WHO HAS THE GOLD MAKES THE RULES

America’s “best” politicians,

Deep pockets all with bucks to burn,

Get television’s expositions

And yet the voters never learn.

A TV spot is so confining:

Can hide a pol who’s always whining;

And yet he’s never gloomy Gus,

As PAC men fill our heads with pus.

Gorged bank accounts will win elections.

The Court has made this dream come true

So now there’s nothing we can do 

To stop the rich from their selections.

Democracy takes megabucks,

So pols treat us like we're  “hockey pucks.”

TAX THE CHURCHES BEFORE THEY TAX YOU

I say we tax religion’s churches.

If they refuse to pay their tax,

Then we should knock them off their perches

And give their preachers forty whacks:

Because they foster inequality

Among the members of the polity:

For tax breaks serve the superrich.

This is the megachurch’s pitch:

“We preach the gospel of prosperity.

To do that we need ten percent

Of gross. If you can’t pay your rent,

Rely upon faith, hope, and charity.

And if you’re still stuck in a mess

Why you should give us more and God will bless.”

LIBERAL HOLLYWOOD?

It’s time for re-evaluation

Of how progressive Hollywood

Is when it comes to advocation

Of voting for the just and good.

It’s not to say some aren’t progressive

’Gainst policies that are repressive;

But Hollywood as a town is

Concerned with one thing: that’s the biz.

As businesspersons they’re rapacious:

Fight union contracts; female stars

Are forced to suck on their cigars.

In short, it simply is fallacious

To think they’re from the 99

When all they really fear’s their bottom line.

THE PENALTY FOR VOTING STUPIDLY

Does politics need more philosophy?

The answer I propose is: yes.

I gladly pay a Mafioso fee

To “hit” on those could not care less.

Who cannot make informed decisions

But rather judge by television’s

Ads who’s the better qualified

I’d have them taken “for a ride.”

This is a drastic intervention;

But voters need to understand

That when they vote they take a hand

In how the country’s run. Prevention,

Of who won’t vote the common good,

Is just. A dunce must be withstood!

ARE EVANGELICALS A NATIONAL SECURITY THREAT?

Evangelical Christianity

Will always put religion first

Because they think that all humanity,

Without their God is surely cursed.

And so they know there’s impropriety

Allowing for devout variety

Because religion and the state

Are one. Of that there’s no debate.

And none, therefore, dare call it treason

Eliminating all non-whites,

For they’re the ones who’ve brought these blights.

And so it simply stands to reason

You cannot worship foreign gods

Without deserving their death squads.

THE LAW AS SUPERSTITION

I don’t see why our superstitions

Can’t be the bases of our law;

With courts and lawyers as magicians

Enchanting us with blah, blah, blah.

In church we let our charming preachers

Conjure away all evil creatures;

And Jews, from out their magic book,

Say what we can and cannot cook.

Not only in the God’s communities

Do we search out what’s wrong or right

To keep us safely through the night.

The state, too, orders opportunities:

The LAW bewitches bankers’ loans

Transmuting them to our home groans.

WHY DO WE HATE THE POOR?

Why do we have such bad reactions

To any mention of the poor?

Is it because we think our actions

Are always anything but sure?

In other words, we just got lucky

And that’s the reason things are ducky.

Why do we think they’re beasts of prey

Who pray for handouts from our pay?

Or is it our most Christian nation

Forgot their homeless Jesus was

Accounted by His “betters” scuzz?

At any rate, our allocation

Of hatred for the poor won’t bide:

There’s more of them than us worldwide.

FAITH ZOMBIES (IDIOT AMERICA 2)

For God we challenge evolution,

Politically a savvy move,

And would amend the Constitution

(And know our Lord God would approve)

To force who think that our Creation

Derived from some four-eyed crustacean,

Or monkeys swinging in the trees

To beg His mercy on their knees.

And once they’ve made a good confession

They’ll join us in the Ranks of Love

Who glorify the God above;

Then help destroy all whose profession

Is science based, for we’re resolved

To finish off the uninvolved.

THE ETHICS OF VOTING

Incompetent decision-making,

Defined as “what will float my boat,”

You’d hardly think would be earthshaking

Except when it comes time to vote.

For voters have an obligation

To give their vote some cogitation;

And figure in the common good.

But voters’ heads are made of wood!

Not grounded in facts or morality

But mostly ignorant and base

Without a sense of common place,

They cannot use impartiality

To help them make decisions that

Are rooted in the democrat.

A BRIEF PROFESSION OF CHRISTIAN POLITICS

Political decision makers

Should use the Bible to decide

If humanists and God-forsakers

Should be condemned and crucified.

They should be held for trial and stoning 

For arguing the Virgin’s boning;

Denying Christ the Risen Son

As Jew would or Mohammedan.

The Bible is the one Authority

That we can count on to command

America, the Holy Land.

We are the God’s moral majority:

So Christians say who’s friend or foe 

Because “the Bible tells us so.”    

TEA PARTY DEATH?

Tea Party voters are diminishing

Because they’re lunatics who are

Off mission such as really finishing

(And this is truly so bizarre)

The chances that the Dem Obama

Would fail the economic trauma.

He has. But now the point is moot

Because of Perry, Bachmann, Newt.

Who doesn’t know that this election

Is all about the unemployed.

Their candidates are all schizoid

And totally have lost connection

To anything but spending cuts.

And dunces vote to kiss their butts?

REPUBLICAN IMMIGRATION POLICY “?”

The members of the Grand Old Party

Have argued it’s illicit for

An immigrant who is a smarty

And fought our latest foreign war

To go to college on tuition

That citizens pay for admission.

(A truly useless exercise

When all tuition’s on the rise.) 

It’s meant to fluster immigration

Which never ever will be done

For lives in constant 911.

So why encourage aggravation?

When what you want is someone’s vote,

It’s stupid not to float their boat.

ARE CATHOLICS RIGHT ABOUT EVERYTHING? (A BOOK REVIEW)*

The terrors of the Inquisition,

Says Coren, weren’t the Church’s fault;

But says extremes in its ambition

Lay squarely in the bankers’ vault. 

The Scientific Revolutions

Indeed had Catholic contributions;

And as for fighting in Crusades:

To take their homelands back from spades.

But most of all and most “compelling”

He says the Holocaust of Jews

Was fought against. That’s surely news!

What I don’t get is underselling

A problem (that leaves Catholics awed)

Is proving that there’s any God.

* This is my review of Michael Coren’s book Why Catholics Are Right.

THE DISAPPEARING GAMER

1

One day a dauntless cyber warrior

Sat down at his computer screen

To seize and hold Helen of Troy. Her,

Whose likes the world had never seen.

