The Gun as Republican Meme

The GQP keeps changing its tune
Less deep bass and more of a croon
High notes vapid, alone in the cloud
Saying their nonsense right out loud
No more righteous political plank
Pushing gimmicks, pulling rank
Their first announcement on the run
America begins and ends with the gun
Red states want the blood to flow
Open carry, the gun show ruse
Take your piece on an ocean cruise
Guns in pocket, guns in cars
And in kindergarten and in bars
Weapons at playland, Mickey Mouse stuff
Make the laws right off the cuff
Church ok, god on your side
All aboard for your wild rest ride
Stuff and nonsense, a twitter meme
The Big Lie losing steam
Vaccine passports, medieval chant
Another anonymous, dead-end rant
Communism loose in the land
Time to invoke the late Ayn Rand
Speaking in tongues the political game
There is no price on religious shame
For while Americans still die from the gun
Republicans are just having their fun
Noise and distraction the end game ploy
They remain cold, bitter and coy
Own the libs, smoke the screen
Culture wars, breathless and keen
Theater is open, the play’s the thing
Killing democracy barely a sting
The woke crowd is asleep at the wheel
And fall back on the election steal
All puff, no purpose, the endless lie
They gladly watch a country die
All to claim a culture get
Thoughts and prayers the devil’s bet
Paradise at the bitter, barrel end
Pathology alive and well, around the bend.

Pieces of Silver

Mad Cow has left his uncultured barn
The furniture broken, a septic alarm
Books are on fire, facts in retreat
The animal brain is giddy in heat
Still his handlers and panderers whistle in tune
Lip-lock his ring, make like a loon
Cultivate the madness, let pathology run
Benediction knee while under the gun
No profiles in courage, just limp-wristed sighs
While embracing the bevy of Mad Cow lies
Now the treacherous herd of the forty-three
Own the madness and are not free
They will be reminded every day
That they gave the country away
For pieces of silver, dark money too
Quislings, America is coming for you.


Jim Crow Enters Center Stage

Dear Georgia sadly on my mind
Love your grist, your petty grind
You republicans lost a bigly race
Off the back, off the pace
No Southern grace to the public square
Just fascist brew to foul the air
Q becomes your party line
Lies and antics, pay the fine
Claims of the last election steal
Wind up your ass, know the feel
Frantic antics, theater fare
Facts have laid your tenure bare
Jim Crow enters center stage
Your vision cannot turn the page
You pass laws to rig the vote
Your old tricks we know by rote
Make it hard to find a place
Eye on the prize, eye on race
No water for those that wait
Pile on the frenzy and the hate
But your math remains a century old
And your politics out in the cold
America knows this sleight of hand
Seen the optics, carefully canned
Circus tricks from your circus crew
Georgia, we are watching you.

Q is in the Wink of Its Pose

Q is in now in the wink of its pose
Moves like a snake, smells like a rose
Parlor games and Gab to me
A platform that can help you pee
Stay in the pink and pastel too
Much softer than the riotous crew
Brand building, the Tupperware song
Exotic spices all night long
Yoga splits and garden tips
Rouge for all those luscious lips
Now crunches, lunges, leaps of fame
You are getting in the game
Mommy bloggers will keep you fit
When to stand, when to sit
And why not to get that vaccine shot
Rather, heat bleach in a kitchen pot
But Save the Children, Pizza Gate
Believe in angels, the Galactic state
The Fifth Dimension and Gnostic prayer
Stay with the illusion, the tribal dare
Cover the plot with what you wear
Underneath Q speaks loud and clear
Brand power for racist fear
God in hiding, gone to ground
Influencers make the marketing sound
Propaganda with your evening tea
Comes with a price, comes with a fee
Extremism takes on a Mercator frame
A New World Order, a nonsense name
A tribe in the desert, fists on high
Tupperware branded, ready to die.

(Thanks to the Global Network on Extremism and Technology for offering ideas that spawned this piece.)

