Ode to Rosie and “The Boys”

(In case there is any doubt – really? – this is sarcasm and a shot at “The Boys!”)


I was shaking, sad and crying.
I didn’t know what to do.
Rosie O’Donnell was off TV.
She’d gone and left The View.

I started watching Billy O.
‘Twas an easy one to choose.
He’d rant and shout and tell me all
The things that made the News.

I knew that he was telling me
The Truth, now don’t you know.
And I believed his every word
Because he told me so.

His set is patriotic,
All red and white and blue.
Now that’s the mark of Honesty!
And CRAP that’s been cut through.

He told me not to worry much
That kids were sent to war
Because there was a reason –
To keep “them” from my door.

I watched one day when Rosie said
Iraqis were moms, too.
But then I switched back to Fox News –
Now I know that it’s untrue.

See, only people in the world
Who look and think like me
Are worth my time and thoughtfulness –
And Billy quite agrees.

As long as I can hate them –
No face or name or story –
I can sit in my own living room
And bask in our great glory.

I don’t have to worry about the things
That Rosie pointed out.
Just watch “Survivor” and “The Bachelor.”
Why does she have to shout?!

Thank goodness for the men I watch
Who tell me what to think.
‘Cause if I took the time to read
I’d prob’ly raise a stink.

The list that Rosie said to check
Included Halliburton,
The melting point of steel and….
Of the rest I can’t be certain.

I think there’s something about e-mails
And fired US attorneys,
WMD’s and lying under oath,
And lawyers shot, on gurneys.

What I hate about this Rosie mess
Is that I have to look
At what Billy O is telling me
And if G. Dub’s a crook.

I don’t want to think about the lies
Or that my government’s corrupt.
But each day more kids are dying –
And the ante’s just been upped.

It all just makes my head hurt
To think about this stuff.
I’d turn the channel but I’d miss
Mrs. Hasselbeck get rough.

But Rosie left The View last week.
Now life can settle down.
I’ve switched to Martha and Montel –
I just LOVE that Sylvia Browne!

Lindsay’s in rehab again
And Paris is in jail.
I want my shows to be carefree –
Like when Oprah chats with Gayle!

Enough of watching politics.
And what’s up with those debates?!
I’d rather shout at my TV
And diss on Rosie’s weight!

Now that she’s gone I can relax
And live my life with ease.
I don’t have to pay attention to
Global Warming or dead bees.

I’d like to carry on my life
Without much care or worry.
I’m sure this all will just work out –
I feel no need to hurry.

‘Cause what I’ve learned in all of this
Is that I’ve come to trust
That Billy O and Donald T
Are kind. And fair. And just.

I’m taken care of, day and night,
By men more bright than I.
They wouldn’t do those awful things
That made Rosie almost cry.

Bill and Joe and Sean and Don
Forced Rosie off, they said.
They managed to “disgrace” Ms. O
And fill others who ask with dread.

So years from now, when all has changed,
We’ll have “journalists” to thank
For keeping us from people who
Won’t let their minds be blank.

We’re tired of their tirades!
We want to stay asleep!
We’d rather hang out with the crowd –
We’re comfy being sheep!

You’ve shown us it is safer
To keep our big mouths shut.
Or we can plan to live our lives
With more than a pay cut!

But what if Rosie and her kind
Are right………………………………..


Say “When.”




  1. illa morales

    A lady in a faded gingham dress and her husband, dressed in a homespun threadbare suit, stepped off the train in Boston, and walked timidly without an appointment into the Harvard University President’s outer office.
    The secretary could tell in a moment that such backwoods, country hicks had no business at Harvard & probably didn’t even deserve to be in Cambridge.
    “We’d like to see the president,” the man said softly.
    “He’ll be busy all day,” the secretary snapped.
    “We’ll wait,” the lady replied.
    For hours the secretary ignored them, hoping that the couple would finally become discouraged and go away.
    They didn’t, and the secretary grew frustrated and finally decided to disturb the president, even though it was a chore she always regretted.
    “Maybe if you see them for a few minutes, they’ll leave,” she said to him!
    He sighed in exasperation and nodded. Someone of his importance obviously didn’t have the time to spend with them, and he detested gingham dresses and homespun suits cluttering up his outer office.
    The president, stern faced and with dignity, strutted toward the couple.
    The lady told him, “We had a son who attended Harvard for one year. He loved Harvard. He was happy here. But about a year ago, he was accidentally killed.
    My husband and I would like to erect a memorial to him, somewhere on campus.”
    The president wasn’t touched. He was shocked.
    “Madam,” he said, gruffly, “we can’t put up a statue for every person who attended Harvard and died. If we did, this place would look like a cemetery.”
    “Oh, no,” the lady explained quickly. “We don’t want to erect a statue. We thought we would like to give a building to Harvard.”
    The president rolled his eyes. He glanced at the gingham dress and homespun suit, then exclaimed, “A building! Do you have any earthly idea how much a building costs? We have over seven and a half million dollars in the physical buildings here at Harvard.”
    For a moment the lady was silent.
    The president was pleased. Maybe he could get rid of them now.
    The lady turned to her husband and said quietly, “Is that all it cost to start a university? Why don’t we just start our own? ”
    Her husband nodded. The president’s face wilted in confusion and bewilderment.
    Mr. and Mrs. Leland Stanford got up and walked away, traveling to Palo Alto, California where they established the university that bears their name, Stanford University, a memorial to a son that Harvard no longer cared about.
    You can easily judge the character of others by how they treat those who they think can do nothing for them. —
    A TRUE STORY By Malcolm Forbes

  2. illa morales

    People even chose to sleep in the time of Mark Twain, very scary.