When suddenly from his reality

A cyber door, to her locality,

Was opened and it sucked him in

Her captive now, to his chagrin.

“Who are you fools who keep intruding

To fight the wars fought long ago?

You haven’t had enough gung ho?”

He whimpered, crying “My transmuting

Was not my doing. That I swear.”

But, turning, saw his empty chair.

2

And as he looked the door was closing

But not before he saw his wife

As she walked in, saw him transposing.

She shouted, “Fool, not on your life.

You can’t escape from me that easy.

You never even tried to please me.

Who is that bitch that’s sitting there?”

The queen slid from her royal chair

And standing said, “Oh stop your bitching!

How is it that he doesn’t please?”

“His dick is to the nth degrees.

Go look and see. It’s so bewitching.”

So Helen looked, saw his big ten

And welcomed it inside her den.

3

A cyber door from this reality

Was opened up to get him back

From out the Trojan principality

But failed. The aphrodisiac

Of love slave to the gorgeous Helen

(Though held in chains as if a felon)

Was too much for him to resist.

“Who’d think of giving up a tryst,”

He thought, “With one who’s so adorable . . .”

When suddenly he heard a snore

That sounded like a dragon’s roar;

And thinking that this was deplorable

Sat bolt upright but gave a scream

When he discerned he’d had a dream.

A BORDER FENCE?

Who’d halt illegal immigration

Must build a fence so high and wide

The Berlin Wall in aspiration

Was merely commonplace bromide.

And then, of course, you’d need sharp shooters

To take out women who’d be "brooders"

Of “anchor babies” since you’ve sworn

They won’t be to the manner born.

To make sure that it’s petrifying

You’d sow the border with land mines

To let them know they’ve crossed deadlines.

In other words, you're terrifying

The economic refugees

Who’ll do your work just as you please.

A CLIMATE CHANGE MACHINE?

They tell me that the climate’s changing.

But what am I supposed to do

Before it starts in rearranging

The world? Is it a bugaboo?

If it’s so bad then men of science,

And women, should build an appliance

That limits carbon in our air

Before we’re in intensive care.

I’m not a climate change denier

But if we wait on politics

We’ll all have crossed the river Styx

Before the final nullifier

(Mother Nature) breathes our bad breath

And sentences humans to death.

AN ARGUMENT FOR EQUAL PAY FOR EQUAL WORK

Is it unfair a porn performer

(The stars, that is,) are always girls

Or women? What of those who storm her

Vagina? Are they merely churls

Paid pittance for their humble labors

Despite the fact their fleshy sabers

Are needed for the final act

Of all non-lesbian contact?

Imagine all the situations

That wouldn’t work because a man

Was not there in the screenplay’s plan.

A strap on might help conjugations

(But's only tempest in a cup)

Becuse there’s nothing to clean up!

CANDIDATES FOR WHAT?

Who cares for GOP contenders

For president or Democrats

(Despite their pseudo PC tenders)

Should know both parties serve high hats.

Why even President Obama,

Whom once we worshipped as the Brahma,

Created nothing to depress                      

The greed they’ve labeled as success.

So what, you ask, is my solution?

We are the 99%

Who must go further than dissent

And break the bonds of constitution,

Thus panicking the promise of

Their profits, lending us self-love.

GOOGLE AND THE BANKS (OR TRUTH IN ADVERTISING)

From out the screen she grabbed my penis

And stuck it up her dripping twat

So there was nothing else between us.

She even strangled down my, “What?!”

By smothering my mouth with kisses;

And finishing she said, “This bliss is

Bestowed on you in cyberspace

To open an account with Chase.

I said, “You mean it’s advertising?”

She said, “Hey, dude, that’s what we do

To hook a customer like you.

If you should think that is surprising ,

With your account you get an app

Gives access to my tender trap."

NO SYMPATHY FOR LINDSAY

Are Lindsay Lohan’s troubles over

Means will she ever be a star

And once again roll in the clover

Of movie fame? Is it bizarre

That someone with her acting talents

Could ever be knocked off her balance?

That’s what her acting skills are for.

And yet I wish to underscore

That acting is an occupation

That brings with it just loads of stress

Can land you in an awful mess.

It makes you nervous your creation

Won’t fly again. So you do drugs;

And sell the rights to flash your jugs.

IN PRAISE OF GIRLIE MAGAZINES (OR HOW I LEARNED TO READ)

When I was just a middle schooler

I couldn’t read and write so well;

My parents thought I was a drooler

Until one day in our motel

They sent me out to do room cleaning;

And as I did I found while leaning

Under a bed a Playboy stash

And saw the model’s naked gash.

So after ogling her picture

I tried to read her interview

But didn’t have the slightest clue.

Till I remembered teacher’s stricture:

“That’s what the dictionary’s for.”

So kept them in my bedside drawer.

FOR INSTAGRAM (iPHONE APP OF THE YEAR)

I make up silly applications

For folks who want to use their phone

To satisfy their aspirations

Their lives won’t evanesce, unknown.

You see them with these iPhone features

That makes them out as social creatures:

They tell you when they want a nap,

Or when they have to take a crap.

And then you see it as a posting

On Twitter, Tumblr, or Facebook,

Their very private public nook.

I’d rather this not sound like boasting,

But they, for certain, made me rich

By helping show them scratch an itch.    

IN PRAISE OF SELF-DECEPTION

I’d rather not fight self-deception.

Since it's extremely useful for

Defending what my sense perception

Tells me won’t happen anymore:

Like fooling with a female hottie

Whom now I download for a body.       

No longer young, I’d not assuage

The fact that I can’t act my age.

I’m like the dreamer, Walter Mitty;                                     

And like him I prefer my dream

To liven me with self-esteem,

Like having sex and being witty.

And so I’ll go with self-deceit,          

If I must beat a fast retreat.

THE HACKER AND THE SIRENS

1

A hacker, knowing his computers,

Was so absorbed downloading porn,

Especially those with girls whose hooters

Were double Ds and native born,

He didn’t notice when these sirens

Invaded his mind/brain’s environs

Until he felt a silky mouth

Begin to suck him off down south!

He knew that this must be a virus;      

But where the devil was it from

He asked himself in clouds of cum?

The sirens said, “You may acquire us

And live with us in paradise

By joining us in this device.”

2

He knew somehow (by intuition?)

That what the women said was true:

The virus granted him admission

Into a world he’d not eschew. 

Gone would be days when all his wanking

Would be performed by his hand-cranking

His penis. And the very best

Would be to feel each lovely breast.

