Feel free to publish, post, or pass on Your Weekly Politickle by F.R. Duplantier:
Every year when they celebrate Earth,
The green socialists generate mirth,
Trying not to betray
The true aim of “Earth Day,”
Which from Pig Latin translates as “dearth.”
Now our enemies freely attack us –
Pillage, plunder, despoil, and ransack us –
But we once had a voice
And were offered a choice,
Whereupon we cried, “Give us Barackus!”
From the archive
Barry’s Bandits have found a new way
To get rich without working a day:
They’ve no need for a gun,
‘Cause they just use the sun
To get ‘loans’ that they’ll never repay.
FAITH IN GORE
“All you skeptics who try to besmirch
Our beliefs will be left in the lurch
As we celebrate dearth
And increase our net worth
At St. Albert Gore’s Climate Change Church.”
There’s no benefit to coal
If you cannot dig a hole,
And the value is nil
Of oil you can’t drill.
Who would favor such control?
“Here I come to save the day!
Everyone will have to pay!
I will pull a switch
That will make me rich
As my stock goes up and away!”
WELL, WELL, WELL
Well, I’m not exactly thrilled
When I get my gas tank filled,
But it makes my blood boil
To know that there’s oil
In reserves of our own to be drilled.
Whether sickly or healthy and hale,
We object when the air gets too stale,
But what shall we do
When they ban CO2
And deny us the right to exhale?
“When we measured no parts per million,
We raised standards to parts per billion.
We’re the new EPA
And we’ll have it our way,
Finding parts per trillion and zillion!”
You can have all your hullabaloo
And ‘arbor illusions too,
You can care about trees
As much as you please,
But the trees still won’t care about you!
My neighbor’s a tree-hugging pain,
But he’s unsympathetic to grain:
If I chance not to mow
And my grass starts to grow,
He’s the first on the block to complain!
Their abiding misanthropy shows
What’s behind the Earth Firster’s pose,
For these mopes without mirth
Have no love for the earth
And are nothing but Mean Green Joes.
Doomsday deadlines bear recalling
When they’ve passed and we’re not sprawling:
If dreaded fate
Is running late,
Then perhaps the sky’s not falling.
Once more, for what it’s worth:
Your mother is not the Earth!
And that’s because
Your mother was
The woman who gave you birth.
Last week’s limerick:
Though they say it’s a post-Christian time
And we follow a new paradigm,
There are martyrs galore,
More than ever before:
Christianity’s now at its prime.