An Old God Speaks from the Mountain Top

Mad Cow culture has the bit in its mouth,
Things in the saddle and going south
Some old god from the mountain top
Is resurrected again as some new cop
And under the present ancient regime
Long before the king and queen
Guns sit high on the altar of worth
Higher than death, higher than birth
White is color next to divine
The rest of the spectrum is spittle and whine
Law and order are the orthodox beat
Sunday voting are for those in heat
Those who take the defiant knee
Will never be worthy, never be free
For the good book sees hierarchy, order first
Let’s not bow to our very worst
American remains the home of the brave
Please don’t be the first to cave
God in his heaven, all right will the world
We’re not that serpent remote and curled
For we honor and worship the rainbow sign
Bless those of us who are always first in line.

GQP-ers Talk their Plank

Before we enter this endless fight
The party declares we are very white
Like the God that we wear within
Most of us are free from sin
We stand tall with our precious flag
Proud to hide guns in a shopping bag
Ready and eager to walk the plank
We have no desires, we have no rank
Democracy is our clarion call
But not all are invited to the ball
So, vote like it’s a white power trip
The other stuff, just give it lip
But make it hard for the Other kind
Put them in a nasty bind
No mail in ballots, no water break
Toss darker ballots in the lake
And all this is the devil’s due
Whose shadow cannot fall on you
For a disease is loosed upon the land
Immigrants arrive with a marching band
Polluting the field, the national cause
Violating women and breaking laws
The Q crowd will not stand for this
Our enemies know what to kiss
So, with us embrace this platform true
Walk the plank you treasured few
Know Dear Leader returns from the dead
With a Russian accent and very well-fed
To rid the land of Satan’s crowd
Who slime democracy, heads unbowed,
Filling the tent with all colors and modes
Sounding like some awful magic code
But we won’t slow our endless task
A precious objective in which we bask
To make America the land of the few
First and foremost, me and you
Q is the tested, patriotic sign
Paradise at the end of the line.

The Carnival Barker

The stage is set, the curtained trimmed
Sense is banished, embrace the wind
Orwell directs, the novel plot
Embrace “1984” while it’s hot
Let’s have at it, a war of words
Facts and data for the birds
Tucker enters, the play’s the thing
To capture his wounded political wing
It’s Mad Cow disease on full display
Righteous consumption the thespian way
Eat your brother, sister too
Cannibalism for the theater crew
Now Tucker feeds the hungry herds
Nonsense feed and angry words
The carnival barker makes them pay
A sucker is born every day
And the sponsor who provide this daily rot
Paid admission to white power plot
Then a dose of QAnon lies
Believe what you see with your lying eyes
Fake new shaped by an invisible hand
Cursing the country, polluting the lands
Kids in cages a mere theatrical act
Parkland, Newtown staged in fact
The director continues to pull the strings
Drama queens on angel wings
Sad to say this shit still stinks
Even when conveyed with a nod and wink
Fox parrots the Kremlin line
Mad Cow Culture is perfectly fine
We eat our young, elders too
Requiem for the Tucker crew
And those dead-enders who march in step
Looking at you, Republican rep.


America is deep in the Q

An anonymous tick-tock brew
With drips and drops of mayhem clues
And a rabbit hole in perfect view
Politicians quickly take the plunge
Into the ether the grifters lunge
Looking for handshakes, the secret code
Certain of treason, the mother lode
Semaphore for the native beast
An at-sea loser at the very least
All taking the theater Q
Aimed at the poor, fragile you
Actors to the head of the crowd
Who don’t say bullshit right out loud,
But wear the costume and the wink
Not enough to hide the stink
Their God sits astride an army tank
Naming angels, pulling rank
Putting America on the map
In the Old Testament’s righteous lap
Gun to the head, rules in bed
No prayers in school, better dead
For Q’s wacky mirror world
An upside-down flag unfurled
Captures the currents, underground
A deep-earth sewer of wanton sound
Promising the end of the world
The finger is lifted, it looks like a bird
A sign of something often heard
Q is just stuff from a rubbish bin
Wrapped in slogans, winks and spin
That hides the hidden slight and tell
Cancel culture is alive and well
Their power too down the drain
And Q a medieval pavement stain.