But knowing virtual reality         

Was like an image in a mirror:     

You moved away, you’d disappear;  

And so his individuality                    

Would live somewhere in cyberspace.

But who could fight a porn star’s grace?

3

But still the hacker hesitated,

Afraid forever he’d be lost;

Though he’d escape what he most hated:

A world where everyone was bossed.

It so offended his mentality,

That bossing helped define reality,

He stopped and thought what he might do

To reconstruct the world anew.

Not giving up for lack of trying,   

He thought the world could go to hell.

(It was a place it would know well.)

And so he joined them, occupying

A special site in cyberspace

Was free for work he could embrace.

WHY I LOVE THE BIBLE

We praise a God Who’s homicidal

Against those who oppose commands

(That some might think are genocidal)

By doing as our Lord commands:

Like giving over to His slaughter

Who wouldn’t rape a heathen’s daughter;

Or giving up, for His bloodshed,

A man who’d share a marriage bed

With other men. We’d gladly torture

All people who won’t praise our God

By giving them a cattle prod,

That’s heated up till it’s a scorcher,

And plunging it in their behinds.

The Bible simply blows our minds.

A METAPHOR FOR REPUBLICAN POLICY

I went outside and was astounded

Encircled by a mist so thick

That suddenly I was confounded

When from behind I felt a prick.

I reached behind and grabbed the boner

And told him I could use a loaner;

Then stuck it in my pussy’s grot

Where right away it hit the spot.

The feeling then was so delightful

I thought that I might lose my mind

Until it moved to my behind.

I thought, if he’d been more insightful,

He would have known the GOP’s

Pols fucked me there with STDs.

PROSTITUTES FOR NEWT

In 66, I was a hippie

Did drugs, danced nude, and fought the war;

Then settled down to be a chippy

And started working as a whore.

I got the men to do my bidding

By helping me, although unwitting,

To rid them of their prudish ids

By drugs then do what Katie bids.

And then computers were invented

And with it business went forlorn,

Since these machines promoted porn.

So gave up whoring and repented.

And now I am a person who

Pied pipes for Newt, my, “Honey, do . . .”

I'M NEWT GINGRICH AND I APPROVED THIS AD

THE OLD MAN AND THE DEMON

1

The old man was a junk collector.

It’s what he did when he retired.

Until he came across a specter

That gave you anything desired.

It rose from out an ancient vessel

And challenged him. If he’d arm wrestle,

And won two out of three, It would

Give unto him fulfilled manhood.

The old man though refused the bargain

But wrestled with It anyway

And won. “You’ll live another day,”

The demon said. “My name is Gargan.

Why won’t you have your wish fulfilled?”

The old man said, “Then I’d be killed.

2

“Unless, of course, you’re more specific

On what it means to be fulfilled.”

“You’ve got me. It would be horrific.

And certainly you'd have been killed.

Now since you saw through my deception,

I’m forced to honor your conception

Of anything you wish for now

And grant it as my sacred vow.”

The old man had an ugly daughter

Who lived with him. (His wife was dead.)

And so he took it in his head

To have her cured. And, having brought her,

He asked the jinn to make her fair

And live a life without a care.

3

The demon did as he requested

But not before It asked him if

He really wanted her divested

Of how she looked? “Why in a jiff,”

The old man said. “Then she can marry

And live a life that’s customary.”

The demon honored his request

And made a girl delight caressed.

But suddenly the old man’s feeling

Was disappearing with his breath

And he was certain of his death.

Disgusted at the dirty dealing,

He asked It, "Why?"  "I made her fair

And took away her only care.”

LONG LIVE THE OCCUPATION

1

I went down to the Occupation

To take my fair share of abuse

And help us out from our prostration

To politicians and their ruse

Of better living through our voting.

(And all the while, of course, they’re gloating.

They know our votes are now worth less

But sometimes help, relieving stress.)

I took their clubs, endured their beating;

But slowly they forced our retreat

But mostly cause we had to eat.

One thing’s for certain: no more pleading.

And when at night I hit the sack

I know that soon we will be back!

2

If this seems like a contradiction,

Believe me when I say it’s true.

You might give way to interdiction

When leadership’s been knocked askew;

But slowly we will reassemble

And thinking how to make them tremble,

We’ll finally beat back their deceit,

The stock and trade that is Wall Street.

The point is we set people thinking

On how America is run,

And forced the Street to 911.

So fewer now will be lipsyncing

What Wall Street’s pols say. We’re content:

We are the 99%.

EVEN 1% OF THE 99

I don’t know why I get depressive

When listening to the GOP.

Is it because they are oppressive?

Would see me under lock and key?

The Democrats, too, have Obama

Who’s really helped them shape our trauma.

So what am I supposed to do?

Just sit at home while feeling blue?

What happened to the Occupation?

Where is the 99%?

Too busy scrounging to pay rent

To stand up to our degradation?

If 1% of 99

Would stand, they’d stop at our frown line.

CHRISTIAN RELIGION AT THE BALLOT BOX

When voting in a Christian nation,

The Holy Bible is our guide;

Because it was God’s declaration

That celebrated genocide:

So killing natives and black slavery

Were never forms of Christian knavery;

That foreign lands and cussed gays
Must suffer us till end of days.

It gave men rights to women’s stoning

If whorish women had a yen

To “do it” with a man or men,

The price for their illicit boning.

As Christian voters under God,

Our prospects need the Bible’s nod.

IDIOT AMERICA 1

Here dinosaurs are wearing saddles

Because the Bible tells us so;

And women are a man’s first chattels;

Blacks still should suffer from Jim Crow.

When these “deductions” from the Bible,

Writ when we humans were still tribal,

Are still believed by people here

It shows their minds have stripped a gear.

And, too, because the politicians,

In their relentless search for votes,

Will pander to what floats their boats.

In fact, encourage dispositions

Where cranks are puffed with self-esteem

And imbeciles are now mainstream.

PASSOVER

“I do not have the slightest feeling,”

Said Randall Terry*, “for men who,

Instead of practicing their healing,

Kill babes.  Operation Rescue

Demands an end to this atrocity.

We do not kill with animosity

But do it with profoundest love

Commanded by our God above.”

When this was brought to God’s attention,

He asked when He’d made manifest

That Randall Terry was so blessed

“That he can make known My intention?

I’ve killed some babies in My time.

Who claims Passover was a crime?”

* Randall Terry founded the “pro-life” organization Operation Rescue.

MODERN POETRY

I woke up with an armadillo

Was snoring soundly in my bed;

Then I recalled, beneath my pillow,

My .45 and shot it dead.

This roused the peasants in the village

Where I’d been helping with their tillage.

