In Defense of Tyrants
Let’s hear it for the clods,
three cheers for all the frauds;
God bless the fatheads & crumbums --
but . . . it’s tyrants who deserve a hug.
Cain & Abel were such fine fellows
at least until they had their troubles;
History claims that Cain was no good
but he was simply misunderstood.
Caligula was sensitive
at least when he was sober;
It’s true he had a churlish temper
but it’s ’cause he wasn’t well-adjusted.
Attila the Hun is known as a sadistic, savage villain
but keep in mind the era of his cultural upbringing;
Sure, he burned alive civilians by the dozen --
developmental privation made him as well a victim.
Genghis Khan had ostensive merits
at least when he wasn’t impaling peasants;
He accrued a rap as a barbarian
but a lack of nurturing did him in.
Alexander the Great someone said was a prick
but that analysis actually quite fails to gel;
Under blustering world conquest (and a few oceans of blood)
he had insecurities, and really did mean well.
Richard the III’s everyone’s favorite bastard
but legend omits all his introspective acts;
In-between decapitations & that sort of stuff
his intentions were nice, his heart was all fluff.
Henry the VIII had a sweet disposition
if you looked close enough under his defensive bluff;
It’s true he had issues, prob’ly stemming from childhood --
monarchs’ cries for help don’t get much mindfulness.
Marie Antoinette was conscientious
’tho she’s gotten bad press as one heartless bitch;
While it’s true she wasn’t was quite a philanthropist
that’s because her inner child was prematurely depressed.
Katherine the Great was an awesome role model,
never mind oppressing serfs in pillories & stocks;
Sour grapes & sore losers point to her pogroms
whilst ignoring that she socked it to the patriarchy.
Andrew Jackson had a rather cud’ly inclination
at least when he wasn’t exterminating all the injuns;
The lefties cry about war crimes & other indignations
but, give the guy a break, he had sexual dysfunction.
King George the III’s famous as a despot
but running the world puts a man under stress;
Colonies this, taxation that, revolt all the time --
no wonder he hated democracy, he couldn’t relax.
Mussolini as well gets undeserved infamy
’tho in all likelihood he was traumatized;
a few thousand hung, a few million shot --
blame it on low self-esteem, it’s society’s fault.
Hooray for the dopes,
three cheers for the boobs;
God bless the dimwits & numskulls --
but . . . it’s tyrants who need a good hug.
In Praise of Losers
“However high the praise, there’s nothing worse
Than sharing honors with the universe.
Esteem is founded on comparison:
To honor all men is to honor none.”
— Molière, The Misanthrope; trans. Richard Wilbur.
Let us praise the insecure,
the mediocre & the dull;
let us laud the guileless sod,
the hapless dolt & witless clod.
Here is an era epicene,
where puissance promotes gangrene;
where weakness is a virtue earned
& victimhood holds laureate.
Who suffers most compels the best,
who is oppressed has highest rank;
it’s echelon turned inside out
& schadenfreude made valiant.
Where once the tyrannized rebelled,
they now have meetings to shed tears;
they hug & moan & wait their turn
to one-up the last sad story told.
There is no end to specialness
conferred upon laments & plaints;
establishing adversity
endows effete monocracy.
Identity is negative
& persecution the new boast;
status, once derived from skill,
now goes to those who snivel most.
Let’s elevate the booboisie
& celebrate their wretchedness;
how ’bout we outlaw excellence
to consecrate incompetence.
Three cheers for the dumb,
let’s hear it for the chumps;
the addlepated get first prize,
all winners should be penalized!
The Altruistic Art of Unpopular Complaint
CHORUS:
Arguments & squabbles,
contretemps & quibbling;
all social progress does begin
with bellyaching & complaints.
Way back in history when people lived in caves,
spiders were for lunch & nightcrawlers, midnight snacks.
When leaves from trees were clothes
& globs of mud warmed up one’s toes
there was a person who declared, “This rather sucks,
I’m sick of it, we need a source of heat.”
This individual proceeded to rub sticks,
thinking that the friction
might create a calid flash. But hark!
Everyone in that town — deep in caves underground --
admonished him (or was it her),
“Desist & cease your ceaseless gripes.
