Those security thugs with their omni-world gaze,
Ex-CIA who keep track of your ways,
Pale-faced warriors who leave nada to chance,
Assure nervous shieks against crap happenstance.
Then out of the blue sky come flying some drones,
And drive Saud production right down to its bones.
"Drones? Who'd have thought?" they moan, rubbing their jaws,
"For grenades we were prepped, or terror outlaws.
We had nuke camels licked, assaults from Hawk choppers,
But drones, friend shiek, that just pulls out the stoppers!
We had some humint 'bout this and that grudge:
If only you guys'd bought a full intel budg'!"
When the clients go home they begin to ask who,
Who in the world could such unique plans construe?
Houthi drones? They couldn't destroy a Coke stand,
And Iran knows well its own oil would be slammed,
If they traded shots with those creeps across straits,
So both refrain fully from taking such baits.
Confused, the boys head for a near wat'ring hole,
Where sit drinks-in-fist Bob, Sam, Jack and Noel,
Grand masters as well of The World's Great Game,
And mull if drone maker and sender were same.
But they just can't figure it: price-of-gas hikes
Are good for no one except firms that sell bikes.
"You don't think Schwinn might've paid for this raid?"
"Nah, they'd need ex-KGB and plenty well paid."
"I say wingnut jihadists having their day."
"No: oil-futures suit-and-ties making some hay."
"Hey, you don't think somebody wants to raise price?"
"Nah, the sheiks love us more'n gin-and-T with a slice."
T'was a long list who'd do something that dumb,
Since more costly gas means less chewing gum,
They sat and they puzz'ed till their glasses were dry,
And never concluded for sure the who/why.
Alas, it was back to the old drawing board,
To scare the Saudis on again getting gored.