They, seizing me, brought me to court

And asked me just what kind of sport

Would do a thing like that. I answered

And what would you do if you knew?

They scratched their heads. They had no clue.

I said because their heads were cancered,

They thought that words should make some sense.

Now go set up the circus tents.

HEAVEN OR HELL? (FOR ANNMARIE)

I want to take a trip to Heaven

But only in my mind to see

If Heaven's better than the 7-

Eleven or filed with ennui.

And then I’d visit with the devil

To see if Hell is on the level:

Will I be punished for the sin

Of giving all the boys my yin?

I closed my eyes and concentrated

And tried to see what my mind showed

But saw a number, my zip code.

I saw its meaning as it faded:

It meant that Heaven’s Hell’s on earth

So go and get your money’s worth.

A BRIEF BIOGRAPHY OF A PORN STAR

I used to be a girl, immodest

In everything I said and did;

And thought that I was just the hottest.

I know now it was just my id

That made me think that I was cuter

Could get away with acting lewder

Than any girl. Showed camel toe

But really all it was for show.

But couldn’t change. As I got older

I thought I could put this to use

So did a film. It cooked my goose;

And I was hooked, played fast and loose.

And suddenly a star was born.

I make a fortune doing porn.

FOR TAMARA AT FAMILY FRIEND POEMS.COM

It’s funny how he makes me giggle

When I find that his finger’s in

To probe the spot that makes me wiggle

So that my pussy wants to sin.

I want his cock to take my pussy

Because he is a glamourpuss. He

Once asked could he fuck my ass.

I asked about the shit morass

That if he did he might encounter.

An enema was what he said

He’d used once on his sister’s spread. 

And thinking this, I saw him mount her

And pump away at her butt hole;  

And hoped they used the birth control.

MARGIN CALL

The Newt will give Social Security

To anyone who asks for it,

Providing they don’t lack the purity

Of sacrifice to take a hit.                          

So all your work is beneficial,

You still might end up sacrificial

Because free markets don’t protect

From bankers’ greed and its effect.

And savings always means the bankers

Whom we must give our money to

And hope deposits don’t skidoo.

For banks, like ships, will weigh their anchors

When payouts that they can’t afford

Will sink them if you get on-board.

PSYCHOTICS IN THE WHITE HOUSE

I never got enough affection

When I was just a little boy;

And had to make my own protection

The object of my pride and joy.

At school, when I got ganged or bullied

I saddled up, got wild and woolied;

And when those fuckers turned their backs

That’s when I gave them 40 whacks.

This may not seem to be essential

But shows I’ll never back away

Before I make offenders pay.

It comes with being presidential.

As you can see, from when a kid

I’ve always led off with my id.

THE CHINESE PEACE PRIZE (FOR WAR AND HUMAN RIGHTS ABUSES)

The Chinese are self-advertisers,

And money men, so you’ll believe

Me when I say they’re subsidizers                      

Of anything that will deceive:

Like giving Russia’s Mr. Putin,

A far worse man than was Rasputin,

Their Peace Prize for pursuing war

Against the Chechens, gone hard-core;

And countless human rights abuses.

For what the Chinese want to do

In rendering their dream come true

Is show that torture has its uses;

And show the world it must succumb

To torture as a rule of thumb.

POEMS ARE MEANT TO “TAKE THE TOP OF YOUR HEAD OFF”

I try to write with vim and vigor

And say what’s really on my mind;

And do it with a kind of rigor

But bounded by how I’m confined:

By lines are measured out in syllables

That rhyme as well. They can be thrillables

As only rhyme and verse can do

While prose displays a dull IQ.

I wouldn’t have you think I’m snobby.

But poetry was meant for verse

Invented as it was to curse,

When Simmonides, Hammurabi

Of poets, first laid down the law

That poems work like a power saw.

MEMO FROM WALL STREET

We must establish our position

On all of OWS

Because we need the ammunition

To stop these students’ full court press

Against the money that we’re making

Which they claim’s stealing, merely taking.

We wouldn’t want the GOP

To get so scared they cut us free.

Let’s claim that when they knock free markets

They’re killing off democracy

In favor of autocracy.

Then we’ll paint them with that black mark. It’s

Our inerrant ace in the hole

So we don’t have to show control.

HEAVEN CAN WAIT

1

I met a girl, a glamourpuss,

Who questioned me on watching porn;

I said I had an omnibus

That we could watch from night to morn.

And so we settled in to watching

A crew of men who were debauching

A creature very like a sylph.

I said that I preferred a milf.

She said, “Then, sir, your wish is granted.”

And when I looked a woman who

Sat next to me in my church pew

Appeared before me. “I’m enchanted,”

She said. “Sent down by Jesus Rex

As my reward. So let’s have sex.”

2

I said, “My God. Sent down by Jesus!”

“Well . . . yes,” she said. “He won the war

In Heaven’s realm. And so, to please us,

He sent us down so we could score.”

“By watching porn?” I asked. “No, silly.

By learning how to guild a lily.

The porn I thought to watch with you

Will teach me what I need to do.”

“Who are you?”  “Call me Angelina.

The Testaments, both New and Old,

Divided all of Heaven’s fold

And turned the place to an arena.

The Father argued with the Son

That sex was wrong. But Jesus won.”

3

“So you’re an angel?” “Newly landed.

And Earth is such a lovely place . . .

I wouldn’t care if I were stranded.

Of course, I’m not.  In any case,

Can we engage in fornication?

I promise there’ll be no creation.”

“Why not?” I asked. “So you want kids?

I’m older than the pyramids;

And couldn’t stand to see them dying.”

“But what about our immortality?”

“When humans die, they’re really dead.

We traded sex to flee that dread.

Now please indulge my sexuality.”

So fucking till her time to go,

They dragged her screaming from death row.

ASTEROID 2005 YU55

When Earth had had its first encounter

With asteroid YU55,

It quickly took a body count. Her,

The Earth, had grown to be a hive.

It noticed, too, all man’s oppression

To fellow humans. Their aggression

Would soon destroy the planet Earth

And turn the bountiful to dearth.

Too late to make a course correction,

It thought about what it should do

To folks who didn’t have a clue.

Then thought it would make a connection.

“When I flyby again I’ll whack

Them good. Don’t worry. I’ll be back.”

GOD’S VIEW ON SANTORUM’S VIEWS ON SEX

When God heard candidate Santorum

Pronouncing what he thought of sex,

He gathered all the saints in forum

Who voted it to be Brand X.

One said his wife was so migraial,

It calmed her when they did it anal;

Another said that he was gay

And he, too, used that passageway;

Another said that masturbation

Was what she really liked to do.

God thought and said, “He has no clue.

