Friday, March 25, 2011


It seems their GOD is insufficient
And needs His faithful’s help to judge
Whom they decree He made deficient.
And so they help Him with a budge.
Their budging though is loud and booming
As Hollywood weeps while entombing
Elizabeth Taylor.  Their jeers
Were screamed because “she aided queers.”
Their God’s “all-knowing" and "all-powerful”
Which means He can do nothing wrong.
So if you want to suck a dong
Or, even more, a whole rush hour full,
It was God’s gift, not theirs, to give.
Their logic then leaks like a sieve.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

“God's Wife, Asherah, May Have Been Edited Out Of The Bible Says Theologian” The Huffington Post

At least we know Jews aren’t hysterical
Since Yahweh had his Heaven’s queen,
As others did in times barbarical
Right down to actor Charlie Sheen.
Who’d ever even think creation
Could rise from out God’s masturbation
And bill it as a holy creed
Must be as loopy as Ralph Reed
And others like him who, discoursing
On Christian networks and Fox News,
Have built a history they can use
That helps get votes by reinforcing
That mankind is not far removed
What ancient man would have reproved.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011


May pols be blasted to perdition
And burn forever in hellfire
For not promoting manumission
Of all who live behind the wire:
The wire preventing confrontation 
With all who favor exploitation
That Marx arraigned so long ago
To which they gave the old heave-ho.
The one thing will unite all workers
Who slave away their lives in dread
They won’t produce their daily bread;
Whom capital fears as berserkers
Who will come pouring out of slums
No more content with eating crumbs.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011


If God elected politicians,
He would discover all their sins.
Imposing on them inquisitions,
By questions like: “Have you foreskins?”
You really think he’d let a winner
Be unrepentant as a sinner?
So let us ask to see their dicks
And learn how they’ll turn out as pricks?
If they refuse before the nation
To pull it out and show it us
And make their privacy a fuss,
Why then ’twill serve as revelation:
Who has no foreskin on his lance,
We'll know can't take a Christian stance.

Thursday, March 17, 2011


“My name is Phyllis Janet Gagger,
A woman of the middle class.
I’m mocked with names like ‘bitch’ and ‘bagger’
But I’m not one to let things pass
When nominating politicians
And making sure that their positions
Are as conservative as mine
Not floating somewhere on cloud nine.
Do they believe that blacks and workers
Would swallow down the budget whole,
By giving each a mink fur stole?
And union bosses, those berserkers…
Why Mr. Walker’s surely wise:
It’s not a time for compromise.
“Do they believe in God’s creation?
The Constitution says it’s so:
That He created our great nation;
The rest go to Guantanamo.
He welcomes all, as His churchgoers.
Mosques He consigns to His flamethrowers.
Do they believe God calls the shots?
Calls us to torture tiny tots
Of Afghans or the Pakistanis?
Do they believe that Jesus Rex
Would honor who have oral sex
Or take it up their filthy fannies?
All this they have to answer for
To gain Tea Partiers’ rapport.”

Tuesday, March 15, 2011


“Let’s dump the retards in Siberia,  *
And hunt illegals as we’d hogs,       **
And send the niggers to Liberia,      ***
And turn the workers into cogs.”     ****
It’s words like these can turn a nation
Into a raving congregation
Of fascist bullies with the right
To turn our politics to spite.
The liberals just sit and dither,
Especially from the Ivy League,
While neocons unleash blitzkrieg.
Then spout off with their futile blither:
“Well sticks and stones may break my bones…”
But all the rest is buried moans.

*       Rep. Martin Harty (R)
**     Republican Kansas legislator
***   Most white Amerikkkans' secret feelings
**** Gov. Scott Walker (R) Wisconsin

Monday, March 14, 2011


Tea baggers live on others wits
As HOGS live on another’s shits.
Tea baggers praise Rand Paul’s “free” market
And want the Congress to ear mark it.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011


