Boobie Comparitive Misanthropology
(from Fernando Po, U.S.A., America's post-literate retreat to Plato's Cave)

Fernando Po has known its time
Its history denied
As subsequent "discovery"
Has robbed it of its pride
The Boobies didn't stand a chance
They'd no place they could hide

A larger world's discovered them
And knows they run to type
A Boobie anthropology
Susceptible to hype
As common as ingredients
That go to making tripe

As Frazer studied all their kind
And catalogued their traits
He showed two mental breakdowns
That the Boobie mind conflates:
A Sympathetic Magic and
Religion's dire straits

As Sympathetic Magic goes,
Two things that look alike
Must manifest relationship
Like two wheels on a bike
Whatever you can't do to one
The other must dislike

And two things that once touched still share
Connections though apart;
Some hair and fingernails can serve
As targets for a dart;
And thus the powerless can spear
Another through the heart

So Sympathetic Magic tells
Us why the Boobies think
That effigies and voodoo dolls
And witches in the drink
Provide some weaponry against
The darkness black as ink

But magic doesn't always work
In fact, it never does
So when it fails, it calls for an
Excuse: "The reason was ..."
[Insert here anything you like —
Beginning with "because …”]

But once the Boobie brain accepts
That sometimes magic flunks
It then infers in error that
A party needs some drunks
And so a bacchanal ensues
Till Boobies stink like skunks

But when they sober up they find
The world just like before
Except for all the headaches and
The vomit on the floor
And so the Boobie mind thinks up
Some superstitious lore

If magic didn't do the trick,
They figure in their way,
Then spirits must have interfered
And made things go astray
"Perhaps if we beg hard enough
The spooks will go away."

And so religion comes to pass;
Another huge mistake
Which somehow always seems to lead
To someone at the stake
A frightened, screaming Boobie who
Has just begun to bake

For when the magic fails and then
The priests fail in their turn,
Another reason must be found —
Which means someone must burn
The use of scapegoats illustrates
That Boobies never learn

But lest some Boobies might inquire
Why they have scorched and fried
To cover up for sorcerers and
Priests who've schemed and lied
The priests strike first so as to keep
The Boobies terrified

And priest-kings such as Boobie Bush
Have learned these lessons well
Upon his many failures he'd
Prefer no Boobie dwell
And so Iraq has served just fine:
A scapegoat's living hell

Just so with magic sympathy
And spook religion, too,
The Boobies cling to savagery
Like baboons in a zoo
With undeveloped brains like theirs
They've little else to do