We have lived a long, full life shivering & liking ice
& we’ll have no complaining here or, worse,
remediation thus; it’s radical — nay, dangerous --
to rub at sticks or coax a flame,
it’s always best to stay the same,
tralatitious & inane, & so you must submit to us --
progress is a villainy.” Of course, this person
rubbing sticks did not desist & — lo! behold! --
made a fire which quite contrived to make
a warmer world. The genesis of this great deed
wasn’t necessarily raw food or caves or cold
or ice but dissatisfaction & remonstrances
which authored forward motion in the
human race.
CHORUS:
Expostulations & polemics,
objurgations & philippics;
social motion is the story
of invectives & chagrin.
Next, there came an era when
all the people stayed in place --
the towns were small, the lives were dull
& everybody felt crowded.
There was a chap (or perhaps a lass)
who had the thought of travelling
across the sea with boats that float
to find some other place
where things were new.
It started with “Ah, screw this town!
I just can’t stand to be confined
with the same faces everyday. Nothing’s
new, it’s always trite, this & that all day & night --
it’s tedious!” But, lo! behold! this chap (or lass)
commenced to build a ship (or two)
but all at once the whole town said,
“You must desist, the world is small,
you’ll never get a better place, it won’t work,
you’ll not succeed — just be a rustic bumpkin
like the rest of us.” Well, we can all appreciate
our lucky stars that tack went flat
& ships did sail & lands were found
& railroads built & here we are, computering
& sipping Cokes & all that jazz — & all because
disrelishments & abhorrence
is part & parcel of progress.
CHORUS:
Deprecations & dischord,
brickbats & disparagements;
evolvement of society
begins with sour obloquy.
Pissing & moaning, kvetching & bitching,
where would we be if we had
no disgruntlement?
If everyone was happy
& contentment was the rule,
who would make a lightbulb
or invent a ball-point pen?
There wouldn’t be improvements
like the wheel or shaving cream,
penicillin, instant coffee or the
DSL connection. We’d still be
eating bugs, scratching fleas &
feudal serfs; we wouldn’t have
the woman’s vote, postmodernism or ice cubes.
Feeding Christians to the lions
& the Spanish Inquisition,
burning witches at the stake
or shrinking heads of other tribes --
these were rules that had to go
& challenging the status quo
started with a grunt that articulated gripes,
then evolved into complaints & blossomed forth
new governments. “Be the change within yourself”
is what all despots will suggest, but
complacency is fit for fools
whereas sedition is the gift of saints.
CHORUS:
Expletives & calumnies,
epithets & billingsgate;
amelioration of the world
began when the first curse was hurled.
“The first human who hurled an insult instead of a stone was the founder of civilization.” — Sigmund Freud.
Lynch the Satirist
Fifteen pretty hipsters,
chain-smoking in a row,
showing off their tattoos
& their hair that’s dyed day-glo;
forjeskit & ironic,
they yawn “I’ve seen it all,
the newfangled & shocking
this year is deadly dull”;
they triumph every criticism
& disdain what’s determinist
but intimate conformity
& suddenly it’s “lynch the satirist.”
Five thousand middle-managers,
each sitting at a desk,
with invoices & telegrams,
their jobs are a burlesque;
corporate cut-backs & layoffs
keep their morals feral
as they gouge the proletariat
with tactics criminal;
yet they’re eco-friendly, liberal,
even “humanist”
but when you hint “Republican”
it’s time to lynch the satirist.
Humor & satire,
as Sigmund Freud observed,
is aggression sublimated,
e.g. hostility deferred;
mutterings & grumbles
often betoken victimhood
while spoofs & parodies
are far better understood
as insolence; revolutions, it is true,
may change the faces on the coins
but satirists ain’t partisans --
they kick all personages’ loins.
To all the idols of the age,
visages august & corrupt,
speaking peace while dropping bombs,
fleecing banks until the jig is up:
you evangelize in riddles,
palindromes & ribald jokes
& charm the tax-paying pigeons
into voting for a hoax;
your free press is magnanimous
& “all perspectives co-exist”
but suggest that peace means someone lost
then it’s “only fair” to string up the satirist.