I hug the earth whole days and nights,
Disguised the color of the ground,
And watch the army as it fights
So far away can’t hear a sound;
Although my scope can see the sights
And I’m all set to pump a round
Into the body of a man
They call Commander Taliban.
I’m doing what they trained me to:
To kill at distance with a shot
That turns an officer to goo,
Here in this land that time forgot.
But even Alexander’s crew
Got hogtied in a bloody knot
By Afghan tribes who sent them packing
After they suffered a shellacking.
But lying here I’ve done some thinking:
These men have never done to me
What my own country has.  The stinking
Bankers who took my home.  Marie
Who left because of my hard drinking
(It’s true our marriage was at sea)
Before I got back from my tour
And had the time to take the cure.
So when on leave I put my skills,
To make a shot from miles away,
To use by making banker kills.
I stalked them as if they were prey
As I was on my mortgage bills.
But never mind.  It’s all OK.
I took out banker CEOs
Then their replacement cameos.
As I recall the first I drilled
Was in his office late at night.
I shot him through the head and spilled
His brains before he felt his plight.
Can’t tell you though how I was thrilled
Just knowing I’d wiped out that blight.
A janitor came through the door
Found him, looked out, and mouthed “do more.”
The same black guy found the replacement
And laughed until he started crying.
He seemed to know my gun’s emplacement
Gave me a thumbs up at his dying.
Then signaled me “come to the basement
We’ll have a drink.”  Then signifying… 
But then some other guys rushed in
And I thought no and “pulled the pin.”
The army in Afghanistan
Says it won’t kill a noncombatant
But always do it when we can.
It is as though we have a patent,
Call it the American Plan,
Where we’ll kill any bad hat and aunt,
His mother, wife, and kids by scores
So we won’t leave their hatred’s spores.
And so I stalked their country clubs
Where I could see these finance studs           
When they took out the wife and cubs
And half a dozen of their buds
And turned them into body stubs.
A high-power round turns you to spuds
And then, before there’s time to shout,
I’d taken his whole table out.
At fifty thousand feet per second,
The head won’t stop this kind of round.
And didn’t now.  The killing beckoned.
I’d put them all deep in the ground;
And anyone who stopped and reckoned
The body count would join the mound.
But no one ever stayed for long,
Though some got trampled in the throng.
I’d read the papers every morning
And got a laugh at what I read:
“A sniper striking without warning.”
“He’ll put a bullet through your head.”
“There’s no one left do the mourning
Because the family, too, is dead.”
Just doing what they trained me to:
To turn my enemy to goo.
They interviewed the lowly masses.
“The bankers should have gone to jail.
If government gives them free passes,
It’s good that someone’s on their trail.”
No sympathy for these fat asses,
Except at Harvard, Princeton, Yale.
I brought the Left and Right together:
They marched as one, birds of a feather.
The rappers called me Master Sniper
And vied with albums in my praise.
The FBI called me a viper
They’d hunt until the end of days.
I went on killing one pin-striper
After another.  Whole arrays
Of people called me Robin Hood
And said that I was doing good.
Now just as leave was set to end
The army sent the CID,
On which they thought they could depend,
Out on my trail to capture me.
They thought that I’d gone round the bend
So orders went out from D.C.
To reel me in and bring me back
To see if I was clearly whack.
It seems they’d gotten on my trail
When I’d wiped out a panic room
Of bankers who thought that I’d fail
Because I couldn’t see their womb
Where they sat plotting our betrayal.
But my sights pierced their vaulted gloom.
The army knew that I was one
Who used the “penetrator” gun.
And so they set a phony meeting
In their attempt to capture me.
It was my last chance at succeeding
Before I’d be a ghost and free.
They brought in counter-snipers, needing
To fix the points they could foresee
From which I’d take my deadly shot
And waited, Johnny-on–the-spot.
They did it all without police
And didn’t bring the FBI;
But left a body to increase
The chances that they’d certify
The killings now would finally cease.
They’d phonied up an alibi
That covered all my time on leave.
They’re really good at make believe.
They flew me to interrogation,
Examined me for days on end.
To see if I, as their creation,
Had simply gone around the bend.
And if I had, my cancellation…
Well, they’d be bound to recommend
It.  Almost did.  Great snipers are
In short supply.  So no cigar.
So here I am.  Afghanistan
Spread out below me where I lay
And muse at what will be their plan
If I don’t kill someone today,
As I watch out for Taliban.
They’ll put a “hitter” into play.
The mountains are behind me so…
I might go that way, if I go.

           THE END

Thursday, March 3, 2011


“But, dude, you know they’re way too skinny.”
“Then why keep calling them ‘fat cats’?”
“I’d never eat a cat, you ninny.”
“Before you give yourself congrats
Just stop a moment and consider
Where they’ll end up.”
                                     “You mean my shitter?”
“Exactly, dude. And when we’re done
That’s when we’ll really have some fun.”
“You mean there’s more?”
                                            “The politicians
Who prop up rich folks’ status quos
And lead us poor folk by the nose.
And do it ’gainst our prohibitions.”
“But isn’t that some kina crime?”         
“Exactly, dude.”… 
                                 “When’s dinnertime?”

Wednesday, March 2, 2011


“At Will” is why I joined the union.
It means that they can fire me
For anything.  There’s no communion
Between employer/employee.
When businesses finally contracted,
My boss decided he’d transacted
His final contract.  I’ve been fired
And in my place another’s hired.
S/he always works for lower wages
Without protections from the boss,
Health care supplied by the Red Cross.
But we won’t suffer these outrages
For very long.  We’ll end their blight
When “Workers of the World, Unite.”
America needs revolution
Where workers of all kinds control
Appropriation, distribution
Before we’re so far in the hole
We’re buried in their degradation,
Beyond all hope of consolation.
Long live the union.  Now it’s dead.
Therefore, it’s time that we go RED.
The workers of the world are rising.
Like Arabs, we won’t be abased.
We’ll see the Walkers are erased.
And then we can start civilizing
Ourselves, our children, and our land
Where workers of the world command.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011


A constitutional theocracy
Is one that chiefly honors God;
Is staffed with preachers, His bureaucracy,
That acts the role of bunco squad.
They seek out others for heretical
Beliefs religion’s anesthetical;
And torture them till they recant
Or stifled till they finally can’t.
They can’t have those who are seditious
Infecting others with their “lies”
Denying what is their franchise.
As well, they’ll torment those ambitious
To keep religion in its place:
The First Amendment’s marketplace.