The Conservative Cave
Current Events => Archives => Politics => Election 2012 => Topic started by: CG6468 on November 03, 2012, 01:54:10 PM
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Barack, be nimble
Barack, be quick
Barack be gone
After November 6th.
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I've been trying to work out something for "0bama at the Polls" like "Casey at the Bat."
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The Outlook wasn't brilliant for demonrats that day:
The score stood tied, with just one inning more to play.
And then when Biden died at first, and Pelosi did the same,
Bob Bechtel did the same, and a sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the liberals' breast;
They thought, if only blammo could get but a whack at that -
We'd put up even money, now, with blammo at the bat.
But take a Flier preceded blammo, as did also Jay Carney,
And the former was a lulu and the latter was a *****;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of blammo getting to the bat.
But Flier let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Biden, the much despised, tore the secret shroud off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,
There was Flier at second and Biden a-hugging third.
Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through Mt. Rushmore, it rattled way down in Hell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For blammo, effeminate blammo, was squatting to pee at the bat.
There was ease in blammo's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in blammo's bearing and a sneer on blammo's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas blammo at the bat.
He laid down his driver and picked up a bat.
He yelled "Fore" and pointed to Allah.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his basketball shirt.
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance gleamed in blammo's eye, a sneer curled blammo's lip.
And now the soft ball sphere came hurtling through the air,
And blammo stood a-watching it in haughty, useless splendor there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped -
"That ain't my style," said blammo. "Strike one," Romney said.
From the benches, full of terrorists, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Kill him! Kill Romney!" shouted a muzzie al-Qaeda Imen on the stand;
And its likely they'd a-killed him had not blammo raised his hand.
With a fake smile of Muzzie charity great blammo's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew;
But blammo still ignored it, and Romney said, "Strike two."
"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and rioting answered fraud;
But one scornful look from blammo’s lawyers and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his jaw muscle tense,
And they knew that blammo wouldn't let that ball go through the fence.
The sneer is gone from blammo's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of blammo's blow.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
There is vast joy in America – wimpy blammo has struck out.
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Remember, remember the Sixth of November,
After Benghazi Treason, and Voter Fraud Plot,
I see no reason why Benghazi Treason should ever be forgot.
Obama, t’was his intent to stir up much racial dissent.
Three score ballots were laid below to prove old America's overthrow;
By God’s mercy it was snatch'd because by Mitt he t'was overmatch'd.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, let the bells ring.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, no Obama as King!
Hip hip hoorah!
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The Outlook wasn't brilliant for demonrats that day:
The score stood tied, with just one inning more to play.
And then when Biden died at first, and Pelosi did the same,
Bob Bechtel did the same, and a sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the liberals' breast;
They thought, if only blammo could get but a whack at that -
We'd put up even money, now, with blammo at the bat.
But take a Flier preceded blammo, as did also Jay Carney,
And the former was a lulu and the latter was a *****;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of blammo getting to the bat.
But Flier let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Biden, the much despised, tore the secret shroud off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,
There was Flier at second and Biden a-hugging third.
Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through Mt. Rushmore, it rattled way down in Hell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For blammo, effeminate blammo, was squatting to pee at the bat.
There was ease in blammo's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in blammo's bearing and a sneer on blammo's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas blammo at the bat.
He laid down his driver and picked up a bat.
He yelled "Fore" and pointed to Allah.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his basketball shirt.
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance gleamed in blammo's eye, a sneer curled blammo's lip.
And now the soft ball sphere came hurtling through the air,
And blammo stood a-watching it in haughty, useless splendor there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped -
"That ain't my style," said blammo. "Strike one," Romney said.
From the benches, full of terrorists, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Kill him! Kill Romney!" shouted a muzzie al-Qaeda Imen on the stand;
And its likely they'd a-killed him had not blammo raised his hand.
With a fake smile of Muzzie charity great blammo's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew;
But blammo still ignored it, and Romney said, "Strike two."
"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and rioting answered fraud;
But one scornful look from blammo’s lawyers and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his jaw muscle tense,
And they knew that blammo wouldn't let that ball go through the fence.
The sneer is gone from blammo's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of blammo's blow.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
There is vast joy in America – wimpy blammo has struck out.
Hi-5. I've been playing around with that idea since the first debate.
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Thank you.
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Thank you.
It's a great poem.
Makes me think of Longfellow.
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I neglected to attribute that to Ernest Lawrence Thayer, who wrote the original poetry.
-
Remember, remember the Sixth of November,
After Benghazi Treason, and Voter Fraud Plot,
I see no reason why Benghazi Treason should ever be forgot.
Obama, t’was his intent to stir up much racial dissent.
Three score ballots were laid below to prove old America's overthrow;
By God’s mercy it was snatch'd because by Mitt he t'was overmatch'd.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, let the bells ring.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, no Obama as King!
Hip hip hoorah!
Well done, sir. While Obama is no Guy Fawkes, his activities could be considered even more damaging to his adopted country than Guy Fawkes ( or V for that matter) actions were to their country.
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T'was the night before elections,
And all thru' the town,
Tempers were flaring
Emotions ran up and down.
I, in my bathrobe
With a cat in my lap,
Had shut off the TV,
tired of political crap.
When all of a sudden,
There arose such a noise,
I peered out my window,
Saw Obama and his boys
They had come for my wallet,
They wanted my pay
To hand out to others
Who had not worked a day!
He snatched up my money,
And quick as a wink,
Jumped back on his bandwagon
As I gagged from the stink.
He then rallied his henchmen
Who were pulling his cart.
I could tell they were out
To tear my country apart!
'On Fannie, on Freddie,
On Biden and Ayers!
On Acorn, on Pelosi'
He screamed at the pairs!
They took off for his cause,
And as they flew out of sight,
I heard him laugh at a nation
Who wouldn't stand up and fight!
So I leave you to think on this one final note...
IF YOU DON'T WANT SOCIALISM GET OUT AND VOTE !!!!
Author unknown