An exercise in presumption.
In olden time, that great lord, Prospero,
A salon in his palace did maintain,
Where poet, wit, and sage could freely go,
And discourse airy or profound obtain.
A stranger, once, came to this gathering,
In smiling mask, through which no eye could reach;
Satires and epigrams, all sparkling
Like gems, he dropped into the sea of speech.
But, careless, he allowed the mask to slip
A trifle; one observed who stood nearby
And took occasion for an idle quip –
Then stood aghast – for with a shivering cry
The stranger fled, as one whose mask concealed
A truth too damnable to be revealed.
I know a young fellow named Bates,
Whose manner, I grieve to say, grates:
When he's gloomy and glum,
He pretends to be Mum -
And oh! What a mess he creates!
A mournful young girl from Nairobi,
As tears coursed like rain down her woebe-
Gone countenance, swore,
"I can't take any more!"
And retired to the desert of Gobi.
Mr. John Hood, of the John Locke Foundation
, has coined what may be the best epithet yet for Barack Obama, at least for Dune
The Ersatz Haderach.
And the more I think about it, the funnier it gets.
(Hat tip to The Corner