It’s the tag-team for which I can’t wait.
And the U.S.? – sure, they’ll seal her fate,
For the people won’t learn;
They’ll prefer him, and burn,
And the Pope will be his running mate.
Socialist Wrestlers
19 Friday Feb 2016
Posted Satire
in19 Friday Feb 2016
Posted Satire
inIt’s the tag-team for which I can’t wait.
And the U.S.? – sure, they’ll seal her fate,
For the people won’t learn;
They’ll prefer him, and burn,
And the Pope will be his running mate.
Destruction looms on the horizon, but I’m still praying for one more chance. I do believe this next election will be the only chance we have left to salvage anything honorable that our nation has always stood for.
If the polls are right (still a long way to go) then Trump would lose it for the Republicans, while Rubio, Cruz etc have a good chance of winning. I guess the Democrats will want Trump to be nominated – watching with great interest.
The history of this party in each election since Reagan is that, although they claim to be conservative and to stand for moral issues, they don’t want anyone who is “too” conservative or “too” Christian. So I seriously doubt that Cruz has much of a chance, but I hope I’m wrong.
I feel the same way. You have stated my outlook exactly.
Destruction is looming indeed.
Bernie Sanders hatched a scheme
to rant an old progressive theme.
He left the greening mountain heights
to bellow forth for Social Rights,
descending to our nation’s valleys
milking the faithful at his rallies.
Mr. Sanders sold the farm,
sounded socialist alarm,
trading professorial tweeds
to bloviate for human needs.
Setting lefties all a-twitter,
bartering the sweet for bitter,
he glared through academic glasses
at the doubtful working classes
wondering why they failed to note
exactly how they ought to vote.
Sanders patched up race-relations
fixing holes with reparations,
working up his magic wonder:
horsey voice of righteous thunder –
till the clouds hung heavy and gray
the portent of a darker day.
Warming up leftover Hope
sparing no change for hangman’s rope,
sputtering — he blew a gasket
redistributing our basket;
scolding, bellowing, pumping fist
and waving fingers from the wrist
(like Politburo retro-chic:
a tousled old white-headed freak).
Very good – I visited your site briefly – will come over for a better look when time permits.