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| Syria-Lebanon-Iran |
| Iran names street after St. Pancake |
| 2011-08-11 |
| Posted by:Anonymoose |
| #4 An omen of things to come for Iran. |
| Posted by: g(r)omgoru 2011-08-11 14:49 |
| #3 paved with 3" asphalt on native dirt? |
| Posted by: Frank G 2011-08-11 12:19 |
| #2 |
| Posted by: Mullah Richard 2011-08-11 11:57 |
| #1 The Death of the Flat Rachael Corrie Oh the legend lives on from Palestinians on down Of the big thing they call a ‘bulldozer’ The dozer, it’s said, always flattens its dead When the left wing protesters turn looney. With a carbon steel frame sixty-two metric tons more Than the flat Rachael Corrie weighed empty. The blade it is true is a thing to be feared When the treads of the dozer start rolling. The Cat was the pride of the Israeli side Coming back from some hills in the Gaza As the big dozers go, it was bigger than most With a diesel of four hundred horses. Concluding some berms with a couple of quick turns Then they left fully fueled up for Rafah When later that day her megaphone sang Could it be that dumb b***h they was hearin’? The dirt in the treads made a tattle-tale sound As the mud broke over the blading And every man knew, as Miss Corrie did too, T’was a big Caterpillar come dozin’. The blade came down and the dumb twit stood her ground When the D9 bulldozer came plowin’. Devoid of good sense and ignoring all risk She turned her back on the oncoming dozer. When it finally came, the dumb b***h kept her place, sayin’ Surely, they’ll stop what they’re doing. Under the tread her air pathway caved in, she said Dammit, this shouldn’t have happened! Her friends called in that the blonde b***h was down, And the bomb storage house was in peril. And later that day when her lights went outta sight Came the death of the flat Rachael Corrie. Does any one know where the sense of libs go When the blade turns the minutes to hours? The soldiers all say she’d have got out okay If she’d put fifteen more feet behind her. She might have been crushed or she might have split wide; May have broke ribs and her bladder. And all that remains is the traces and the stains Of her imprint, the tread tracks and splatter. Arafat stews, Hizbollah spews From the rooms of their compounds in Gaza. The ISM screams like a spoiled preteen They voice their support for the terror. And don’t we all know, when the buses explode They’ll march out their apologists willing, Now activists go as the drivers all know With the big caterpillars remembered. In a musty old room in Ramallah they prayed, In the ISM office of terror. The door bell chimed till it rang seventy-two times For each cleat on the big Caterpiller. The legend lives on from Palestinians on down Of the big thing they call a ’bulldozer’. The dozer, they said, always flattens its dead When left wing protestors turn looney! (hat tip to BastardSword Blog & apologies to Gordon Lightfoot) |
| Posted by: Anonymoose 2011-08-11 10:54 |