Let’s hear it for the clods,
three cheers for all the frauds;
God bless the fatheads & crumbums --
but . . . it’s tyrants who deserve a hug.
Cain & Abel were such fine fellows
at least until they had their troubles;
History claims that Cain was no good
but he was simply misunderstood.
Caligula was sensitive
at least when he was sober;
It’s true he had a churlish temper
but it’s ’cause he wasn’t well-adjusted.
Attila the Hun is known as a sadistic, savage villain
but keep in mind the era of his cultural upbringing;
Sure, he burned alive civilians by the dozen --
developmental privation made him as well a victim.
Genghis Khan had ostensive merits
at least when he wasn’t impaling peasants;
He accrued a rap as a barbarian
but a lack of nurturing did him in.
Alexander the Great someone said was a prick
but that analysis actually quite fails to gel;
Under blustering world conquest (and a few oceans of blood)
he had insecurities, and really did mean well.
Richard the III’s everyone’s favorite bastard
but legend omits all his introspective acts;
In-between decapitations & that sort of stuff
his intentions were nice, his heart was all fluff.
Henry the VIII had a sweet disposition
if you looked close enough under his defensive bluff;
It’s true he had issues, prob’ly stemming from childhood --
monarchs’ cries for help don’t get much mindfulness.
Marie Antoinette was conscientious
’tho she’s gotten bad press as one heartless bitch;
While it’s true she wasn’t was quite a philanthropist
that’s because her inner child was prematurely depressed.
Katherine the Great was an awesome role model,
never mind oppressing serfs in pillories & stocks;
Sour grapes & sore losers point to her pogroms
whilst ignoring that she socked it to the patriarchy.
Andrew Jackson had a rather cud’ly inclination
at least when he wasn’t exterminating all the injuns;
The lefties cry about war crimes & other indignations
but, give the guy a break, he had sexual dysfunction.
King George the III’s famous as a despot
but running the world puts a man under stress;
Colonies this, taxation that, revolt all the time --
no wonder he hated democracy, he couldn’t relax.
Mussolini as well gets undeserved infamy
’tho in all likelihood he was traumatized;
a few thousand hung, a few million shot --
blame it on low self-esteem, it’s society’s fault.
Hooray for the dopes,
three cheers for the boobs;
God bless the dimwits & numskulls --
but . . . it’s tyrants who need a good hug.
In Praise of Losers
“However high the praise, there’s nothing worse
Than sharing honors with the universe.
Esteem is founded on comparison:
To honor all men is to honor none.”
— Molière, The Misanthrope; trans. Richard Wilbur.
Let us praise the insecure,
the mediocre & the dull;
let us laud the guileless sod,
the hapless dolt & witless clod.
Here is an era epicene,
where puissance promotes gangrene;
where weakness is a virtue earned
& victimhood holds laureate.
Who suffers most compels the best,
who is oppressed has highest rank;
it’s echelon turned inside out
& schadenfreude made valiant.
Where once the tyrannized rebelled,
they now have meetings to shed tears;
they hug & moan & wait their turn
to one-up the last sad story told.
There is no end to specialness
conferred upon laments & plaints;
establishing adversity
endows effete monocracy.
Identity is negative
& persecution the new boast;
status, once derived from skill,
now goes to those who snivel most.
Let’s elevate the booboisie
& celebrate their wretchedness;
how ’bout we outlaw excellence
to consecrate incompetence.
Three cheers for the dumb,
let’s hear it for the chumps;
the addlepated get first prize,
all winners should be penalized!
The Altruistic Art of Unpopular Complaint
CHORUS:
Arguments & squabbles,
contretemps & quibbling;
all social progress does begin
with bellyaching & complaints.
Way back in history when people lived in caves,
spiders were for lunch & nightcrawlers, midnight snacks.
When leaves from trees were clothes
& globs of mud warmed up one’s toes
there was a person who declared, “This rather sucks,
I’m sick of it, we need a source of heat.”
This individual proceeded to rub sticks,
thinking that the friction
might create a calid flash. But hark!
Everyone in that town — deep in caves underground --
admonished him (or was it her),
“Desist & cease your ceaseless gripes.
