Thursday, May 31, 2007


Please, Jesus, will You be my Savior?
Please run for president again;
And I’ll excuse Your bad behavior
As President George Bush. Amen.
You only had enough osmosis
So Bush and Cheney could engross us.
Let Thompson be your antidote,
Not Rudy in his petticoat.
I know You are our Founding Father-
Well, actually, the Father’s Son
(I don’t completely get that one)-
But if You’d take the time and bother
To help Fred Thompson to a win
I could convict on grounds of sin.

For we’d amend the Constitution
To make provisions more robust
Against all who teach evolution
Because they dis In God We Trust;
And do away with all distortion
About the right to an abortion;
As well as make who swing both ways
Or, worse, the unrepentant gays,
Give up demanding to be married;
And stop them laughing up their sleeve
At virgin birth as make believe.
Then when these evils have been parried,
We’ll be Your City on the Hill
Where charging sin brings a true bill.

Tuesday, May 29, 2007


The scheming Moktada al-Sadr
While laying low in new Iran
Was taught how best to turn jerkwater
Islamisists, who fight for clan,
Into a force for nationality-
"You must provide the hospitality
To welcome co-religionists
By purging them from your shit lists.
If not, you'll go the way of goonies.
But when the infidels are out,
Our God will give your mullahs clout
To deal with Christians, Jews, and Sunnis.
For then, like sacrificial goats,
Allah will let you cut their throats.

"We must establish co-prosperity
That stretches throughout Muslim lands;
And so must deal with great severity-
And this we know Allah commands-
With all who think we've counterfeited
What Allah claims must be admitted:
There is, He says, no God but God.
All others get the firing squad.
So go back home and rouse your forces.
Prepare jihad to engineer
The co-prosperity of fear."
Moktada said, Now hold your horses.
Who leads us, brother?" "God Whose palm
Has kindly handed us the bomb."

Moktada said, "What are you saying?
It sounds in very truth a threat."
"You donkey's penis, quit your braying.
You are 'in very truth' our pet.
So go back, make your fiery speeches.
Make certain that each one impeaches
Americans as devil's spawn;
And when their armies are withdrawn,
The words you speak will clear the clutter
Of Catholics, Christians, Sunnis, Jews,
The gays and others born to lose;
And when their blood flows in the gutter
No one will care that thousands died
Because it's merely genocide."

( tbc )

Wednesday, May 23, 2007


It happened as George Bush was flying
Home from Iraq on Air Force One.
He'd been locked in his bathroom trying
To take a dump; and when he'd done
He stepped out of his bathroom closet
(He'd left behind a huge deposit)
To see the cabins emptied out.
No one responed to his shout.
But heaps of clothes, as he well-noted,
Lay scattered on the seats and floor,
Like sale day at a K-Mart store.
"My God," he thought, "they've been promoted
And raptured up." Then Tim LaHaye
Came stumbling in and looking gray.

"For God sakes, George, what were you thinking,"
Said Tim LaHaye, recovering some.
"They're gone. All gone. In just a blinking,"
Said Pastor Tim now looking glum.
"The pilots, too, are gone. You've slain us!
Because the stench from out your anus
Got loose through some small ruptured vent,
They needed air so out they went."
"Their clothes?" asked Bush. "It penetrated
Through everything down to the skin.
It smelled in very sin."
"And all because I defecated?"
He asked. The man just couldn't see
That was how he made policy.

"Oh, Lord," LaHaye said, "what a scandle
That you and I were left behind.
How will our Christian brethren handle
The seeming fact that God declind
To give us, as good Christians, credit...?"
"Oh shut up, Tim. Let's just forget it,"
Said Bush who rushed to take control
Of Air Force One, if not his soul.
"I have a plan for rectifying
The fact that God's not proved our pard.
Remember I flew for the Guard."
"Oh God, George, no " LaHaye said crying,
"You can't mean you believe your press?
You'll land us in an awful mess."

He did but it went undetected-
Their bodies never would be found.
The faithful claimed they’d been elected,
And lived in Heaven’s hallowed ground.
They’d both stripped naked, then, ejecting,
They’d left no bodies for inspecting:
For when Bush pulled the lever that
Ejected them, they turned to splat-
The seats fell out but with no power
To shoot them out the flight deck floor
The engines sucked them in; and gore
Shot out the back, a bloody shower
With not a trace of DNA
To prove 'twas Bush or Tim LaHaye.