That pleasure’s for ejaculation.

Why does he think I gave them holes?

To use with all their hearts and souls.”

GOD’S MESSIN’ WITH YA, HERM

Herm prayed to God said, My Lord, he

Was questioning if he should run?

And God, who was a little bored, He

Bethought Himself to have some fun.

“So Pizza Man beseeches favor

To be the GOP’s flag-waver.

They, all of them, are second-rate;

Not fit to guide a ship of state.”

But God said, “Yes. When you’re debating

The moderator will ask you

As president what would you do

If you caught your wife demonstrating

That marriage rights be had by gays.

And you will say, ‘I’d throw bouquets.’ ”

A SOLDIER’S DECLARATION OF WAR (FOR OCCUPY WALL STREET)

A soldier who was decorated

For killing of his country’s foes

Has ended being deprecated

For fighting back his country’s woes.

The shrinks told him he was a fighter

Who acted now as an outsider

By joining Occupy Wall Street

Which only argued for retreat.

The soldier said, “We were oppressors.

Those people didn’t do to me

What bankers did, the powers that be.

Wall Streeters are the real transgressors:

Because I couldn’t pay their loan,

They stripped my family to the bone.”

THE PROUD LIBERAL *

Observe the liberal after voting,

Contentment beaming on his face.

It’s hard to say he isn’t gloating

His liberty is based on race?

Although they would deny the knavery,

Their fortunes were derived from slavery:

A country built on coloreds’ backs

Of both the natives and the blacks.

The natives were exterminated;

The blacks, of course, lived on as slaves

Who found their freedom in their graves.

The Libs must be congratulated:

They built a land where rich whites bud

When planted in their victims’ blood.

* Liberalism is the reigning political ideology in the US whether it is expressed by the Republican or Democratic parties.

THE DEFINITION OF A LIBERAL

A “liberal” is one wants justice

For anyone is white and male;

And who demands, if others cussed us,

It is the last breath they inhale;

A white man who upholds black slavery;

And hangs the poor for their depravery;

Who thinks a woman is a bitch

Is meant to scratch his every itch;

Who has no feeling for the “other”

In places white men don’t control

Because the “other” has no soul;

Who rails and fights against Big Brother

Unless, of course, Big Brother’s white

And helps promote the “others” plight.

EDUCATION’S CATCH-22

The teacher was so busy testing

She’d very little time to teach;

And so was charged when manifesting

Her indignation with a screech.

Before the Board of Education

She let loose with her indignation

And claimed with testing paramount

She couldn’t teach the kids to count,

Do reading, writing, history, science.

Just what was she supposed to do

When taking tests was all they knew?

The Board of Ed said noncompliance

With policies that they desired

Left them no choice. The teacher’s fired.

Michele Bachmann Would Add . . . To Mount Rushmore?

Mt. Rushmore needs another model:

The face of Jesus on the Mount

While preaching to us at full throttle

About our mounting body count.

He’d say to us, “Your Christian nation

Has fallen into degradation

Participating in the wars

That your Almighty God abhors.

You would be better represented

By Satan for the Indians killed;

Or slaves and workers you've  treadmilled.

All these and more should be lamented.

A Christian nation helps the poor.

Ms. Bachmann you’re a certain boor.”

A STATEMENT BY ANONYMOUS ABOUT HERMAN CAIN

When Herm and I went out together

I asked his help to get me hired.

He took his hand and touched my nether

And said I’d get what I desired,

If I unzipped and sucked his penis

Then stuck it up my open Venus.

Well I was shocked and looked at Herm

And said you mean that little worm?

He shouted all you little bitches

Want something from me but won’t give

Enough to live and to let live.

And I replied with all your riches

There must be someway that you could

Be doctored so you could raise wood.

JUDGMENT DAY

I try to write with authenticity

About the world in which I live;

But cannot help my eccentricity

Of writing my rhymes with a shiv.

I’d slit the throats of politicians,

And preachers with their expositions

Of what it’s like to live in hell

Without a clue that’s where we dwell.

If rhyming verse proves insufficient

Especially in satire’s form

Then we will have to take by storm

These clods who mostly prove deficient;

Or else they’re lying. Come what may

We’ll slit their throats on Judgment Day.

ALIENS ON EARTH

The White House said on our home planet

No ET’s have as yet been found.

I beg to differ. If you’ll scan it

You’ll find that they’re preparing ground:

They’re organized. They're hale and hearty,

And call themselves the Grand Old Party.

They’d do away with all controls

Like dirtying our water holes;

And work promoting air pollution

And all the things that humans share,

While denigrating good health care.

The Democrats have no solution

Because they’re equally ET’s

Who, like The GOP, spread sleaze.

PROPOSAL FOR TEACHING SEX EDUCATION

In US schools, sex education

Should only be taught by the pros;

So I suggest those whose vocation

Is making porno videos.

Especially the female actors

Who can discuss familiar factors

Like how a girl slacks her crevasse

So she can take it up the ass.    

The age of virtual reality

Demands no less for kids watch porn

In which the male with his longhorn

Could easily cause some fatality.

Then all of those who pass the test

Appear in movies as a guest.

BLESS ME, FATHER, FOR I HAVE SINNED

The men behind the war on women

Are Catholic bishops.  That’s not news.

The Bible says it was Eve’s sinnin’

That brought this on: no right to choose.

Of course it’s not a sin suffusing

Their priestly semen when it’s oozing

Into the holes of little kids

For all know priests have outlaw ids.

But when they argue that abortion

Is sinning, what of their pastimes?

They’ll rank in Hell the worst of crimes.

Abortion though gives them a chance

Of dodging victims in knee pants.

HYPOCRISY

6-6-6

9-9-9

One night the devil was conversing

With his expectant Herman Cain,

When suddenly he started cursing

And Herman thought, “I’m down the drain.”

“Please, Brother,” Herm said, “on the level

I promised you I’d raise the devil.

And you can see I’ve kept my vow.

What more can I do for you now?”

“You promised me a devilocracy,”         

Old Satan said.  “With me in charge.

And you ambassador-at-large.

And so I curse you for hypocrisy.”        

“But, Satan, in our politics

You can’t flat tax at 6-6-6.”

                     

OCCUPY AMERICA: COMMUNISM

The trouble with all this dissenting

Is that they think we’ll go away

Because there’s been no time cementing

What we mean when we holler “nay.”

We need a focal adversary

And rise up revolutionary;

To show them that we’re not effete          

And kick their asses on the Street.

By that I mean the wealthy bosses

Whose money powers Democrats,

Republicans, and all high hats

Who cut us loose to save them losses.

Who doesn’t know when they’re done for

A “nay” will mean no rich or poor.

