Two men and a woman set out on the perilous sea of European Union, trying mightily to save the Euro, save the Eurozone, save the dream of a unified socialist Europe that is rapidly crumbling around their ears. Merkel, Cameron and Hollande are their names, but we know them as Wynken, Blynken and Nod.

Wynken, Blynken and Nod one night

Set out in a wooden tub

To form them a perfect Union

Will it work? Ah there’s the rub

The Germans thought the Schlieffen plan

Would solve things overnight

But von Kluck turned before the Marne

A tragic oversight

Another try, this time with tanks

It worked fine at the start

At Stalingrad they had once more

Put horse behind the cart

But now the dream of Charlemagne

Of Europe in one house

With Germany the husband and

The others all a spouse

Frau Merkel with a twinkling eye

See her poll ratings spike

If she can pull it off this time

A new thousand year Reich

Obama’s senior campaign advisor David Axelrod, in an interview, said he was particularly concerned about protecting Eric Holder’s Justice Department from undue White House influence or pressure. He said he was building a firewall between Holder and himself. Does anyone believe this? I thought not. In architecture, a firewall has a rating, that is it can hold back the flames for a specified amount of time, say four hours. I think this is what we are looking at here. I believe both Holder’s and Axelrod’s firewalls have a fire rating of one hour.

A firewall of concrete block

Can hold the fire back

Thus giving time for all in peril

To rise up from the sack

And sprint for exits far and near

Escaping with one’s life

From all the knives and hatchet jobs

With which DC is rife

So Axelrod can build his wall

And Holder build his too

But when the flames get good and hot

They’ll find the point of view

Of those whose power is in play

Will tear that wall right down

And Axelrod and Holder both

Will cry, “This stinkin’ town!

Just don’t deserve a guy like me

We’re loyal to the core

And don’t deserve a goodbye kiss

While being shown the door.”

As of this writing, Obama has 16 million Twitter followers to half a million for Romney. Obama has 27 million Facebook followers to Romney’s 1.8 million. So how come Romney is leading in the polls? I spoke to a 12 year old young lady the other day, and she told me she loves Obama, she follows him on Facebook and Twitter. Maybe that’s the answer.

My best friend is my Smartphone

She said with dimpled smile

I talk to friends on Facebook

And Twitter all the while

I’m friendly with Obama

He sends me every day

A message or a greeting

And says that I can pay

Three dollars for a chance to

Meet Hollywood’s big stars

He says he’ll fill my dreams with

Big money and big cars

I sent him his three dollars

And that’s the last I heard

Of meeting mister Clooney

But he will keep his word

I know I’m so excited

Obama is so cool

I’d vote for him this minute

But I’ve got to get to school

The European Committee for Human Rights has demanded that someone, anyone, stop Syria and Assad from killing children and innocent civilians in the ongoing Syrian civil war. Normally, this would mean the United States, but we are unlikely to step into that quagmire. Nonetheless, someone must bell the Syrian cat. The question is, who?

Behind the baseboard, whispering low

The mice looked to their leader

Outside now prowling in the dark

Crept silently the feeder

Upon the gentle cheese eaters

Whose shaking voices trembled

On asking of the leading mouse

Just who the cat resembled

He looks a lot like boy Assad

Said Hillary real quiet

Though contradicted by The One

Who said I just don’t buy it

I know Assad and he would not

Be treating folks so beastly

And anyway, we cannot do

A thing, except that leastly

We may encourage someone to

Alert us to the presence

Of the cruel beast who’s stalking us

And killing all us peasants

Now I propose upon the cat

We place a bell that tinkles

Whenever he shall take a step

Just one of many wrinkles

That we may take to keep us safe

In this cruel world we live in

And let me say to all my troops

That we will never give in

To threats and even dirty looks

From people who detest us

So who will volunteer to bell

The cat who vows to best us

Behind the baseboard not a sound

Came from the mice assembled

For no one, not the low or high

A hero much resembled

The Afghan war is winding down, and since Pakistan has closed its roads to us, an ally of sorts, we are obliged to arrange for passage home through Central Asia, through Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan and Kazakhstan, to Europe and then home. Our ancestors once traveled this same route, when they left the horse lands of endless grass ofCentral Asia and made their way west until they ran into the Atlantic Ocean and could go no further. And there they stayed, building a civilization the like of which the world has never seen. That civilization is now, again, under attack from Islam, as it has been in the past, but the retreat from Afghanistan is seen by many as a repositioning of our forces for the battle ahead, a battle that can only result in the eradication of the Islamist threat forever.

Through Central Asia, ancient home

Of our Germanic tribes

The weary homeward wend their way

Their passage bought by bribes

To chieftains, aides and presidents

Whose lands through which we pass

The ancient horse land that we left

The land of seas of grass

Like Xenophon we march for home

And like the tribes of old

We follow rivers flowing west

We march though heat and cold

Except of course it’s different now

We’re loaded onto trains

And passing quickly through the night

We see not of the plains

That carried our ancestors west

Until they met the sea

And there they built the western world

That led to you and me

The you and me whose children now

Will carry on the fight

Against the Mahdi and his men

Until they see the light

The light that dims the nearest sun

And turns the night to day

But briefly ‘fore the dark returns

And life returns to clay

The stunning defeat in Wisconsin is just in, and the Democrats are behaving in a way we can all understand. They are in complete denial that any such thing as defeat has just happened, and if it did, then the reason was not that the voters rejected them but that the voters didn’t understand the problem. Lefty pundits throughout the night repeatedly said, “The race is too close to call,” and finally, when defeat was evident, “This is a good thing for the Democratic party. It’s a wake-up call. We have to do a better job of educating the unwashed Neanderthals who just voted for those evil Republicans who want to throw Grandma off a cliff and take money from the poor and give it to the rich.” And so on. Defeat is just bad luck, and so just double down and all will come out right in the end.

