View Full Version : THere is no joy in Marxville ...

01-28-2010, 09:09 AM
The Outlook was quite brilliant for the Marxist crew one day:
The score stood 60-40, with but one inning more to play.
And then when Coakley died in Mass, and McCain-Feingold had aborted,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons they had courted.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, if only Barry could get but a whack at that -
We'd put up even money, now, with Barry at the bat.

But Harry preceded Casey, as did also Barney Frank,
And the former was a lulu and the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Barry's getting to the bat.

But Reid let drive a zinger, to the wonderment of all,
And Frank, the much despis-ed, peeled the paint off of the wall;
And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,
There was Harry in the senate and Nancy a tree hugging bird.

Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Barry, mighty Barry, was advancing to the bat.

There was ease in Barry's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Barry's bearing and a smile on Barry's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly waved his hand,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Barry leading the band.

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands and smirked;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then while the writhing opposition ground their feet into the dirt,
Defiance gleamed in Barry's eye, a sneer curled Barry's lip.

And now the teleprompters words came hurtling through the air,
And Barry stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy speaker the words well heeded sped-
"This is my style," said Barry. "BRAVO," the O-cult said.

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Kill Beck! Kill Rush!" shouted someone in the stands;
And its likely they'd a-killed him had Barry raised his hand.

With a smile lacking charity great Barry's visage shone;
He feared the rising tumult; he bade the speech go on;
He signaled to the congress, and once more the superlatives flew;
But the people now ignored it, and the O-cult said, "BOO HOO."

"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered fraud;
But one tearful look from Barry reminded how they once were awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Barry couldn't be filibuster proof again.

The sneer is gone from Barry's lip, his teeth are clenched in odium;
He pounds with cruel violence his fist upon the podium.
And now the teleprompter holds the words, and now it sets them free,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Barry's plea.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Marxville - mighty Barry has struck out.