WHAT OCCUPY WALL STREET IS ALL ABOUT

A union president was freaking

About demands his workers made;

It seems as if what they were seeking

Was more than pay that made the grade.

They wanted lives where insecurity

Would far outlive their kids’ maturity;

Were willing to fight civil wars

To make the bosses dinosaurs.

The president said inequality

Was what a job was all about.

But he was drowned out with a shout

That argued for a workers’ polity.

The president begged they’d retreat.

They clamored back: “Death to Wall Street.”

THE LIVING DEAD

 A grave in which some politicians     

Were buried, we thought they were dead,

Was opened by academicians

Who found what can’t be left unsaid:

Each surly pol had long been waiting

To get a chance at advocating

Ideas which, when said and done,

Would set the world back to square one.

Among the living dead: Rick Perry,

Obama, Romney, Bachmann, Cain,

And others who were inhumane.

When asked how they’d survived Death’s ferry,

They said the ferryman could tell

Politicos who’d ravage Hell.

SAVING THE AMERICAN ECONOMY (1929-2011)

I won’t stay past his next election,

Which any fool can see he’ll win.

I must allay my disaffection

Or else I’ll surely pull the pin.

You just can’t help this guy, Obama.

His hero is the Dali Lama!

You try invoking this and that;

But how to be a Democrat . . .!

Can you imagine . . . Democratic,

The party of old FDR

Who used to be our guiding star.

Obama thinks the diplomatic

Will help avoid a World War III.

It goes against our pedigree!

THEOCONS UNITED: A CALL FOR A MANIFESTO

If we are banded all together,

Then we will be above the law;

Because our Lord says He’ll untether

Us all and help us spread His awe.

We’ll force the liberals to start praying

Or liquidate them for nay saying

About our call to instigate

The union of the church and state.

A theoconic manifesto

Will help uphold at any cost

This stand of ours to see who’s bossed

By whom.  And if they are, then presto,

We’ll show the liberals who’s boss;

Or slaughter them upon a cross.

THE PRIZE

How can a man who’s just a poet

Be honored with a Nobel Prize?

If I were he, I’d tell them, “Stow it

Till you can look me in the eyes

And tell me that what you’ve been reading

Has changed the world and stopped its bleeding.

Till then all words are merely mud

That covers life, nipped in the bud.

To see the nature of reality

Your words must free the people to

Eliminate the class snafu

That’s left them drudging in banality.

Accepting prizes for a game

Is one thing but . . . the other’s lame.”

RICK PERRY, GOD, AND THE AMERICAN VOTER

When God looked down and saw Rick Perry

Was preaching in His name He said,

“That man is totally gooseberry

For no one knows what’s in my head.

Not even Me.”  And calling Jesus

Said, “Tell that man he will displease us

If he presumes to speak for God.”

So Jesus vanished in a nod.

And when returning, he reported.

He said all Perry did was laugh.

This pissed off God.  He said, “This gaffe

Will cost him dearly.  Make him sordid.”

No sooner said than it was done.

But even so Rick Perry won.

AN MFA IN SCREEN WRITING, A RECOMMENDATION

1

A college started its Extension

In writing, granting MFAs;

But wasn’t getting much attention

Since other schools were, nowadays,

So busy granting their diplomas.

“You’d think we’re selling carcinomas,

For all the business that we get,”

A writing teacher said.  “It’s debt

And interest that the banks are charging,”

Another said.  The Dean, fed up,

While drinking from his coffee cup,

Said, “We’ll begin then by enlarging

Our writing program.  What’s forsworn?” 

All looked confused.  “Why . . . writing porn.”

2

“But, Dean, we are a Christian college!”

“Exactly.  People of the Book.

The Bible’s full of carnal knowledge.”

And so the panel took a look.

And when they finished, they detected

The Bible stories they’d inspected,

Although it’s true they were complex,

Were all conspicuous for sex.

At this they settled in to thinking,

When one, the writing teacher, said,

“But porn’s just fucking, giving head.”

“Then what we need is interlinking

What happened with what’s apropos:

That most were scourged with a stone’s throw.”

3

Their writing program proved successful,           

Once it got passed the school’s trustees;

Who thought at first it might be stressful

To those believing porn was sleaze.

But when convinced that Bible stories

Displayed their God in all His glories,

They offered prizes for the script

That showed their God as all unzipped.

In truth was plot and conversation,

And characters that were hard-core

That stopped a porno from a bore.

From then, screen writer’s education

Began by subbing porn’s brute force

With what excited intercourse.

THE CULT OF THE AMERICAN ASSHOLE, A LIST

1

The CEOs of corporations;

The bankers who’ve sucked people dry;

The politicians of all nations

Who promise peace then shout “banzai;”

The mega-church broadcasting preachers

Who rail at numb nuts in their bleachers

And claim the Bible is a book

Shows Darwin needs another look;

The president whose one ambition

Is rendering health care for all

And sends us home with Tylenol,

And says it’s just an intermission;

Reporters from the mainstream pressed

To write what publishers want stressed;

2

The companies who pump pollution

Into our water and our air,

Then just before their prosecution

Endow a “scientific” chair

That proves these claims impossibilities,

Just theories not infallibilities;

And so a court finds it’s their right

To drill and pump to their delight.

More deaths, they say, are caused by swilling

The spirits that make people drink;

Or suicides from Facebook’s ink

Than have been caused by oil drilling.

Therefore, drill on we won’t abide

What’s far from proven cut and dried;

3

The patriots who hang Old Glory

Outside their trailers make me gag . . .

These good ole boys don’t know the story

Why other people burn their rag:

So why not start with Indian killing

That movies made so awfully thrilling;

What slavers did so long ago;

And, recently, the South’s Jim Crow;

And worse, illegal immigration:

In which they think they’ll lose their jobs

(It’s foisted on them by nabobs)

And stop this country’s jubilation

At being white.  Well that’s not bad

Since race has driven us quite mad.

(TOO LONG TO BE CONTINUED)

WHAT DOES POETRY DO?

I wish that I could write like Horace;

But is America like Rome?

Both sets of leaders’ heads are porous.

It may be leadership syndrome

That sets in when a politician

Has risen to a high position:

They all forget what they were taught

In civics so they’re easy bought.

So politicians are generic.

But what of poets?  Are they too?

Indeed.  The difference is milieu.

The Romans, closer to barbaric

Ways of life, put them to death.  Here?

You could be talking to your mirror.

ADVICE TO COMMUNISTS *

It follows from our exploitation,

No matter gender, race, or creed,

That working people have no nation

So are best placed at routing GREED.

