His breasts are fair

Being something of an amateur archaeologist I love finding long lost items, be they parchment scrolls or relics.  During one of my excursions I came across an old document, written in Latin (then the language of the elite).  I have translated it into English for my readers to peruse.

I now present to you The Song of the Mainstream Media (May God have mercy on us all).

Chapter One

Let Barack kiss me with the kiss of his mouth:  for thy breasts are better than wine.

Draw me Barack:  we will run after thee to the odor of thy ointments (for thou workest out much often).  Barack hath brought me into his storerooms:  we will be glad and rejoice in thee, remembering thy breasts more than wine:  the righteous (and by that I mean the Democrats) love thee.

Barack is black but beautiful.  For we lovest black people not like racist republicans.

Shew me, O thou whom my soul loveth, where thou feedest, where thou liest in midday, lest I wander after another Democrat who cannot satisfy me like  you.

Thy cheeks are beautiful as the turtledove’s, thy neck as jewels, thy constitutional acumen unsurpassed.

While Barack was at his repose, my spikenard sent forth the odor thereof.  (Spikenard still being legal).

My love Barack shall abide between my breasts (for same sex marriage is now legal.)

Behold thou art fair, O my love Barack, behold thou art fair, thy eyes are as those of doves (for Democrats love peace.)

Behold thou are fair, my beloved Barack, and comely.  Our bed is flourishing with manly love.

Chapter Two

As the apple tree among the trees of the woods, so is my beloved Barack.  I sat down under his shadow, whom I desired: and his fruit was sweet to my palate.

His left hand is under my head, and his right hand shall embrace me (oh god I’m giddy).

The voice of my beloved, behold he cometh leaping upon the mountains, skipping over the hills, for he hath power to lower sea levels.

My beloved Barack is like a roe,

My beloved is like a roe or a young hart

 or a young hart.  

Behold my beloved speaketh to me:  Arise, make haste, and report to the American people what I tell you.

For winter is now past, the rain is over and gone.  Global warming is destroying the planet.

Chapter Three

In my bed by night I sought him who my soul loveth:  I sought him and found him not.

I will arise and go into the city:  in the streets and the broad ways i will seek him whom my soul loveth.  I might even stop by a bar.  Or two.

I found him who my soul loveth: I held him:  And I will not let him go even if that means we have to abolish the 22nd amendment.

Go forth, ye sons and daughters of the mainstream media, and see King Barack in the day of my joy.

Chapter Four

How beautiful art thou, my love, how beautiful are thou!  Thy eyes are doves’ eyes. Thy hair is as flocks of goats (and I can say this because as a Democrat I am not racist)

Thy lips are as a scarlet lace: and thy speech is sweet (especially when you get all professorial on us.)

Thy two breasts like two young roes.

 Thou art all fair, O my love Barack, and there is not a spot in thee (thanks to Obamacare)

Chapter Five

I sleep, and my heart watcheth; the voice of my beloved Barack knocking:  Open to me, my mainstream media disciples.

I have put off my garment, for I have free birth control.

My beloved Barack put his hand through the key hole, and I quivered at his touch.

I opened the bolt of my door to my beloved: My soul melted when he spoke.

His legs as pillars of marble.

His progressive throat most sweet, and he is all lovely:  Such is my beloved, and he is friendly to the mainstream media.

Chapter Six

My beloved is gone down into the Rose garden, to feed the mainstream media with his opinions on foreign affairs.

Thou art beautiful, O my love Barack, sweet and comely as JFK.

Return, return:  O Barack:  return, return that we may behold thee.

This is just a fragment of the full Song of the Mainstream Media.  The original scroll has not weathered the forces of time to well and much was unreadable. I have given the full scroll to a team of experts.  Hopefully they can recover the damaged portions of this fascinating document. When they do I will of course share it with my readers.

(702)

I gave Vlad my promise ring!

With the 2016 presidential campaign now in full swing all eyes turn the former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, who has been all but anointed as the 45th chief executive.  I recently had the chance to sit down with the former senator from New York.  Madame Secretary was most gracious and gave me unfettered access to her mind and inner workings.

As I arrived Clinton’s outer office office her personal assistant Huma Abedin put her finger to her mouth as if to shush me.

“You must be very quiet.  Madame secretary does not like noise.”

I was ushered into the inner office, which was entirely dark, except for one candle.  Madame secretary sat curled up on a recliner, writing on a piece of paper.

“Madame Secretary how are?” I offered my hand but she refused to shake it.

“Are you a man?” she asked me.

When I replied in the affirmative she gave me a cold stare.

“So you are here to break my heart.”

She looked at me as if she were trying to place my face.

“How is it” she said, ‘that the mistress of the Democrats has become a widow?”  

She then handed me the paper she was writing on.

“See to it that this is published.  It is my testament.  I can’t believe that I gave Putin my promise ring!”