Which goes to show my story's morals-
Religion needs a bunco squad
To show it resting on the laurels
Of yesteryear. It's now a fraud.
For if you know a bit of science,
You know religion's in defiance
Of laws that physics has explained.
The miracles it entertained
Are nothing more than wanting mama
To take her little ones in hand
And show the way to Never Land.
But if you would escape life's trauma,
Then join and make a common cause
With others, as advised by Oz.

Friday, May 18, 2007


As Jerry Falwell fell while dying
(Not taken by the hand of God),
He knew it was because of lying
About the fact that he was odd.
He just gave up. A sex offender
Who all his life denied his gender-
For Jerry was a Geraldine
Who'd always longed to be a queen.
No longer could he take disguising
(Although he'd tried with all his wits)
A growing man-size pair of tits.
The crisis of his feminizing
Came as he felt his 'ballers pass
Him overhead and grab his ass.


I don't mean now to beg the question;
But, really, your belief in god
Seems rather like an indigestion
Brought on by overcooking fraud;
Or any other such comestible
Your mind/brain finds now indigestible.
If you would rid the world of grief,
Why not give it comic relief?
And not your dreary eschatology
Which only ever makes a hash
Of what was always balderdash.
Take, for example, Scientology-
What kind of gods create Tom Cruise
Then jump away from their snafus?