Like capital we’re international;

Unlike it though we can be rational.

If we can put class in first place

We will arise a human race.

But only after revolutions

Have turned the world all upside down

And capital has lost its crown,

Will workers’ co-ops’ contributions

Make any sense; but then you’ll see

What turns an “I” into a “We.”

* This “poem” argues that, as Marx argued, despite all differences working people, the world over, have ONE BIG THING in common: their exploitation.  It does not mean that we are not divided by a host of differences.  But unless communists bring this ONE BIG THING to the forefront we will never have a basis for overcoming these differences. This is the special task assigned to communists.

THE AMERICAN WAY

A cleaning crew began its sweeping

When others in the office left;

A cleaner heard a cell phone beeping,

Had slipped into a couch’s cleft.

She groped it out and thought to answer;

But didn’t since she thought she’d chance her

Job and then what would she do so

She walked away and let it go.

When, later on, it still was ringing,

She answered it and someone said,

“Your stock will rise tomorrow, Ed.”
And then hung up.  She started singing.

Had thought to phone the SEC’s

Hot line.  Thought, “No. Kids' college fees.”

ECONOMIC JUSTICE (FOR A NEW LABOR MOVEMENT)

I stand for economic justice

But not the Democratic way;

For, like Obama, they will bust us,

Then laugh and say it’s A-OK.

So let’s get down to class tectonics

Of justice in our economics:

Where workers can appropriate

The profits bosses cumulate.

This follows from our exploitation.                   

(Which means that bosses really steal

What is produced by commonweal.)

And so there’s no equivocation

We’ll have to take it with a fight

So: WORKERS OF THE WORLD, UNITE!

ECONOMICS VS. ECONOMISM (FOR OCCUPIED WALL STREET)

Since capital is parasitical

On everything its workers built,

Perhaps we should get analytical

And build a party that won’t jilt

The average person’s aspirations;

But fights against debilitations,

Especially one where what we’re paid

Is just a cut from what we made.

If this sounds built on economics

Alone, and leaves all else aside,

It is.  Let practice be our guide.

So let's get down to class tectonics.

In unions people have begun

To learn that they must move as one.

MID-LIFE CRISIS

He stumbled in his mid-life’s journey

And knew he didn’t have a clue

About his ending on a gurney.

It couldn’t mean that he was through.

His life, thus far, was disappointing.

His trouble was with his pinpointing

Of where he’d taken his wrong turn . . .

When someone yelled, a new intern,

“Sir, do you have your health insurance?”

“But what was that supposed to mean?”

“Sir, you have a rupture in your spleen.

You’re bleeding out.”  Then his endurance

Gave out, as he thought in despair,

“Why did I hate Obamacare?”

A NATION LIKE NO OTHER (FOR TROY DAVIS AND NEWT GINGRICH)*

We are a nation like no other:

We are the City on the Hill

Where looking down we kill a brother;

Or anybody who’s too shrill.

Here we’re controlled by politicians

Who secretly approve renditions;

And we’re so blind we cannot see

That brother is a you and me;

Here we can execute Troy Davis

On evidence so flimsy that,

If he weren’t black, we’d smell a rat;

And we’d be shouting, “Someone save us.”

The people we should execute:

Republicans. Commence with Newt.

*THIS TITLE IS TAKEN FROM A BOOK BY NEWT GINGRICH

THE RECRUITER (IN HONOR OF THE END OF “DON’T ASK, DON’T TELL”)*

“I specialize in gay recruiting.

It’s over now: 'Don’t ask, don’t tell.'

All over, that is, but the shooting

By some who think: ‘Cold day in hell

Before I’ll let a homosexual

Be partner to me.  Ineffectual,

A man can’t get it up in bed

With someone who is not co-ed.’

I used to think that way, believing

I’d be alone and then was shot;

Until, who’s Johnny-on-the-spot,

This gay guy said he wasn’t leaving.

He humped me out and then went back

And turned the ‘rags’ to bric-a-brac.”

* NOW HOW ABOUT ENDING THE WARS

THE SUBSTITUTE

I am a teacher’s substituter

And start, almost, from day one on;

It is as if they persecute her

So that they know next day she’s gone.

The kids are savagely rapacious,

It is as though they’re born predacious.

I know if they were kids of mine

They wouldn’t act like little swine.

But subbing’s how I make my living.

It’s more like babysitting kids

Whose brains are nothing but their ids;

And ids are always unforgiving.

Sometimes when on a barroom’s stool

And drunk I think why sub preschool?

THE GARGOYLED GARDEN

A priest once had a gargoyled garden

In which he used to walk and pray.

One day a servant begged his pardon,

“A woman waits in much dismay,”

He said.  The priest, a great magician,

Replied, allowing her admission.

Received, he asked what he could do.

“Please put my son here in situ.

Watched over by your statuary.”

“But why,” he asked?  “My son’s a pol.

With his election we will fall.

He helps the world’s Great Adversary.”

But no gargoyle, however hard,

Would stand a politician’s guard.

JENEEBA EVIL *

I am a witch, Jeneeba Evil,

Can occupy what form I please;

My master, from a time primeval, 

Has ordered me to seek out sleaze.

So when I tenant any body,

I’m wondering if it’s been naughty;

And, if you have, are you averse

To suffer me to make you worse.

It is the presidential season.

But what is it you really know

About the persons in this show?

Don’t think I’m speaking out of season.

My master is so sick and tired                  

Of rounding up the pols acquired.

 *Jeneeba Evil will be making occasional appearances here to expose the workings of the politicians (of whatever kind) who proclaim that that they have our best interests at heart.

RICK PERRY’S PACT WITH THE DEVIL

My cell phone wouldn’t stop its beeping.

I knew my ex was calling me

About the money for housekeeping

And child support.  I was home free

And so decided not to answer.

I knew my daughter had a cancer

But what was I supposed to do;

And so I bid the two adieu.

It happened just as I was crossing,

Against the light, but running hard . . .

Next thing I knew my prison guard

Had picked me up and was embossing

The circle number of my hell

Where Perry voters go to dwell.

COMPASSIONATE CONSERVATISM

The night was sad, the rain was blowing,

As I walked to my home alone;

My mind was rushing, overflowing

With thoughts about my leaving Joan.

My wife’s brain suffered hematoma

And now she’s lying in a coma.

I wanted out of this deathtrap

And wouldn’t hear my friends claptrap

About the evil of my leaving.

If she had wanted me to stick

Why did she go and get so sick?

And then I stopped, stared unbelieving:

It was the devil.  “Dogs are cheap,”

S/he said.  “When sick, they’re put to sleep.”

