Chatbots are a symptom of their own impending demise.

<p>No more Journal? </p> <p> </p> <p>Whut up wit dat?</p>

<p style="text-align: center;"><span>After sextuplets come septuplets</span><br /><span>Inconceivably set-uplets . . .</span><br /><span>Long hard nights of Mom kept-uplets</span><br /><span>Sevenfold fruit of busy couplets.</span></p>

<p style="margin-left: 30px;"><em>Darkness slays the sun. Descending, he dies.</em><br /><em>To hide his glowing countenance and wait;</em><br /><em>Until his resurrection flood our skies</em><br /><em>With promise of a greater solar state.</em></p> <p>Oh mourn and weep, ye gaining shades of night;<br />An orange sunset lingers in the west.<br />The trumpet sobs a reveille; the light<br />Is dwindling on the presidential fest.<br />And cypresses are sighing in their shame<br />For Orange Man has forfeited his game.</p> <p>The technocrats and leftists, as a mass<br />Opposed his righteous reign with godless spite.<br />Not once did they relent, but dogged his ass<br />In jackal-packs still slavering to bite.<br />And yet he is deplorably adored,<br />Nor friend nor foe politically bored.</p> <p>Vile virtue-signalers (with none to show), <br />Despised all those who dared support his plan;<br />And prideful with each whining coward blow<br />Confirmed themselves inferiors to the man.<br />Pink feminists, at odds with all that's right<br />Displayed themselves as pussies in the fight.</p> <p>They could not stand the mention of his name.<br />The Globalists and other Euro-trash,<br />With Luciferian bankers, void of shame,<br />Resume their one-world plotting in a flash; <br />Preparing for re-set. (We wish they would<br />Let God reset them for their own damn good.)</p> <p>So DRUMPF's Fourth Reich must sadly reach its end,<br />And Jared's Nazi wife return her shoes.<br />Trump's V&ouml;lkisch warriors shall no more defend<br />Republics that weak RINOs all refuse;<br />And Milquetoast Mitt, and Bush, his parting hail<br />Grown tired of winning, longing yet to fail</p> <p>&nbsp;</p> <p>My Einsatzgruppen uniform: no more<br />To wear the holy garment in my pride.<br />My shimmering hood and robe I now must store;<br />Well-pressed, I lay them tearfully aside.<br />My lynching rope I coil with loving care,<br />My Ku-Klux armband nevermore to wear.</p> <p>Alas, the fascist father-figure goes;<br />His bigot minions, all my own, lament.<br />Misogynists and racists at the close<br />Have lost their weary way and all is spent.<br />He wasn't dictatorial enough;<br />We all grew tired of winning. It was tough.</p> <p style="margin-left: 30px;"><em>But wait; a zephyr stirs the orange grove.</em><br /><em>The dusk has not yet sighed its final breath:</em><br /><em>Once more a scent of citrus wafts above . . .</em><br /><em>Twas' premature, their festival of death.</em><br /><em>Then TRUMP arises, grinning, from the bier</em><br /><em>And all who who wished him gone recoil in fear.</em></p> <p style="margin-left: 30px;"><em>Fresh horror now the adversaries sweeps;</em><br /><em>The trembling crypts foreshadow his rebirth.</em><br /><em>Progressive politics despairs and weeps</em><br /><em>While liberal dread supplants their vengeful mirth.</em><br /><em>Then Donald rises, leering like a ghost</em><br /><em>To fill with panic every heartless host . . .&nbsp;</em></p> <p>Mere hopium, this horror-movie plot. <br />It looked like he might pull it off&mdash; but no.<br />Now darkness teaches light what it is not<br />And half the nation jeers at him to go.<br />Healing urged&mdash;but fake. Polarization<br />Shall characterize our waning nation.</p> <p>Hopes of resurrection vanish with night.&nbsp;<br />The scapegoat's legions waken from the dream<br />To seek nocturnal solace from the fight:<br />The tepid normie water's middle stream.<br />And Q-tard numerologists learn code.<br />(The rest of us just wonder what we're owed.)</p> <p>Saint Orange must diminish, half impeached;<br />And sunset velvet now becomes his hue.<br />The ballot urns of Georgia never reached;<br />Our judges sat to stifle what we knew.<br />The monoparty's monkeys steal the show;<br />His puppet masters hiss him. Let him go.</p> <p>And Dixie's juiceless orchards sing his dirge.<br />The willows hang their boughs in leafless grief . . . <br />Disgust for all the traitors starts to surge;<br />And clown-world tries but cannot bring relief.<br />Orange Savior's promise: undelivered<br />The funeral expires&mdash;and all is withered.</p>

<p>This site's administrators revoked my trusted user status.</p> <p>No explanation. They no longer let me post lyrics. What a joke. </p> <p>I must have transgressed their unwritten law ☺</p> <p> </p> <p>(All because I think Rage Against the Machine are a sucky bunch of sorry wussy frilly lace-panty-wearing hairdressers.)</p>

Grosskreutz chased him, intending to harm.
Kyle Rittenhouse sounded alarm;
Then surrounded by danger,
Engaged with that stranger
Who needed a shot in the arm.

Joey Rosenbaum handled it well,
Though he’s no longer present to tell;
And his threat: Shoot me nigger !
Elicits a snigger
From demons and devils in hell.

The third idiot, Huber by name,
Used his skateboard to bludgeon. For shame!
Mr. Rittenhouse shot—
And that skater-dude got
A delicious hot slice of the same.

 

KENOSHA, it’s great to be here tonight !
We love you all,
Such a wild audience...
Are you ready to ROCK ?

(Joseph Rosenbaum, Anthony Huber,
and Gage Grosskreutz were ...)

 

Ranking, skanking
in a checkered world,
keystone cops
chase rudeboys
while you sweat the beer out
on the dancefloor;
flailing, riddled,
ventilated with every rim-shot
trying desperately
to swim to Jamaica
from England.

★ TWO–TONE ★
▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓
★ MORE SKA ★

Take a bow for taking a knee.
We want to thank you for being woke.
You fell asleep in the Land of the Free;
(The punchline to your own lame joke.)

 

 

 

Y'all so WOKE I bought you an alarm clock.

Prithee Friend that Hedge behold
When all we rhiming Fools grow old
Who in vain Florish Life have spent
Amidst it stands a rivall’d Tree,
Now representing sixty three
And like it you and I shall be.
The bare vine round about it clings
With mischievous, intangling Strings
The night Shade with a dismal Flow’r
Culrs o’er it, like a Lady’s Tower
Or Honesty with feather’d Down
Like grizled Hair deforms its Crown
Luxuriant plants that o’er it spread
Not medicinal for Heart or Head
Whch serve but to amuse the Sight
Are like the nothings that we write
Yet still ’tis thought that Tree’s well plac’d
With beauteous Eglantine imbrac’d
But see how false Appearance proves
If he that Honeysuckle Loves
Which climbs by him to reach the Thorns
The rival Thorn his Age derides
And gnaws like jealousy his Sides.
Then let us cease, my Friend, to sing
When ever youth is on the Wing
Unless we solidly indite
Some good Infusing while we write
Lest with our Follies hung around
We like that Tree & Hedge be found
Grotesque & trivial, shun’d by all
And soon forgotten when we fall.

Anne Finch (1661-1720)

 

A White Rose said to an African Violet:

Purple darkness makes my day.

The Violet, showing forth her petals, spoke:

Let’s share some sun in May.

†  †  †

Happy Easter!
come on over and visit