Tuesday, May 15, 2007


Clerk counted the cash; made a time-lock drop;
Fingers tell him "take it" but legs won't walk.
Near closing time at the Liquor Quick Stop,
When a whore drags in off the auction block.
Orient eyes say for a pint she'll swap
Whatever he wants from her private stock.
Clerk's wife and kids home snuggled down in bed;
While down behind the counter whore gives head.
Out on the street they call her Miss Saigon-
Mouth and pussy hot as a naplam bomb;
A war bride's baby whose daddy moved on;
She learned sucky-fuck from her Viet mom.
Pro at 14; was a cop her first john,
Used to be a grunt in the Vietnam.
Caught, dealing dope, she stuck her ass up bare;
Said: Cop, take a shot with your ground-to-air.
Down on her knees showing silicone tit,
Once a soft touch now insensible brick.
Her cat scratch tongue and lips and hand don't quit
Till she's sucked him bone dry and slurped his thick.
Her eyes smile up, but stare in her obit;
Handbags got a gun but she ain't that quick.
Very last thought before she's bagged airtight:
White motherfucker got it free tonight.
Drags her in a storeroom; dick still erect;
He ain't felt this good since he left Art Tech.
Tops in his class at the Special Effect;
The Movies said: Genius, write your own check.
Too much, too soon, and he totally wrecked;
Lucky that his lady studied home-ec.
Then staring down at delirium's titty,
He saw his road back to living Fat City.
Props her in a chair; wrestles off her dress;
Steps back and whistles at his late night guest;
Thinks: Doc did her tits was genius, no less,
Carved Botticelli's on a silk thin chest.
He bends down close pets her pussy's recess
Knows it was trophied in the old time West;
Sets in to skin it with a razor blade;
Now he's got a pussy scalp custom made.
He weaves the silky pelt through his gold throat chain,
A spoil of war in the human skin game;
Been played like that since the Abel and Cain;
"Victim" is History"s immortal brand name.
Each against all for the capital gain.
Justified Sinners make the Halls of Fame;
Like Natural Born Scientists in Nobel guise
Helped "give 'em hell" Harry make Nippon fries.
Clerk only wants the American Dream;
Doesn't give a shit its history's obscene;
Doesn't give a damn who he's got to demean
To get his credits on the silver screen.
Thinks: a whore, no matter how it might seem,
Just ain't human- it's a vending machine.
He hurries back up front to shut the store;
Then cleans the "change" she dropped at Death's door.
Time to start work: he ropes her ankles tight;
Hangs her head downward from a ceiling pipe.
Then slits her wrists with a razor blade's bite-
Got to drain blood before she turns to ripe.
Splits her flat belly; spills her guts outright,
Swabbing out the hollow using Handiwipe.
Rub a dub dub blood and guts in a tub
Thinks: I'm halfway back to the Country Club.
Cuts her carcass down; folds back her new crack-
Butchered piece of meat got to be repacked.
Lugs out a carton of Maxi Pad Pack;
Soaks it in rum make a taste your last act.
A wino said it's like drinking shellac;
Just what he needs to hold her gut intact.
Just to make certain her neck holds her head,
He scoops out her brain places pads instead.
Sealed with plastic tape from her breasts to clit,
Hangs her up again with an I.V. drip;
Booze filled veins start to harden like her tit;
Thinks: what a shame he can't take a last dip.
Suddenly though from his brain's snake pit
Crawls an idea from a snuff film clip:
Hard, he cuts her down, shoves his closest kin
Up her "dinky" ass till rigor sets in.
Sits down in a chair with the whore on top,
One hand grabs tit while its brother hooks twat;
Her asshole squeezes till his eyeballs pop;
It's time to pull out but his prick stays caught.
Pumps her up and down but she won't co-op;
His dick is stuck fast up her asshole's grot.
The bump and grind makes his semen explode
Which acts the enema on her last load.
His dick slicks free slimied sticky stink brown;
Grabs his ground-to-air glad it's safe and sound;
Cleans up her pile, wahes both of them down;
Now to get her dressed, get her posed hardbound.
Wrestles on her mini- the street deb's gown.
It's meant to hook the interest that banks compound.
Rich debs sell it at "till death do you part;"
While a street deb peddles it a la carte.
Lifts her from the chair then sticks up her ass
A long-handled broom helps her stand steadfast;
He smooths down her dress, makes her up first class,
But he can't hide the truth that her eyes broadcast.
Dark glasses cover up what he's brought to pass;
Now one last trick to make his icon last:
From her short black hair to her feet high-heeled,
He spray coats his sculpture with Scotchguard Shield.
Like Greek Galatea she thrills his pride;
But now the myth's been Americanized:
She's no sex object; she can't be a bride;
She's American woman idolized.
He's gone extreme that's pretty cut and dried;
But he's just a man Americanized:
He makes his money any way he can;
And now she's a star in the store's floor plan.
Hidden in the racks of the best champagne,
One hand holds a gun, the other a frame.
(No stick's needed now to help her feign
A threatening pose in the clerks con game.)
She's turned toward the wall, "pardon-me's" are vain
So you rub on past this deaf and dumd dame;
Your heart almost stops when you see her gun
Then you get the joke and you poke some fun.
His agent came and looked; said "I'd swear it bleeds.
What you've done only genius could conceive.
You've made from trash a figure that concedes
The desperate life of a modern Eve.
The gun in her hand shows where it all leads,
If you don't keep them locked in make believe.
You're back on the Movies' Most Wanted List;
But dump the body, boy, just in case it's missed."


The Pope and Curia sat plotting
How they might make another saint.
"A woman," said a cardinal nodding;
"But one who showed the self-restraint
Of our dear Mother, Virgin Mary.
She was God's perfect functionary-
Who served her Lord, did what He said,
And followed Him wherever led;
Whose silence always could be trusted,
Who knew her place in God's great plan
And kept His secret spic-and-span.
A woman who was well-adjusted
And didn't think it was impure
Her Son fathered Himself on her."

The Pope who was that minute dozing
Almost fell off the Papal throne.
"Though fool. You know what you're proposing,"
The Pope said in wroth baritone,
"Is opening the asininity
Of members of the Holy Trinity
That might lead some wags to suggest
A case of mother son incest?"
"I do admit it seems perplexing."
Then stopped and added with chagrin'
"But no more so than Judas' sin.
Another problem that's proved vexing-
If Judas hadn't ratted Christ,
He wouldn't have been sacrificed.

"And though He might have gone to prison,
Albeit under tight constraint,
He'd not have died, so not have risen.
So shouldn't Judas be a saint?"
"My God, you'll land us in a pickle;
You know how humans can be fickle.
If human logics don't apply,
They ask our priests and bishops 'Why?' "
"But please remember, Holy Father,
That's why theology has laws
That ends with words like 'just because.'
So do we really need to bother?
Your kingdom will survive a putsch.
Just look at President George Bush."

