Ayn Rand’s Treasury of Children’s Verse

“The proper method of judging when or whether one should help another person is by reference to one’s own rational self-interest and one’s own hierarchy of values: the time, money or effort one gives or the risk one takes should be proportionate to the value of the person in relation to one’s own happiness.” — Ayn Rand

 

Good Riddance

Jack and Jill went up a hill
to fetch a pail of water.
Jack fell down and broke his crown
And Jill came tumbling after.

And none of John Galt’s women
and none of John Galt’s men
lifted one little finger
to help either of them.

Pork

This little piggy went to market (as bacon)
This little piggy as ham;
This little piggy was injected with chemicals
And ended up as spam,
And this little piggy (see below)
went wee wee on the killing floor.

Pitch Black Night

Three blind mice
Three blind mice
See how they stumble
See how they starve.

All three were poisoned by the butcher’s wife
Who didn’t get the dosage of the poison quite right,
So now they spend their very last day
in pitch black night, pitch black night.

Yuk

Georgie Porgy pudding and pie
Hung with the girls and not the guys.
Puberty’s hitting him, however,
Precipitated a change in Georgie’s weather,
So Georgie ditched his girly toys
And hid in the closet with like-minded boys.

Mistress Ayn has this to say
To all of you who might be gay.
Breaking nature’s laws
Denotes “psychological flaws.”

She finds you personally “disgusting”
For your perverted lusting.
If you want to join her nation
Then you better switch your orientation.

Lullaby

Now I lay me down to sleep
in a universe dark and deep.
If I die before I wake,
Tough shit, them’s the breaks.

A Fractured Nursery Rhyme (or Georgie Porgie Meets Simple Simon Meets Roger Ailes)

A Fractured Nursery Rhyme (or Georgie Porgie Meets Simple Simon Meets Roger Ailes)

Roger Ailes

 

Mrs. Mooney met a loony

standing in a puddle.

 

Said the loony to Mrs. Mooney,

“You think you’d like to cuddle?

 

With her head held high,

She walked on by,

 

And her wits began to gather.

“No thanks,” said she, “I reckon I’d rather not rather.”

 

from a Child’s Back Alley of Verses

 

A Child’s Meth Lab of Verses

meth lab of verse

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bad Choices

 

In Nashville, Mississippi,

not far from the Rio Grande,

there lived a French Canadian trapper

named Hedrick Eckelmann.

 

He wrote a short novella

about the Second World War.

It ran ten-thousand pages;

he called it Less Is More.

 

He married a gal named Betty Sue,

who gave him two fine sons,

but she died a virgin at 44

cleaning one of his guns.

 

Terribly devastated,

he remarried within a week,

and lived happily ever after

until he choked on a steak

 

right outside of Nashville

in the heart of the Lone Star State,

right across the river from Canada.

Damn, he could’ve had a V-8.