Ammo For Sale

« « Quote of the day | Home | More on the astroturf summit » »

A musical interlude

Based on a true story.

Hello muddah, hello faddah,
Here I am at Camp Bogata.
Camp is very entertaining,
All my faith in communism has been waning

Smelly hippies, in the commune
Hate the fact that dad’s a tycoon
Now, I should have picked a winner
The proletariat now have me cooking dinner

11 Responses to “A musical interlude”

  1. thirdpower Says:

    I blogged about this a few days ago. The real funny part is she did her thesis on FARC. Guess she didn’t do very well.

  2. Ace Says:

    Well done, Unc.

    Allan Sherman would be proud.

  3. Cactus Jack Says:

    So what did she expect, something out of Doctor Zhivago with her playing Julie Christie’s role? I hope she’s a good cook, dont wanna piss off the commissar.

  4. Les Jones Says:

    Good stuff, Unc.

    I’ll give the gal credit for having the courage of her convictions to actually give them a try. I notice that most people who spout that communal nonsense never actually getting around to living their own lives that way or moving to communist country.

  5. Billy Beck Says:

    “How they drone,
    Oh muddah faddah
    Finely hone
    Against a Prada
    My Che T
    Is wearing out and now
    We’re even running out of chow…”

  6. Kevin Baker Says:

    That was my belly-laugh of the day! Bravo! Encore!

  7. Joe Huffman Says:

    Excellent! I’m always amazed at people that can make words do things like that.

    [I think you mean waning, not waining, though.]

  8. Tam Says:


  9. Sebastian Says:

    Ha! I needed that this Friday.

  10. Alcibiades McZombie Says:

    I think it would be better to call it “Camp FARCranada”.

  11. Dave Hardy Says:

    Hello dad, hello mommy;
    Hope you’re both nice and comfy.
    Dad is dead, but not yet mommy
    She’s just been, quite the dummy.

    Pick’s Disease, what a bummer!
    Ruined my, whole last summer.
    Doesn’t know, who the fuck I am,
    Our birthdays are, like years-old jam.

    If I called, she wouldn’t know,
    Who it is, or if there’s snow;
    If there’s rain, there’ll be pain,
    Because she will just, call again.

    My wife is mad,
    and daughter, too;
    they’ve both got, a touch of flu.
    Why don’t they
    take it out on me,
    sure as shit, they both agree.

    Son has hooked us up, with his doggy pup.
    Can’t stay at home, cuz he throws up.


    Hats off to Billy Beck and his blog these last years. Best wishes to him, the Coots, and paleolibertarianism and paleoconservatism in general.

    Any of you fellow grunts in the cultural wars can email me at and let’s rock a little.