We have lived a long, full life shivering & liking ice
& we’ll have no complaining here or, worse,
remediation thus; it’s radical — nay, dangerous --
to rub at sticks or coax a flame,
it’s always best to stay the same,
tralatitious & inane, & so you must submit to us --
progress is a villainy.” Of course, this person
rubbing sticks did not desist & — lo! behold! --
made a fire which quite contrived to make
a warmer world. The genesis of this great deed
wasn’t necessarily raw food or caves or cold
or ice but dissatisfaction & remonstrances
which authored forward motion in the
human race.
CHORUS:
Expostulations & polemics,
objurgations & philippics;
social motion is the story
of invectives & chagrin.
Next, there came an era when
all the people stayed in place --
the towns were small, the lives were dull
& everybody felt crowded.
There was a chap (or perhaps a lass)
who had the thought of travelling
across the sea with boats that float
to find some other place
where things were new.
It started with “Ah, screw this town!
I just can’t stand to be confined
with the same faces everyday. Nothing’s
new, it’s always trite, this & that all day & night --
it’s tedious!” But, lo! behold! this chap (or lass)
commenced to build a ship (or two)
but all at once the whole town said,
“You must desist, the world is small,
you’ll never get a better place, it won’t work,
you’ll not succeed — just be a rustic bumpkin
like the rest of us.” Well, we can all appreciate
our lucky stars that tack went flat
& ships did sail & lands were found
& railroads built & here we are, computering
& sipping Cokes & all that jazz — & all because
disrelishments & abhorrence
is part & parcel of progress.
CHORUS:
Deprecations & dischord,
brickbats & disparagements;
evolvement of society
begins with sour obloquy.
Pissing & moaning, kvetching & bitching,
where would we be if we had
no disgruntlement?
If everyone was happy
& contentment was the rule,
who would make a lightbulb
or invent a ball-point pen?
There wouldn’t be improvements
like the wheel or shaving cream,
penicillin, instant coffee or the
DSL connection. We’d still be
eating bugs, scratching fleas &
feudal serfs; we wouldn’t have
the woman’s vote, postmodernism or ice cubes.
Feeding Christians to the lions
& the Spanish Inquisition,
burning witches at the stake
or shrinking heads of other tribes --
these were rules that had to go
& challenging the status quo
started with a grunt that articulated gripes,
then evolved into complaints & blossomed forth
new governments. “Be the change within yourself”
is what all despots will suggest, but
complacency is fit for fools
whereas sedition is the gift of saints.
CHORUS:
Expletives & calumnies,
epithets & billingsgate;
amelioration of the world
began when the first curse was hurled.
“The first human who hurled an insult instead of a stone was the founder of civilization.” — Sigmund Freud.
Lynch the Satirist
Fifteen pretty hipsters,
chain-smoking in a row,
showing off their tattoos
& their hair that’s dyed day-glo;
forjeskit & ironic,
they yawn “I’ve seen it all,
the newfangled & shocking
this year is deadly dull”;
they triumph every criticism
& disdain what’s determinist
but intimate conformity
& suddenly it’s “lynch the satirist.”
Five thousand middle-managers,
each sitting at a desk,
with invoices & telegrams,
their jobs are a burlesque;
corporate cut-backs & layoffs
keep their morals feral
as they gouge the proletariat
with tactics criminal;
yet they’re eco-friendly, liberal,
even “humanist”
but when you hint “Republican”
it’s time to lynch the satirist.
Humor & satire,
as Sigmund Freud observed,
is aggression sublimated,
e.g. hostility deferred;
mutterings & grumbles
often betoken victimhood
while spoofs & parodies
are far better understood
as insolence; revolutions, it is true,
may change the faces on the coins
but satirists ain’t partisans --
they kick all personages’ loins.
To all the idols of the age,
visages august & corrupt,
speaking peace while dropping bombs,
fleecing banks until the jig is up:
you evangelize in riddles,
palindromes & ribald jokes
& charm the tax-paying pigeons
into voting for a hoax;
your free press is magnanimous
& “all perspectives co-exist”
but suggest that peace means someone lost
then it’s “only fair” to string up the satirist.
