Of course, you can't get away with that sort of thing in the press releases before somebody responds, in this case my erstwhile Russian colleague with this little riff on an old favourite of mine, Said Hanrahan, by P.J. Hartigan.
"We'll
all be rooned," said Italy
In accents of despair,
And turned from France most bitterly
with cunning plots to share.
The politicians stroked their maps
Of nations set for war,
And talked of fleets, and stabs, and traps,
Like every year before.
"If we're to last," came Turkey's call,
"Bedad, to hold our ground,
Sevastopol this year must fall -
It's Russia we must hound."
"Don't turn on me," Russia bemoaned,
"My force is scant and spread.
For Trieste Rome has not atoned;
It's he whom we need dead."
"I had no choice! I needed lands!"
Came Italy's reply,
"We'll all be rooned if France expands,
To Paris turn your eye."
"Ah, 'méfiez-vous de tout le monde'"
Was all that France could quote,
"Wake up! The Germans have you conned!
Quick, seize the Kaiser's throat!"
"Fight me?" The Gothic leader's eyes,
were wide with great alarm,
"'Tis clearly Britain I despise.
When did I do you harm?"
"They would not dare to turn on me,"
The King of England laughed,
"And any Austrians I see
will soon in brine be bathed."
"My army's strong, and though you'll try
You'll never reach this far,"
The Archduke crowed, "The Turk strike I,
While Ank S Con to BLA"
Once friends and allies, now as stones:
their treaties left to rot.
With ears blocked to conspi'ring tones,
They each alone did plot.
Just then a ray of hope appeared,
"Lets play Ticket to Ride."
And so, just as the Germans feared,
we ruled their countryside.
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