Mad  Cow on Steroids

He bear-hugs the podium as if in heat
His word salads a sponsored QPAC treat
Nonsense on steroids, words on the loose
Gilding the lily, feeding the goose
Semaphore straight from his ample ass
Giving all losers a questionable pass
His body writhes like a snake on the prowl
Meaning his likely to throw in the towel
Whatever he’s sending up his nose
Stimulants galore, a garden hose
Will summon an elevated mood
More demons and a touch of the crude
Boredom sent to the corner store
While hungry acolytes beg for more
Grandiosity right under his thumb
Welcome to Mad Cow’s Kingdom Come.

The Incestuous Crew

Pathology rots from the bowed head down
Mad Cow Culture is the face of a clown
Winking and nodding, turning the cheek
A Q chip ride up the one-way creek
With paddle, oars and half a prayer
Puffed up with bluster and half a dare
Taking a knee for the prince of the con
The GOP turns the dim lights on
Seeing the shadows, antifa in dreams
Inflating the lie by whatever means
Rubio, Cruz and Hawley too
Epitomize the incestuous crew
Turning their backs on logic and law
All allegiance to the Mad Cow core
And to Dear Leader who stinks up the place
Centuries behind on women and race
But perfect for a trinity of three
Homage comes with a healthy fee.

Senator Q from Dairyland

The senator has the beast by the tale
In unison they grunt and wail
All in for dairy, Wisconsin’s best
Mad Cow Culture stamped on their chest
And on their brain, forehead too
Fed by half-baked insurrection stew
Courtesy of the Tower of Babel Q
GOP babble to the baptized crew
Imagining armies of the night
Have no purpose, have no bite
Just God-sent, Christ the seal
To put an end to the devil steal
Hang those who stole the emperor’s crown
Ideally bent and upside down
For white is right, God only knows
That’s the way divine wind blows
Now cross yourself and hope to die
Don’t even try to wonder why.

The Stage Right Cow

Mad Cow is all over his snout
His gut has a hint of a pout
He leans into his cane
A culture profane
Art finds the animal out.


Mad Cow Culture is a disease of the brain
Dog-eat-dog world on the carnival train.
The GOP is high on Q
A toxic, infectious bovine brew.
It’s the mark of a traitor, the kiss of Cain.

“The Mad Cow Culture Beach”

Mad Cow Culture has a beast of a brain
Mad at the stem, mad in the lane
Medieval chatter steals the show
Fancy handshakes and a lot of blow
But underneath this storm and stress
Is the whole patriarchal mess
Men fear the feminine rise
You see it in their mocking eyes
And then there’s evangelical crew
Treating Jesus like a Southern brew
And Catholics in their confessional mode
Her body like their secret code
And Mad Cow Culture stokes the burn
Will these guys ever learn?
Prompt the Sermon on the Mount
Get in lines those that count
Blessed are the rich who preach
Mad Cow Culture is their beach
Move your body with the sun
God will tell you when you’re done.

Altar of Shame

QPAC has gone back in time
A golden calf to the head of the line
A bust of Mad Cow, an altar of shame
A shiny slight object to sully god’s name
Worshippers show some spine.

A Duck Dipped in Gold

Mad Cow looks like a duck dipped in gold
A biblical calf that has been bought and sold
Saying out loud, bend a knee and be free
While Moses responds, there will be a fee
The Second Coming will leave Cow cold.

The Boyz

A Viking brings horns to his war
Tie rack for the Proud Boys corps
Tough bitches on their civilian hunt
Come the regulars, come the punt
Chicken Little to the exit door.