Friday, May 11, 2007


So much for church /state separation:
Pope Benedict's gone to Brazil
To offer Lula consultation
On vetoing a public bill
That would decide to give no quarter
To an unwanted bed-and-boarder;
Or if a woman goes to jail
For treating it as if junk mail.
But Benedict's the Archie Bunker
Of Holy Roman Catholic popes-
The summum bonum of all dopes.
With arguments that prove a junker,
He claims to speak the mind of God.
Apparently, He's not abroad.

Wednesday, May 9, 2007


The Bush Administration's clueless-
Which shouldn't come as shocking news-
To send the Muslims one who knew less
About them than did Karen Hughes.
"A working mom," she told reporters
Who'd gotten her strict marching orders
From Cheney's Bush to help unveil
America, the fairy tale.
"It's written in the Constitution:
'We are one nation under God.'
All others are a sorry fraud.
That we should suffer persecution
For our beliefs is our despair
Since we believe in laissez-faire."

"We're here," she claimed, "to make you happy;
And show how wonderful we are.
If you believe your life is crappy,
You'll change by wishing on a star-
The Star of Bethlehem, Lord Jesus
Who came from Heaven just to please us.
For this, we call sweet Jesus, Lord;
And have thrown others overboard.
You know while Jesus is abiding
So deep within our Christian hearts
We can't be beat in martial arts.
Believe me, it is so exciting.
So come on down and take a chance
To show your god who wears the pants."

( to be continued )

Tuesday, May 8, 2007


The Cheney Bush attacks on science,
Especially on stem cell research,
Is in the service of their clients-
The Holy Roller Christian Church.
They hold that mankind's preservation
Depends upon God's veneration.
But does God really need PR
Before a soul gets CPR?
This dogma seems downright suspicious
For it makes God seem mercantile
And on the lookout for a deal
Which means that God is avaricious
And covetous of treasure troves
Of praise, a strategy of Rove's

Friday, May 4, 2007


That we found no nukes in Iraq;
For surely it just stands to reason-
Iran got scared and took them back.
I stand by Bush and Cheney's dictum-
America's the premiere victim;
And if we don't start standing tall
We'll once again have dropped the ball.
It's our good-natured generosity
Makes us seem suckers to the world;
So globally the flags unfurled.
It's why we fight with such ferocity,
As we once did against the gooks;
And would have won if we'd used nukes."


A libertine's a nonconformist
Who knows s/he's happy having fun;
But that's what makes the Christians warmist
And why they want to overrun
All those whom they think are notorious
For living lives that aren't laborious-
Who gamble, drink, do drugs, love sex;
And, yes, who sometimes write bad checks.
If they could make a Christian golem,
They'd send him out to be a scorn
To men and women who make porn.
Like that...they'd snap your spinal column
For wanting really to be bad;
But not kill Muslims in Baghdad.

These Christians are the self-appointed,
Self-righteous guardians of men
And women; who think God anointed
Them to convert the lion's den
That has rejected Christianity
In favor of mankind's humanity;
Who think that common earthly blights
We might amend by human rights.
This thinking, though, leaves them scared shitless.
And rightly so. It would seem odd,
As children of whom they call God,
If He'd created us so witless,
We couldn't make a common cause
With "Others," as we do in-laws.

They're so absurdly puritanic:
When Janet Jackson flashed some breast
These Christians flew into a panic
(Some even died in the midwest),
Believing that "Jew" television
Was under Satan's supervision-
As was, they knew, the DMV
And, probably, the FCC.
They poured from homes and sought their preachers
Who knelt them in the streets to pray
In hopes this devil's devotee
Would suffer cancer to her "features."
Meanwhile, their forces in Iraq
Go killing Muslims block by block.

Tuesday, May 1, 2007


The FEEL GOOD industry has flourished
By crowding out the noisome weeds
That make your mind seem undernourished,
As Dr. Pangloss did Candide's.
It helps release you from your cowering
(And your incessant daytime showering);
Will help erase the awful doubts
About molesting those Boy Scouts.
It fills you with a grandiosity
That if you have the derring-do,
Then nothing in the world's taboo.
With anti-social animosity,
By God you'll never be maligned;
And all you need's an open mind.