A Parody

Brigitte my love
Our Country suffers of many debts
The people are restless
Whatever shall we do love?

Ah Macron, we must think past the cookies
The solutions are complex, answers evasive
Let me speak with Marie Antoinette, she shall know!
Queen of Navarre, By god we shall be saved!

Marie, Marie Antoinette our people are restless
Our republic is in debt. these are crazy times!
Whatever shall we do?
I am fed up, allons-y

Ah fear not, if they have not bread!
Let them eat Nutella!
Lower the prices
Nutella for the masses!!!

Marie, are you sure? very very sure of such things?
Oui oui, on with it, my father was emperor of Rome
Nutella will calm the masses
Come here Nemo. taste, see even Nemo is tres happy now!

And so France lowered the prices of Nutella
Thus began the nouveau French Revolution
Riots in the streets, brawling in the magasins
The uprising has began, we want our Nutella for free

The masses rose
Nutella for all, Nutella for sans prix
We are all somewhat fou for Nutella you see!
And so the masses fought each other for Nutella's liberty

Nutella one and Nut Ella all!
I swear to your Brigette
We should have given them Macarons!!!
People remain civilized with cafe and cookies! n'est pas?

Emmanuel my love, fret not
The revolution shall be quelled
Qh I have the perfect person for this
He shall restore order to our dear republic

Prey tell Brigette? Who could do such a thing now
Riots everywhere, the masses fight each other daily?
The streets are not safe
There is a shortages of Nutella now, we are doomed cheri

Non non mon amour, I shall call Alizee
She shall sing us out of the terrible mess
She is the mistress of Doug McMillion
This man can save us all!!

Brigitte, who is this man you call Doug?
Why Emmanuel he is the president of Walmart
He has squashed many Black Fridays rebellions
He shall save us all!!!!!!

From these unruly unsavory Nutella shoppers!!!!!



Vive la France!
Vive Alizee
Mange ton macaroon mon cheri
C'est ton droit et ta liberté

So you got robbed. Don't think of yourself as a victim. Look at it as an expression of the robber's occupational and social deficits. Don't let it traumatize you for life. After all, can you compare it to being murdered? We need to have some appreciation for scale here. We don't want to go back to the Victorian notion that people are fragile flowers who can't handle  having a gun pointed at them and losing a few dollars. That's a form of condescension, after all.

You're complaining about a burglary? Some men see a mere doorknob lock as a flirtation. And surely we don't want to see the end of flirtations and seductions!  Must we all now install deadbolts and security systems? What's next--chastity belts? What happened to joie de vivre and devil-may-care?

So a drunk driver hit your car. Do you really want to have him arrested? It was a misunderstanding; he didn't realize that four cocktails and driving are technically illegal. And should they be? Do we want to criminalize ordinary reckless behavior? Haven't we all done something a bit foolish or clumsy in our younger days? Do we want a society in which everyone has to be careful what they do, all the time? A society in which people must count their drinks before getting behind the wheel? We are moving away from the ideals of a liberal democracy and toward totalitarianism! 

So you were murdered. You can look at is as an opportunity to learn more about what happens after death. Your career was ended and your earthly form deteriorated, but that's not the end of the world. Now you live as a memory, and people appreciate you more. What doesn't **** you makes you stronger, and what kills you enshrines. There is honor in being dead. It is time we brought back the old virtues!

A battalion stationed off France,
Were commanded when to advance.
But one would tell
Of his living hell
As his comrades littered the expanse.

Day closes to an open window–
A sill, a still rest for my spent legs;
Torqued over to face the breeze, welcome chills
Swing the brush with each croak of my knees.

Laughs crane over amber roof clay–
And somewhere behind a white fence
It’s someone’s birthday, a dog brays, coos rouse a baby
Who cries off-key with the family’s song

A dark cluster shifts in the sky,
And the moon emerges from nil.
I’d forgotten my eyes but to see like this…
So long since the night kept me filled…

Spark lights strung in beads on a rope
-Chatoyant, chatoyant comme diamants–
“Brille et brille petit étoile” string the notes
of a mother’s rock-a-bye song

My squeak of a refrain pitters into the air
-Cassant, cassant comme verre-
No love from eclipses we sing to,
No peace from mullings in prayer

Then a fairy book glow sweeps this vision–
Its air thick and sweet to the tongue–
My glance caught by shimmering scales on the back
Of this Ville like a dragon in slumber
—oh, to dance on that spine
—to leap from his eaves into air!
—to fly with these legs where I don’t have to sleep
—and days don’t sit brittle and spare

But fingers to the pulse in my cheek—
To a cauldron of wicked alchemy—
Trace an infection spreading like dragons’ wings
Where beasts may be best left sleeping.

Painfully pretty, the light grows ever fainter,
I should drink it in while I can still see—
There’s a reason art’s left to the painter,
And my brush colors sorrow on everything.


But I’m not sorry now, nor sad, though my eyes water
And wobble the world ’til I blink;
With my back towards the concrete, grounded, this altar
Casts a reverence over everything.

Can we dig a path to France,
Here in the woods of Washington?
I want to take you to Barcelona,
Dance on the green hills of Ireland.
Can we set a course to the heart of joy?
Let me take you around the world.

Grab my hand and I'll grab yours,
Let us walk and live in love.

Tarte Tatin Man,
He wears pears on his hands,
And he glistens like lamb,
He's Tarte Tatin Man.

Tarte Tatin Man,
He's originally from France,
And has a cousin who's a flan,
He's Tarte Tatin Man.

Tarte Tatin Man,
He wears a coat made of pans,
And bathes in butter, not jam,
He's Tarte Tatin Man.

Tarte Tatin Man,
I feel we finished this dance,
Till we meet again, perchance,
Goodbye Tarte Tatin Man.