It may be false, indeed, what I declare— But nonetheless I can’t be called a liar. Expecting facts from me is far from fair. It may be false indeed, what I declare With unrestrained conviction. On the air It may ring loud and never quite expire. It may be false indeed, what I declare. But, nonetheless, I can’t be called a liar.
Once the narrative, lad, is in place, Then we let them leak out into space, All the details designed For the unconvinced mind. Let our lies put a smile on that face!
Once the narrative, lad, is in place, Then we let them leak out into space, All the details designed For the unconvinced mind. Let our lies put a smile on that face!
Ukraine is on the march and soon will win, The Ghost of Kyiv assured me in a dream. To doubt his sacred word would be a sin. Ukraine is on the march – and soon will win! Oh, let the Age of Certainty begin! Let it be proved correct, the Western scheme! Ukraine is on the march (and soon will win). The Ghost of Kyiv assured me in a dream.
The Yankee literati couldn’t bear A Southern gentleman like Mr. Poe. Judgmental in their absolutist lair, They scoffed at Southern genius. Even so It always is with lamps that truly glow In the thick dark that apes normality. Into obscurity must such lights go! To such truth, how can puffed-up frauds agree? The messengers of mediocrity Pushed hard. It seemed that excellence was dead. The lies of Griswold spread alarmingly. Delighted Yankees on that poor corpse fed— But did not long enjoy their ghoulish feast. Who raised Poe from defeat? Les symbolistes!
–Tom Riley
(The beautiful soul of Edgar Allan Poe passed from our earthly plane on this date in 1842.)
In Mark Shea’s view, most everyone’s a traitor. (He has no principles he could betray.) His keyboard cry is, “Death to the invader!” In Mark Shea’s view, most everyone’s a traitor! Being a chronic gay porn masturbator, He feels his sissy neurons slip away. In Mark Shea’s view, most everyone’s a traitor. (He has no principles he could betray.)
–Tom Riley
(Line 5: Not a literal allegation, but arguably true in a figurative sense. The satirist here of course has no more evidence that Mark Shea is a chronic gay porn masturbator than Shea himself has that Tulsi Gabbard is a traitor. And, if evidence of Shea’s degraded habits actually surfaced, we’d all try to avoid looking at it.)
Whom shall I sanction (Biden asks) today? I’ll sanction every state that disagrees. I’ll sanction every guy that isn’t gay. I’ll sanction every punk not on his knees To me and all my buddies. Hard to please, I’ll sanction those who dare stay uncommitted To all the lies I pitch as verities. I’ll sanction those who say they won’t be shitted. I’m tough as hell, though maybe insect-witted. I’ll sanction India and China too. Is it against the facts that I am pitted? I’ll sanction you and you and you and you! I’ve soiled my underpants, so why be nice? America, not I, will pay the price.
–Tom Riley
(Note on the text: Sniffer Joe has of course never been literate enough to use the accusative pronoun “whom” correctly, nor to distinguish between nominative and accusative in such phrases as “America, not I.” And now he’s deep in dementia. He can’t distinguish his fundament from an aperture in the earth. But there’s no percentage in representing Joe’s drooling voice too accurately. T.R.)
They found your secret, sir. It’s time to lie. But then, you’ve kept in practice, pretty much. You knew determined enemies would try. They found your secret! Sir: it’s time to lie. The skills you’ve cultivated now apply. With fellow liars you have kept in touch. They found your secret, sir! It’s time to lie! But then, you’ve kept in practice – pretty much.
You can’t, my lad, believe a word they say— But listen close for evidence of lies. Distrust, once fostered, never goes away. You can’t, my lad, believe a word they say. Serious are the games they opt to play— And deadly. Caution here is doubly wise. You can’t, my lad, believe a word they say— But listen close for evidence of lies.
You dare to smear the hero Harry Dunn? “Jussie Smollett,” you say? You dare? You dare? You think such vile comparisons are fun? May you long suffer in the Devil’s lair! May your phone fail when you call for repair! May you writhe in an endless agony! May daily weights prove more than you can bear! May all your pain transpire where we can see! You should have been considerate, like me. Such vain words of abuse I’d never use. I strive to be as woke as I can be. I try to cultivate the proper views. That line to Harry Dunn I’d never say. I might, though, call him “Juicy-Ass Smollay.”