A girl was gang raped near the Fly’s neighborhood.
The People don’t need what they have elected and they don’t deserve what they have chosen. May God help us navigate these next four years.
The election is over. The Fly has apparently won. Apparently is the key word.
The Spider voted and watched the machine go from R to O. I was paying attention, but it took several tries to get the R to register. Is it fat fingers, a malfunctioning machine or something more?
First I admit my fingers are no fatter than anyone elses. Plus the only time this ‘flip’ occurred was with the BIG choice. All others worked fine. Hmm…
Is this a software glitch or a tweak? DRE (Direct Reporting Electronic) voting machines are now in place. True, the results are tabulated more quickly and efficiently, but it has been shown to have weaknesses. Weaknesses that can be hacked into by students or exploited by vote manipulators.
Why were the networks calling the race so early when so few votes had been counted?
SCYTLgate? Interesting thought on a strand of web. James Clapper, current Director of National Intelligence, shows up in the funding web of SCYTL. More and more interesting…
The U.S. House Intelligence Committee is scheduled to hold a closed meeting on 15 November 2012. The Senate is also conducting an investigation, but the harry wasp is not interested in the truth. He only seeks to protect the hive.
Scheduled to testify are James Clapper, Director of National Intelligence, David Petraeus, Director of the CIA, and Matthew Olsen, Director of the National Counterterrorism Center.
The Committee has already sent a letter to the State Department demanding answers. Of course, none are forthcoming.
The Spider sits patiently.
A plan was laid this summer – silly game, fun game.
The friends chose their pieces and their plots.
Then the fire burned and the friends fumed — the Fly! He must be stopped!
The election neared and the plan remained a plan – silly game, fun game.
Now the Fly is in the Parlour and the best tramped in the floor.
The Spider echoes Raven and cries “Never more!”
The plan is hatched – hard game, serious game.
The Rat and Roach are Spider’s friends and Mouse is hanging by
To rid the People’s Parlour of that wicked, wicked Fly.
The Fly watched as Benghazi burned. Why, Fly? Why?
Was it for guns or oil or prophet? Was it for friend or foe?
The Spider looks at all the web to see who’s in the know.
Sift through the news. Examine the clews.
All the while stroking wings of that wicked little Fly.
I look and listen all the day. I watch them come and go. They’ll always find me underfoot — I wonder if they know?
Do I play near stallion’s feet? Or dance among the stars? Or do I stand at edge of time and balance on the bars?
Come into my parlour, friend, ’cause it’s your parlour, too. We wait and watch together — the Spider and my crew.
“Will you come in to my parlour?” said the Spider to the Fly. “‘Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy; The way into my parlour is up a winding stair, And I’ve many curious things to shew when you are there.”
“Oh no, no,” said the little Fly, “to ask me is in vain, For who goes up your winding stair can ne’er come down again.”
“I’m sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high; Will you rest upon my little bed?” said the Spider to the Fly. “There are pretty curtains drawn around; the sheets are fine and thin, And if you like to rest awhile, I’ll snugly tuck you in!”
“Oh no, no,” said the little Fly, “for I’ve often heard it said, They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!”
Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, “Dear friend what can I do, To prove the warm affection I’ve always felt for you? I have within my pantry, good store of all that’s nice; I’m sure you’re very welcome — will you please to take a slice?”
“Oh no, no,” said the little Fly, “kind Sir, that cannot be, I’ve heard what’s in your pantry, and I do not wish to see!”
“Sweet creature!” said the Spider, “you’re witty and you’re wise, how handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes! I’ve a little looking-glass upon my parlour shelf, If you’ll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself.”
“I thank you, gentle sir,” she said, “for what you’re pleased to say, And bidding you good morning now, I’ll call another day.”
The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den, For well he knew the silly Fly would soon come back again: So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly, And set his table ready, to dine upon the Fly. Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing, “Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with the pearl and silver wing; Your robes are green and purple — there’s a crest upon your head; Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead!”
Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little Fly, Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by; With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew, Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue — Thinking only of her crested head — poor foolish thing! At last, Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast. He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den, Within his little parlour — but she ne’er came out again!
And now dear little children, who may this story read, To idle, silly flattering words, I pray you ne’er give heed: Unto an evil counsellor, close heart and ear and eye, And take a lesson from this tale, of the Spider and the Fly. Mary Howitt
The election door has closed and my eye is dull, not bright; the constant wait and watching begin this very night. The Fly is in my parlour, the fool’s have placed him there — it only waits for me to drag it up my little stair.