I AM THE DEVIL AND I APPROVED THIS AD

IS GOD AN URBAN LEGEND?

The thought that god is accidental,

As brain biologists would say,

Means that our god(s) are truly mental;

Or, putting it another way,

If God’s involved in our professions

Of faith, then we have made confessions

To spirits that our brains possessed

And gave it us as their bequest.

And so began mankind’s duality  

In which a body’s on parole

While linked together with a soul.

If we would use our rationality

And made our gods a snuff film clip,

Then we could claim its authorship.

UP THE KAZOO, BABY

Democracy is just illusion.

That is, the people really rule

Is proffered as foregone conclusion

Because they taught it you in school.

You took it when you graduated

Which helped those who’d accumulated

The money used to buy your vote

So that you’d never rock their boat.

If people really ruled, democracy

By now’d have penetrated work

Where we are slaves.  It’s that bulwark

That testifies to our plutocracy.

So what the hell you gonna do?

Go home, and tube it, pop a brew?

MICHELE BACHMANN’S TROUBLE

When candidates appear caressable,

As does Ms. Bachmann, by the way;

(Except, of course, to her detestable

Mate, Marcus, who is really gay),

Then they’ve a better chance with voters

Especially men ignoring odors

Of what the woman really thinks,

No matter what she says that stinks.

Her trouble is her husband Marcus:

His hair, his clothes, his flirty pout

Who, shaking hands with men, breaks out

A boner from his fatty carcass.

He should stay off the campaign trails

And OMG his press-on nails.

DARK RELIGION

"I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."

TEA PARTY SAYS VOTE FOR PERRY

No Bagger claims s/he’s altruistic

And wouldn’t try to save the life 

Of anyone.  But are sadistic:

And would as soon deny the knife            

You needed for an operation,

If it was had by their taxation.

Their formula is don’t get sick;

And at the same time vote for Rick.

For Perry’s made an institution

Of putting taxes on the backs

Of all who can’t afford a tax,

Then suffering their execution:

For any person who won’t pay

Must finally come to Judgment Day.

A TEA BAGGER’S DEATH

A Bagger in the late November

Of life, thought what a great mistake,

Now that his vigor’d burned to ember,

The pols had been. They would remake

A country plunged into impurity;

The ponzi scheme, social security;

And when they’d merged the church and state               

We could start over, be first rate.

But when he finally lost his pension,

And couldn’t pay kids’ college fees,

And definitely not M.D.’s,

His mind was filled with reprehension:

He thought that they should all be tried, 

Found guilty of his suicide.

THE NOMINATION FOR PRESIDENT (2012)

1

The moneyed men met in committee

There to decide the candidate

They should support: who had no pity,

When s/he became their chief of state:

To help undo social security

And send it plunging to obscurity,

Thus helping send the public trust

Into a slough of deep disgust.

When, after Bush, they tried Obama,

They quickly moved in to attack

His policy of being black;

And stirred it to a national trauma.

Republicans were their last chance

To help the world of high finance.

2

But who to choose would do them credit:

Ms. Bachmann, Perry, Romney, Newt?

They didn’t like their choices.  “Let it,”

They said, “be one who’d be a brute;

Who, when he comes down heavy-handed,

Can plead he’s done as God commanded;

And who can merge the church and state;

Decry our foes as apostate;

Who’ll take away the public pensions

So we may gather their largess

And have the country say, ‘God bless.’”

But who would make these interventions?

And so they’d let Obama win;

Then, like a snake, they’d shed their skin.

THE FAMILY THAT PREYS TOGETHER LAYS TOGETHER (FOR THE ROSARY HOUR)

A youngster who was masturbating

Was caught red-handed by his sis;

But while she watched him flagellating

She fell into a kind of bliss.

Her teenybopper’s admiration

Adored his boner’s incarnation

Of what appeared, she would have sworn,

To be the very Matterhorn.

His hand, increasing its velocity,

Had turned his face a bloody red

Until she thought he’d lose his head;

So, charging in with wild ferocity,

She pried it from his fingertips

And shoved IT in between her lips.

RICK PERRY AND THE HIEROGLYPHIC

1

Rick Perry found a hieroglyphic,

As he stepped in a men’s room stall.

He knew this was unscientific

And so he thought it folderol.

He, after all, had been to college,

Though mostly studied carnal knowledge,

But called a preacher anyway

So he could conference and they pray.

The preacher, from First Things Museum,

Said, “Rick, behold the word of God.”

To which the governor said, “ That’s odd.”

“No, Rick, it means you cannot flee Him.

It is a sign the Holy Ghost

Wants you to raze the Leftist Coast.”

2

Down on their knees, both men were praying

Outside the stall.  The door was locked.

“You see the figure.  It’s sashaying;

And how its tiny hands are locked

Around what is, no doubt, a penis

And chasing one of boy-like genus?

That is a sign that one is gay,

Which God forbids the USA.

It may be he’s a child molester

Though both of them are all undressed

And both of them are running west.

And God, dear Rick’s, a big investor

In your campaign so you should do . . .”

“When I’m elected, I’d love to.”

RICK PERRY IN THE GREEN ROOM

An hour before Rick Perry started

Debating he sat in a room;

Advisors who had been fainthearted,

And didn’t want to bring him gloom,

Began by eyeing one another

As if to say, “You’ll back me, brother,”

When finally one said to Rick,

“When this is done, let’s vamoose quick.”

And he replied, “Hell I’m Rick Perry.

I’ll know when it is time to go;

But why?  There’s no one on death row

Tonight."  “But, Rick, the fire is hairy.”

“That’s right,” Rick said.  “When we adjourn . . .

Naw.  Fuck it.  Let the mother burn.”

Revealed: Human Rights Watch Finds Secret Files on British Libyan Relations

My dear, Quaddfi,

                              Our renditions

Have proved a truly great success

With help from your expert technicians

In getting villains to confess.

We hope in this, your time of trouble,

We might suggest: hide in the rubble;

And when you find the bombing’s done,

Get out of there; we’ll help you run.

Be sure to bring your oil leases

So that we really know it’s you;

And that they’re ready to renew.

You know it always helps to grease us.

Don’t fuck with us or you’re puree.

Yours,

            MI6 and CIA.

INTEROGATION TECHNIQUES

She gotten all her information

And set her goals to interview

A criminal whose concentration

Was trained by monks in Katmandu.

She pushed her chair back from the table

And hiking up her skirt was able

To give him just the briefest glance

Of pussy but no underpants.

It worked!  He grew the hugest boner

She’d ever seen.  It was immense!

Now suddenly she’s on defense.

He asked her if she could postpone her

Interview till later on so…

She said, “And where’d you like to go?”