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Thursday, November 10, 2011

The Print Empire

What genius from the Greek PM,
Threatens geeks with a referendum.
Papandreou’s politics cannot lose,
The populace got the one they choose.

A body's just ash, words can't compute.
   Items for cash, are less to transmute,
Silver can be faked, but tarnishes more,
  Gold remains sacred, an immoveable door.

My chosen destination’s Galaxy forty-four fourteen!
    But I'll have to be frozen, it's parsecs nineteen.
A long way to travel, to seek fortune and fate,
    Traveling at light speed, a sixty-million year wait!

What democratic tool makes for Republican fun,
Targets those ghouls with a memory-lapse gun?
Whose blind spot will likely be next?
Blast at Mitt Romney, he's finally hexed.

Old Mitt Romney fell in the mud,
Our American family all knew he would.

"Was it a Bush, if so which one?
Who got us in Libya, or Afghanistan."
McCain's got a bug and can't remember,
Who did what, since last November.

Swallow burdock as media medicine.
Follow Murdoch, then barf to jettison!

Emperor Silvio dreads a high rate bond.
His Fates reveal a dead Euro, conned.

The bears are coming to Italy,
To gore Berlusconi finally.

What print empire can fuss and strut,
conspire, sin, say 'sorry' in smut.
What karma's in prying private lives,
And comes to haunt even Murdoch's lies.

Commons is to Murdoch as blank is to bored.
Amens are encouraged since he won't be made Lord.

You thought it funny, who threw that foam pie?
Follow the money, and ask yourself, "For whom?" and "Why?'

Mind is craved by Soul, as water likes a bowl.
Soul gives thoughts to Mind, as coal gives watts to Light.

Bad karma keeps on stacking - the PM met NewsCorp on hacking,
26 appointments w/ Murdoch execs, Money does wonders, but can't get respect.

If Jabba the Hut was really King Tut, and Rupert was not a vulture,
The case would be shut, the PM's a slut, and smut, is really just culture!

Raj or Empire, matters not which.
With claws and fire, the Other's a witch!

Sorting socks by color's easy, folding bras will make me queasy.
A panty in hand will make me stand, but bluejeans keep me needy!

On a grey ocean, I was struck by the notion,
   to look for the almighty One.
Way overhead, dark clouds of Lead,
   made space for the blighted Sun.

As I do my yoga, I invoke my symmetry,
I'm read to by my Ogre, in lines of poetry.

Once a father-earner, I did my passive duty,
Now I'm a Nevada-burner, all for sin and booty!

I awake to the stink of avarice,
That shakes at the brink of a precipice.

If it meows or gives milk, it might be a cat,
But if it's a cow or makes silk, it might be a rat.

None of these creatures are found in a park,
One of their features is they glow in the dark!

Lee and Katia so yearn to compete,
Two grizzly bears at the edge of a creek.

Lee the old male, is slow moving and lean,
Katia the lassie is faster, but mean.

What's shows on stage are often just tears,
Thus flows the wage, of softened fears.

When Mother Nature disappoints,
   break out liquor, lite up joints!
Then if Irene is truly fierce,
   grab a Suzy, whoever's nearest!

Noble warriors with beards of grey,
Gave sober memories of that day.

Anders Breivik believed 'Braverie's Kind',
Murderous anagrams dream 'Riverbanks Die'?

If right-wing politics was what he meant,
What terrifying sickness, killing innocents.

When I feel I’m love deprived,
Like a bad trip when on acid.
It'll gets me high to think of your thighs,
And suddenly all gets placid.

A mightier risk than a terrorist bomb,
Is the threat to society from triple A bonds.

Let's chalk up what's going on,
BSkyB talked with Cameron . . .
It's absurd! Did he use his desk?
To help the Murdochs, buy the rest?

Time for medicine, we should all swallow burdock,
It may even work, if we throw up on Murdoch!

What indeed does Murdoch fear?
He turned eighty, could play King Lear.
James the son, his ego's host,
Made a run with his father's ghost.

The audacity of money,
   wherever it roams,
Publicity can be shaving cream,
   from a foam-pie thrown.

This planet's getting so damm hot,
If someone fanned, it would help a lot.

What a gorgeous gift the Sun.
Seduces women,  . . . gets their clothes undone.

The Met chief falls upon his sword,
Should we take the PM at his word?

If not business, what was talked,
In back-door meets and Chequers' walks?

Every fight every scandal has a teflon Don,
So we all light a candle for PM Cameron.

One's a cream, that comes with meringue,
   the other's the dream of the Tea Party gang.

Millions in severance, not fingering her bosses,
Brooks booked by the Met, to control their own losses.

Should the PM pay the price,
   getting infected by these lice?
If NewsCorp's disbanded, or ultimately sold,
 . . . maybe the PM will one day get old!

Dig under Fleet Street, dig up the Yard!
There's a stink from 10 Downing,  . . . they need to get tarred.

A mockery of smut degrades what it touches,
Makes democracy a slut to whatever she hushes.

It's time to awake to a gale of corruption,
The NewsCorp scandal is a full scale eruption!

What prime assets does NewsCorp own?
Scotland Yard helped hack Brit phones,
PM Cameron, Blair and Bush.
Victim's solicitors, paid to hush.

Has NewsCorp paid for its hacking caper?
Sacking execs and closing a paper?

Who hacked the phones of the 9/11 victims?
That's the worry of our legal system.
Did the FBI currie its books,
After the sacking of Rebekah Brooks.

Afula Tikva Arad Acre,
Haifa Givem Baqa
Jat Beta Tel Aviv of Karmiel
Reprieve Jerusalem and Gaza.

NASA's a pawn in the budget muddle,
Magic gone, no more space shuttle.
Astride her boosters white with light,
Atlantis took her final flight.

Victim phones by News Corp hacked,
Sittin' clones of Murdoch sacked.
Cops bribed, funded prime ministers,
Until it stops, decidedly sinister.

Is Facebook by Google doomed?
Two social networks in one room?

How those News Corp hacks abound,
What goes around, backs Cameron.

We tried, 'twas never quite dark enough,
Oh to make love, inside of a parking lot.

Liars of the World will close their paper,
No buyers of news for a phone-hacking caper.

What allegations come from Fox
On July 4th our President mocked,
Not an error, if you know that station,
Not from hacking, or automation.

I drove out west,
And crossed the Mississippi.
On a westward quest,
The effect was kind of Trimpey.

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