“Just keep firing those lefty bullets,”

So says Debbie Wassermann Schuletz

“We got votes that we’re just hidin,”

So says little Joey Biden

“We’re ahead, can’t say it bolder,”

Says ’I hate whiteys’ Eric Holder

“We won, and I don’t feed no blarney.”

From press spinmeister fey Jay Carney

“We done darn good, and also weller,”

Ascribed to first lady Micheller

“We’ll send you ‘Pubs back to yo mama

Says toothy smiling Chief Obama

And hand in hand the Dems go merry

A’whistling past the cemetery

It is reported that Iraqi oil exports are soaring and that Asian and European oil companies have signed very lucrative contracts to explore and develop recently discovered Iraqi oil fields. The United States is noticeably absent from all this, even though without the deaths of thousands of American soldiers Saddam Hussein would still be pocketing the oil money. The Lefty anti-war Dems screamed “Blood for Oil!”, accusing George Bush of killing American soldiers to enrich his friends in the oil business. Maybe we should have insisted that freeing the Iraqis from Saddam entitled us to a little bit of reward. Or maybe we should have just taken it. What ever happened to good old fashioned colonialism?

When Roman legions came to Spain

The silver mines were theirs

Where legions went Rome kept the gain

There were no lefty stares

Accusing them of being rude

And profiting from blood

Spilled in the cause of something crude

And running red stained mud

Assyrians were buyers of

Fine goods from overseas

And so they courted Tyre’s love

Allowing, if you please

The citizens of the Levant

To live as pampered slaves

So long as never the word ‘can’t’

Was uttered on the waves

When England absent mindedly

Set up the British Raj

They ruled so very kindedly

Guns almost a mirage

Yet ships set sail most every day

For England’s cool green shore

With riches taken from Bombay

As well as Bangalore

And so I ask why recently

We don’t keep what we seize

So long as we act decently

And always saying ‘Please’

Man has tried to divine the future since the beginning of Man. Seers, shamans, medicine men and fraudsters of all shapes and sizes have claimed to know what is to come. Some claimed to know that Scott Walker would lose the recall election in Wisconsin. Others are confident they know what is going to happen to Western civilization in the next few decades. The truth is, of course, that no one knows what will happen tomorrow, let alone years from now. All you can do is make your bets and hope for the best.

The past is prologue, so they say

The present surely tense

The future more so, by the way

That’s why it makes more sense

To view the future as a place

Where prologues go to die

And where the present’s happy face

Leads one to wonder why

We ever thought we could divine

The happenings to come

To you and yours and me and mine

Especially to some

Like politics and world events

And who will win the Cup

And whose white horse will take us hence

To from the manna sup

The future is but closed to all

Behind the curtain hums

A sound as of a summer squall

And then tomorrow comes

Soros the mastermind has chimed in on the European debt crisis by stating that the crisis is not an economic one but a political one, and that he has the solution to the problem. He says he has developed a model of the boom bust process that drives economics, with the implied suggestion that if the crises in Greece and Spain and elsewhere in Europe were given to him to solve all would be well. And he’s right. Soros has a knack for pulling a veil over his activities, hiding them so well he emerges after the event, whatever event he is hiding, with another hundred billion or so of someone else’s money.

In this vale of sorrows

Where man sees not his fate

He cringes at tomorrows

As closer creeps the date

When veils are torn asunder

And faces are revealed

And good unmasked as plunder

The veiling had concealed

But someone has the answer

Who can the sorrows still

Will no one kill the cancer

The veil of Soros will

In Chicago, stimulus money was supposed to go for a new railroad bridge, with a lot of minority hires. President Obama touted the project, local bigwigs waxed ecstatic, and all seemed well in Chicagoland. Except that now the black community is crying foul, claiming that black workers are not getting their fair share of the jobs, one black politician going so far as to claim that the contracts were fixed. What did they expect? Of course the contracts were fixed. It’s Chicago. One Chicago politician, under indictment, decided it was better to step in front of a train than run the risk of incriminating other pols in whatever illegality they were pursuing. Chicago is the town where crooked politics were refined, if not invented, the town that embraced Obama, and whose politics and criminal mores Obama embraced. And today Washington is filled with Chicago trained politicians running the country. Yes, that toddlin’ town has made it big time.

Chicago’s toddlers know the score

Before they reach age five

And by the time they’re twenty-four

Why some are still alive

And into politics they go

The people they will serve

And stand on tracks to watch a slow

Train come around the curve

But not before the money tree

Was shaken and the plums

Fell into pockets ‘cause they’re free

And underlings the crumbs

Oh yes it is a toddlin’ town

A place where dreams are made

A place Obama’s shaking down

A place of masquerade

Where City Hall holds crooks and thieves

In offices for life

And everyone in town believes

The game is to the knife

From Kenya unto Harvard Law

Young Barack made his way

And then Chicago town he saw

And he was there to stay

Attending church with reverend Wright

And listening to his screed

And dreaming Marxist dreams at night

Of making white men bleed

And now he toddles ‘round the globe

Bowing low to kings

And kissing every bloody robe

And kissing tyrants rings

But come November of this year

It all comes tumbling down

And Barack’s thrown out on his ear

Back to that toddlin’ town