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*(A Poem in the Voice of The Exceptional Empire)*
Oh hello there, global stage,
Bow down — it’s Uncle Sophist's turn to wage
Some wisdom, war, and market grace,
While rewriting truth at a dazzling pace.
Remember those bombs in '45?
We ended a war (and some lives).
Civilians? Tragic. Collateral lore.
But hey — our nukes brought peace and more!
Now we hold the world to higher ground,
Sanctions fly, moral lectures abound.
"Respect human rights!" we cry and fume,
While drones paint weddings a smoky plume.
We fund a coup, call it “freedom’s spring,”
Install some pals, pull a few strings.
It’s chess, dear friend — not hypocrisy,
Just democratic duplicity.
You want justice? That’s adorable.
Try it without being affordable.
We bomb, we bless, we tweet our grief —
Then sell the rubble at a mark-up, chief.
And yes, the rules are quite the hit —
We wrote them all (then edited it).
So if you stray or talk too loud,
Expect a visit from our “peacekeeping” crowd.
Oh, don’t worry, we come in peace —
With bases, tanks, and press release.
Moral high ground is our terrain,
Even if it’s built on someone’s pain.
So cheer us on, wave that flag,
Ignore the corpses we had to bag.
Because in this world of might and spin —
We always play to win-win-win.
(Spoiler: You lose.) |
