

“Will no one rid me of this meddlesome priest?”

Cried English king Henry the Second

Words Timothy Geithner must think of, at least

As Treasury’s Tarp troubles beckoned

As billions uncounted rolled out the front door

To pals and to all he called friend

An inspector general began to explore

How much it would cost in the end

The numbers he crunched told the story of how

If continued the figures did show

That from mere hundreds millions it stood at just now

Into twenty-three trillions ‘twould grow

Obama could see that poll numbers to date

Showed the public would hold him at fault

So in order for him to continue to skate

He’ll lock Timmy in Treasury’s vault