BUTTS ON THE GROUND

Bhoener ButtsYeah that’s McConnell and yeah he’s dead, and Putterer of the House, Boner Boehner, reeks the Press.

WASHINGTON—   House Putterer John Boehner (R-OH.M.G.) was ragging to the press earlier today about President Barack Obama’s strategy against ISIS, saying “butts on the ground” would be needed, because, well, that’s just how “we roll.”  He was reluctant to say just whose butts he intends to roll into harm’s way.

“At the end of the day, uh, I think it’s gonna take more than, uh, airstrikes and billions of dollars to drive them outta there,” Boehner said.  “At some point, somebody’s spawn has gotta get their butts blown off.”

Reporter Mal Aprop of BSN asked if that meant American butts.

“Listen, the president doesn’t want to do that, because he doesn’t have the stomach for killing, no matter what the reason.  But if I were the president, I probably wouldn’t have talked about what I wouldn’t do, or, uh, you know, what I might do.  Or even what I would do do.   But where I come from, War always means butts on the ground, so somebody’s butts have to be there.”

“So you would recommend putting American butts on the ground, then?” asked Aprop.

“We have no choice,” Boehner sobbed, dabbing away tears.  “These are Conan-like barbarians.   They said they wanna kill us.  So unless we all just wanna lay down and die, we’re gonna hafta pay the price and, uh.. send some more of your children’s butts over there to die.”

IT’S SUMMERTIME

Yep, summertime, and we be chillin’, planting plants, drinking wine, walking the beach;
not blogging so much right now.
We’ll be back after a few weeks of R & R.  .  .  Be good to yourself, and everybody else, too.

US

 

Real Climate Change Coming


That’s right;  it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard rain gonna fall.

Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son?
And where have you been my darling young one?
I’ve stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains
I’ve walked and I’ve crawled on six crooked highways
I’ve stepped in the middle of seven sad forests
I’ve been out in front of a dozen dead oceans
I’ve been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.

Oh, what did you see, my blue eyed son?
And what did you see, my darling young one?
I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it
I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it
I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin’
I saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleedin’
[I saw a white ladder all covered with water]
I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken
I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, and it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.

And what did you hear, my blue-eyed son?
And what did you hear, my darling young one?
I heard the sound of a thunder that roared out a warnin’
I heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world
I heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a-blazin’
I heard ten thousand whisperin’ and nobody listenin’
I heard one person starve, I heard many people laughin’
Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter
Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard
And it’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.

Oh, what did you meet my blue-eyed son ?
Who did you meet, my darling young one?
I met a young child beside a dead pony
I met a white man who walked a black dog
I met a young woman whose body was burning
I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow
I met one man who was wounded in love
I met another man who was wounded in hatred
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard
And it’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.

And what’ll you do now, my blue-eyed son?
And what’ll you do now my darling young one?
I’m a-goin’ back out ‘fore the rain starts a-fallin’
I’ll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest
Where the people are a many and their hands are all empty
Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters
Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison
And the executioner’s face is always well hidden
Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten
Where black is the color, where none is the number
And I’ll tell and speak it and think it and breathe it
And reflect from the mountain so all souls can see it
And I’ll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin’
But I’ll know my song well before I start singing
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, and it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.