Miserable Failures
 
A million dead, that's what you said.
It never came to pass.
To push a list with so much missed
Is peerless now, for brass.
   Why not try some stock prediction?
   Risk your bucks on fact-or-fiction.

You saw great seas of refugees;
All know that came to naught.
Remember now exactly how
Far off base you were caught.
   Pick a stock (play Nostradamus)
   Wind up poor and not so famous.

Their ruined land done by our hand?
A posit most ill hid.
Now farmers till, the marshes fill,
And power's on the grid.
   Investing? discount what you say,
   For a more healthy I-R-A.

Burned out shells of oil wells
You claimed would fire the land?
'Tis just the bind inside your mind
Distracts you. Dude! they planned.
   Predictions bad to mediocre,
   Please now, don't infect my broker.

The Arab street would give us heat;
'Gainst us you said they'd rise.
"Democracy!" "Let Us Be Free!"
Fills squares, with shining eyes.
   Do predict our next imbroglio;
   Far away from my portfolio.

It's all for Oil! you peaceniks moil
This meme's accusing wail.
As taught in school, it's fungible
And out for open sale.
   Talk is cheap, poor is prediction;
   Poverty your predilection?

The swarming Left, of sense bereft,
Sinks deep in ills to come.
Their leitmotif for certain grief—
Non Cogito Ergo Sum.
   Take your shrill 'advice' and stuff it.
   I'm with George, and Warren Buffett.

   posted by Stephen at 9:21 PM | Plink