Posted on December 14th, 2010 by D. Aristophanes
In a recent expedition to the boiler room at a vacant Burlington Coat Factory site in Lower Manhattan, Sadly, No! Research Labs unearthed what we believe to be 13 lost prophecies from the famed 16th-century apothecary Michel de Nostredame, known commonly as Nostradamus.
We are hesitant to interpret these lost quatrains ourselves, as we are primarily archaeologists and not scholars of Medieval French, but we have had them translated so that readers may decide whether the legendary seer has again miraculously identified prominent people and events centuries before their births and occurrence.
PROPHESIES OF NOSTRADAMUS, CENTURY XI, QUATRAINS 1-13
1
In the year nineteen hundred and sixty nine,
The dough shall rise to load the pants:
Each of his befuddled ravings more stupid than the last
That is central to his point
2
Tears, cries and laments, howls, terror,
Heart inhuman, cruel, black and chilly,
Callous monster, pain and weeping
Richard Bruce ‘Dick’ Cheney
3
Anchored poorly, the baby plays host to rage
Her fury borne of loathsome thoughts
A visage contorted and a lesson:
If you keep making that face, Michelle, it’s going to get stuck that way
4
The fearsome mob grows in the New Land
Gathering in ignorance to sip upon tea
Loyal pets they shall yet prove
For monied masters who hold their leash
5
Twice shall the cock crow, then thrice
Though its cry be heard til the end of days
Never in all of time or space
Shall the Virgin Ben get laid
6
Of Northern birth but a Southern confederate
Loyalties confused he fumes and raves
Inelegantly his impotent wrath is shouted
Into the wind that would steal away his Tri-Tip
7
To the Tearful One will be left the realm
Carved out by the Corpulent Jester
Throughout Teatardia will extend his banner
A deformed countryside left in its wake
8
The new Leader darkens the halls of power
The warring tribes of Caucasia unite
They ache for a return to ways of old
Because they’re total fucking racists
9
From the lengthy island shall come forth
A harpy shrieking with bosoms thrust
Vexed, her poison pen and uncouth voice
A New Caliphate secreted in the Ambassador’s mustache
10
There will appear towards the North
Not far but distant from Russian shores
A pale one, Sarah, for fame’s siren call
Forsaking sworn duties to tweet stupid shit
11
The self-styled victims strike back against their foes
A new old power is finally secured
The Hill recaptured, all is well
The bankers’ street has walls once more
12
The money-changers cringe before the September storm
A barren larder where once they gorged
In the cover of night, Libra is tipped on its side
The treasure of the many ransomed to the few
13
The three branches will be reduced to none,
The people’s voice seduced to Mammon,
The country’s wealth stolen in the night
A proud nation dies while sleeping