The Beast with Two Backs

He finds himself over a rack
Pilloried between a beast with two backs
His pillow talk is obscene
His dream lacks content and theme
Spawn of the Mad Cow hack.

A Cult that Makes the Demons Sing

The Second Coming just around the bend
Signs and wonder, a curtain fit to rend
Mad Cow Cultists bow down to the sun
Thoughts and prayers for an also-run
Idols galore on the forest floor
Gold-plated kitsch for an absolute bore
Tithes are demanded from the would-be king
Kiss his ass and kiss his ring
Line his pockets with lucre and shill
Then prepare to swallow a bitter pill
What you lost in worship price
Now your reputation on ice
Turn your back on the immigrant Son
Build the wall, then you’re done
Color your land, white in reveal
When you don’t win, you smell a steal
There’s no theology in sleight of hand
Just pathology right on brand
A cult that makes the demons sing
Clap your hands and feel the heavenly sting
Pride cometh before the fall

Mad Cow on Steroids

He bear-hugs the podium as if in heat
His word salads a sponsored QPAC treat
Nonsense on steroids, words on the loose
Gilding the lily, feeding the goose
Semaphore straight from his ample ass
Giving all losers a questionable pass
His body writhes like a snake on the prowl
Meaning his likely to throw in the towel
Whatever he’s sending up his nose
Stimulants galore, a garden hose
Will summon an elevated mood
More demons and a touch of the crude
Boredom sent to the corner store
While hungry acolytes beg for more
Grandiosity right under his thumb
Welcome to Mad Cow’s Kingdom Come.


Mad Cow Culture raises the rod
And comes up with a brand-new God
Here the poor don’t inherit the earth
Pay attention to your gross net worth
Only losers climb the cross
Who’s your daddy, who’s the boss
White is right, the cult divine
Patriarchy will hold the line
We know too well Jerusalem’s fate
And the wicked throng at Babylon’s gate
America is now God’s chosen land
Mouthing the tune of the Mad Cow band
Scripture is for the cloistered souls
Those with pretty Christian goals
His Kingdom is not of today
But we rock and roll and make it pay
For we’re armies of the night and right
Now feel the burn, feel the bite
Taste the bullet in our sheaf
Better turn over a brand-new lead
For the God in hiding has answered the call
Welcome one and all to the Mad Cow ball.

The Mad Cow Culture Con

Mad Cow Culture is a Q of a thing
Nail in the coffin, long live the king
Old world order returns to form
White is right for a GOP burn
Bang the drums, incite the crowd
Say the words right out loud
Enough to make the Loud Boys weep
Armies of the night asleep
Stop the steal, reinvent the wheel
The ship of state on uneven keel.
Stormy weather has the deck and con
Bastard children of a criminal don.

Mein Fuhrer’s Curtain Call

All rage on the Mad Cow stage
Fascists trapped in the wrestling cage
The scene is set for a welcome home
The Cow is set to ascend the throne
Huffing and puffing as he climbs the hill
The carpet rolled, the place is still
Then Nazis enter this scripted display
Symbols recounts the Aryan way
Nordic runes decorate walls
Lightning strikes defile the halls
White nationalism makes a curtain call
Mein Fuhrer enters the Republican ball
Rhetoric soaring, threats divine
And time-out for an exquisite whine
Still the assembled cheer him on
Swallowing the lies, the prime-time con
All in for the seditious two
Cruz and Hawley lead the treacherous crew
Oath Keepers foam in the SS mist
Proud Boys have made the terrorist list
All bring Sig Heil to the next parade
All to the bunker, then to fade.

High on Q

The GOP is high on Q
A toxic bovine brew
For subject/object lead to hell
Never ring the alchemical bell
Cross yourself and hope to die
If Clinton appears on a pizza pie
Prepare yourself for the fire next time
Jewish lasers almost rhyme
The moon walk is the proper pose
For those with something up their nose
But there won’t be even a soft drum roll
For those with Q down the rabbit hole
Stopping time and stopping space
The Dark Ages join the race.