I took the document and promised her that I would.  I now present to my readers the lamentations of Hillary Clinton:

I have wept in the night and tears are on my cheeks.  There is none to comfort me, for Bill is with an intern.  I mourn, because there are no Democratic donors to come to my place.  My virgins are in affliction, and I am oppressed with bitterness.

Vladimir Putin has become my lord.  That shirtless macho bad boy has led me into captivity with his masculinity.

My beloved Putin has departed from me.  Oh how my reset has failed.

All that honored me have despised me, because they have seen my shameful love for the shirtless Russian strong man.

Putin has put out his hand to all desirable things.: for I have seen the Russians enter Crimea.  And he promised me.  He promised but forswore.  

Vlad.  Vlad.  I yearn for your strong masculine touch even though I shouldn’t.

All ye that pass by the way, attend, and see if there be any sorrow like unto my sorrow:  for Putin hath made vintage of my reset and his fierce anger has scared and yet aroused me.

My strength is weakened and I am not able to rise for Putin and his strong hands have held me down.

Therefore do I weep, and my eyes run down with water:  because the Democratic donors are far from me.  I shall be desolate and have power no more.

Let all my evil be present before Vladimir:  for my sighs are many and my heart is sorrowful.

Putin hath broken in his fierce anger all the horn of Crimea.  He promised me he would act like he belonged to the 21st century, not the 19th.

Putin hath cast off the altar of our betrothment, he hath cursed my promise ring.

The law is no more, and my prophet Barack hath no vision of Putin obeying him.

All they that passed by the way have clapped their hands at me: they have hissed, and wagged their heads saying:  Reset button, eh?  How’s that working out for you?

The child and the old man lie on the ground.  For homosexual love is great. My virgins and young men have deserted me.

My skin and my flesh Putin hath made old.  My selfies he no longer wants.

Yea, and when I cry, and entreat, he hath shut out my pleas.

He has become to me as a bear lying in wait.  Vlad has broken me in pieces.  I thought I could trust him.

These things I shall think over in my heart, therefore will I hope.  I will remember when Putin held my reset button in his hand.

For the Democratic party will not cast me off forever.  Who else do they have?  Biden? 

I have called upon thy name, Putin, from the lowest pit.

Thou has heard my voice:  turn not away thy ear from my sighs.  Remember our time together.

Ukraine looked attentively towards a nation that was not able to save.

But when I am president things will be different.

Rejoice and be glad.  Thou and Putin shall be drunk and naked.

And I will be President and have power.

Well there you have it readers.  It’s not the Federalist Papers but it’s a remarkable document nonetheless.  I just hope this doesn’t come back to embarrass Hillary after she’s nominated in 2016.

(1957)

Not working will set you free.

With the news that the Affordable Health Care Act may cause two million people to leave the labor force, the Obama administration was quick to note the benefits that this will bring.

“Not working will set you free” declared press Secretary Jay Carney.

For the first time in recorded history people will be free not to work.  Imagine that. Instead of being forced to earn a living wage, probably because of cold-blooded Republican economic policies, people will be truly free. Free to devote time to traveling the globe.  Free to work on their hobbies such as building sailboats, paragliding or stamp collecting.  Free to live as they were intended to be:  living within the warm cocoon of the State.  The much maligned Affordable Care Act will do this and the American people have President Obama to thank.

Senate majority leader Harry Reid (pictured here)

Not working will set you

expressed joy at the turn of events.

Not working is a virtue and will give all of us Eternals living within the Vortex time to develop our paranormal abilities. It is the means by which our dignity will remain intact. Not working is good.  Work is bad.  Brutals outside the vortex work and make new life to poison the Earth with a plague of men, as it once was.  But not working purifies the Earth of the filth of working brutals.

Debbie Wasserman Schultz, chairperson of the Democratic National Committee praised the new world order.

Wage slavery is racist.  President Obama knows this.  The Democratic party knows this.  Thanks to President Obama and the Affordable Care Act I now live in a world where my children will be free. Imagine how much time they will have to ponder the glory of the State now that their minds have been freed from work-a-day concerns.

Though not everyone is happy with the new world order.

Brutals, otherwise known as Republicans, believe that man must work to maintain his sense of honor and respect.

President Obama expressed frustration at this attitude and issued a stinging rebuke to the Brutals:

My policies have raised mankind up from the level of the Brutals.  I have given you the gift of eternal freedom and leisure.  Mankind will no longer even need to sleep. Sleep was necessary for man when his waking and unconscious lives were separated. As Eternals achieved total consciousness sleep became obsolete and Second Level meditation took its place.

Becoming heated with anger, Obama closed his remarks by asking the Brutals to examine their conscience.

Is working for food really that great?  Why work when the State will provide your needs? Let a man examine himself.  If any will work, let him not eat.

The Brutals have been given one week to submit to the new world order or face eviction from the Vortex.

(1064)