    The War Prayer
    by Mark Twain
    It was a time of great exulting and excitement. The country was up in arms, the war was on, in every breast burned the holy fire of patriotism; the drums were beating, the bands playing, the toy pistols popping, the bunched firecrackers hissing and sputtering; on every hand and far down the receding and fading spread of roofs and balconies a fluttering wilderness of flags flashed in the sun; daily the young volunteers marched down the wide avenue gay and fine in their new uniforms, the proud fathers and mothers and sisters and sweethearts cheering them with voices choked with happy emotion as they swung by; nightly the packed mass meetings listened, panting, to patriot oratory which stirred the deepest depths of their hearts, and which they interrupted at briefest intervals with cyclones of applause, the tears running down their cheeks the while; in the churches the pastors preached devotion to flag and country, and invoked the God of Battles, beseeching His aid in our good cause in outpourings of fervid eloquence which moved every listener. It was indeed a glad and gracious time, and the half dozen rash spirits that ventured to disapprove of the war and cast doubt upon its righteousness straight way got such a stern and angry warning that for their personal safety’s sake they quickly shrank out of sight and offended no more in that way.
    Sunday morning came – next day the battalions would leave for the front; the church was filled; the volunteers were there, their young faces alight with martial dreams – visions of the stern advance, the gathering momentum, the rushing charge, the flashing sabers, the flight of the foe, the tumult, the enveloping smoke, the fierce pursuit, the surrender! – then home from the war, bronzed heroes, welcomed, adored, submerged in golden seas of glory! With the volunteers sat their dear ones, proud, happy, and envied by the neighbors and friends who had no sons and brothers to send forth to the field of honor, there to win for the flag, or failing, die the noblest of noble deaths. The service proceeded; a war chapter from the Old Testament was read; the first prayer was said; it was followed by an organ burst that shook the building, and with one impulse the house rose, with glowing eyes and beating hearts, and poured out that tremendous invocation:
    “God the all-terrible! Thou who ordainest, Thunder thy clarion and lightning thy sword!”
    Then came the “long” prayer. None could remember the like of it for passionate pleading and moving and beautiful language. The burden of its supplication was, that an ever-merciful and benignant Father of us all would watch over our noble young soldiers, and aid, comfort, and encourage them in their patriotic work; bless them, shield them in the day of battle and the hour of peril, bear them in His mighty hand, make them strong and confident, invincible in the bloody onset; help them to crush the foe, grant to them and to their flag and country imperishable honor and glory – An aged stranger entered and moved with slow and noiseless step up the main aisle, his eyes fixed upon the minister, his long body clothed in a robe that reached to his feet, his head bare, his white hair descending in a frothy cataract to his shoulders, his seamy face unnaturally pale, pale even to ghastliness. With all eyes following and wondering, he made his silent way; without pausing, he ascended to the preacher’s side and stood there, waiting. With shut lids the preacher, unconscious of his presence, continued his moving prayer, and at last finished it with the words, uttered in fervent appeal, “Bless our arms, grant us victory, O Lord our God, Father and Protector of our land and flag!”
    The stranger touched his arm, motioned him to step aside – which the startled minister did – and took his place. During some moments he surveyed the spellbound audience with solemn eyes, in which burned an uncanny light; then in a deep voice he said:
    “I come from the Throne – bearing a message from Almighty God!” The words smote the house with a shock; if the stranger perceived it he gave no attention. “He has heard the prayer of His servant your shepherd, and will grant it if such be your desire after I, His messenger, shall have explained to you its import – that is to say, its full import. For it is like unto many of the prayers of men, in that it asks for more than he who utters it is aware of – except he pause and think.
    “God’s servant and yours has prayed his prayer. Has he paused and taken thought? Is it one prayer? No, it is two – one uttered, the other not. Both have reached the ear of Him Who heareth all supplications, the spoken and the unspoken. Ponder this – keep it in mind. If you would beseech a blessing upon yourself, beware! lest without intent you invoke a curse upon a neighbor at the same time. If you pray for the blessing of rain upon your crop which needs it, by that act you are possibly praying for a curse upon some neighbor’s crop which may not need rain and can be injured by it.
    “You have heard your servant’s prayer – the uttered part of it. I am commissioned of God to put into words the other part of it – that part which the pastor – and also you in your hearts – fervently prayed silently. And ignorantly and unthinkingly? God grant that it was so! You heard these words: ‘Grant us victory, O Lord our God!’ That is sufficient. The whole of the uttered prayer is compact into those pregnant words. Elaborations were not necessary. When you have prayed for victory you have prayed for many unmentioned results which follow victory – must follow it, cannot help but follow it. Upon the listening spirit of God the Father fell also the unspoken part of the prayer. He commandeth me to put it into words. Listen!
    “O Lord our Father, our young patriots, idols of our hearts, go forth to battle – be Thou near them! With them – in spirit – we also go forth from the sweet peace of our beloved firesides to smite the foe. O Lord our God, help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with hurricanes of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with their little children to wander unfriended the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of the sun flames of summer and the icy winds of winter, broken in spirit, worn with travail, imploring Thee for the refuge of the grave and denied it – for our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their steps, water their way with tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet! We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of Love, and Who is the ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts. Amen.”
    [After a pause.] “Ye have prayed it; if ye still desire it, speak! The messenger of the Most High waits.”
    It was believed afterward that the man was a lunatic, because there was no sense in what he said.

  3. illa morales

    Synchronicity Sister, we wait for her return, when the world can handle TRUTH served to them pipin’ HOT.

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