"Socialized medicine!" Words that terrify At least those who think the least. For sans medicine we sicken and die While unsocialized a human's mere beast.
The very phrase was an invention Of insurance man Wendell Potter's Scheming for health reform prevention To profit fellow industry plotters.
Potter has lately recanted Says his slur we must now shun But unless many brains are transplanted The damage is already done.
A modern crowd is a sea of jeans Uniform, sternum to stem. From spring chicks to old has-beens Why does everyone wear denim?
Baggy and tight, torn or whole, Very alike they all seem If sartorial sameness was the goal Here's success beyond wildest dream.
Once there were skirts, maxi or mini, And trousers that broke at the shoe. Clothing varied and, fat or skinny, People wore colors other than blue.
But mass produced or designed Blue jeans now reign absolutely, A fashion rule perhaps ill-timed In an era of over-sized booty.
The line extends down the block. They read or stare; earphones play rock. They wait, in flipflops and tee shirts. Few have energy to chat; none flirts.
They wait patiently if not with grace, Unkempt, unbrushed, with sleepy face. The clock strikes noon. Time for lunch! But still they wait and wait – for brunch??
Signaling Is For Sissies
A cripple, the modern motorist, His extremities frozen tight He cannot even say, "Hist!" When turning left or right.
His indicator's as broken As (apparently) his limb; Of direction gives no token His intentions are always dim
His mind, it seems, must be read At any roadway junction Which can leave those quite dead Who lack the telepathic function.
Every outdoor flip-flopped foot Must inevitably collect soot. And since when have filthy feet Been thought a delightful treat?
Gardening clogs in garish plastic Induce in wearers a shuffle spastic Perambulation strangely restricted That is entirely self-inflicted.
Walking in either may be achievable, Though running is quite unfeasible. That's why those who tend to sport 'em Are thick of trunk and broad of bottom.
Now the lipsticked pig, like the Cheshire cat Fades to nothing but the sharky smile. No more glittering winks, rejoinders pat, Locutions incoherent or juvenile.
Not straightjacket but book contract Removes Palin, that fecund breeder, Her life lessons perforce to extract For the improvement of the average reader.
What can she tell us, though unintelligent, Sarah, of the right such a shining star? Perhaps that bliss truly is ignorant, And spouting gibberish gets you surprising far.
Bernie Madoff with billions And got a hundred and fifty years. All those bankers who lost trillions? Getting on with their careeers.
Blankfein and Thane and Pandit The boys at AIG and Countrywide Though every one a bandit Each of them has a free ride.
Bernie's mistake was to break the laws While Blankfein and his bretheren Paid Congress to pass legislative flaws Ensuring the law cannot break THEM.
The Pampas-ity of Governor Sanford
Mark Sanford rejected the federal bailout Flew to Argentina, there to make-out. Perhaps better to have taken the money And a much closer-to-home honey.
His was the family-values shtick, But trouser he couldn’t his own wick. In this he is quite humanly typical If more than usually hypocritical
Vitter and Craig. Sanford and Ensign, What is it with these pious men? Sworn to obey every commandment Yet chasing skirts with abandonment.
A grip on reality each has lacked For eluded them has this simple fact: About their lives a damn we couldn't give If they stopped telling the rest of us how to live.
An Anatomy of John McCain
Addressing conditions in Iran McCain won't quote the Koran Instead, with demeanor gruff He insists on language tough.
But chest thumping, with apes effective In diplomacy is quite defective For Bush it spurred Hamas, Hezbollah And nuke building in North Korea
The long-toothed elder of the GOP While stickless, just won't speak softly. He attributes this to abundant guts; More likely it arises from a little putz.
ASU Unjustly Condemned
At ASU they do agree Not to confer a degree On their speaker at commencement The USA's first black president.
For this the U. faces opprobrium Their own Pres accused: Racist bum! And can they mean it when they say It's because Obama has yet to find his way?
But this criticism is p'raps too hard Obama's already degreed at Harvard And at Columbia as well Degrees just don't get more swell.
With degrees so very pedigreed ASU doubtless feels theirs he doesn't need.
The Road to Riches
How to get rich in America? Let me count the ways You could work hard And play by the rules. But only if your enjoyment Is eventual unemployment.
Some prefer the ponzi scheme And the noble art of fraud Whereby the dollars flow Like waters over Niagara. A pity this well-worn trail Tends in the end to lead to jail.
Better by far is the corporate route And the largest corner office. From whence you execute Schemes and transactions To swell your own compensation At the expense of a clueless nation.
The living is nothing short of regal And best of all it's perfectly legal.
The Bush Legacy Project
Hunters may be the unspeakable In pursuit of the inedible, But Bush’s defenders Are far worse offenders.
They are the reprehensible Defending the indefensible, The entirely mendacious, Denying all that’s veracious.
In their strange trance They love his ignorance, They must be mentally ill, To admire such an imbecile.
Ha. Now that he’s leaving They’re probably grieving. But perhaps once he’s gone He’ll take them along.
I have a kvetch with Blagojevich.
Yes he auctions senate seats, To office appoints dead-beats, Children's hospitals shakes down Speaks fit to make a sailor frown.
What, the man's a thief? That is not at all my beef. An Illinois Governor Is crooked de rigueur .
What's objectionable about Rod Is that he's such an ugly sod. So, to shield the weak or frail, Blagojevich must go to jail.
The Wink From Hell
Specs aglitter, teeth agleam Sarah Palin winked -- at me. An invitation to share her dream Of the vice-presidency?
Thanks but no thanks Sarah P. Your wiles I do resist. Though alluring you may be Your advances must desist.
While impossible a dalliance Ever between I and her Any ape with she can have alliance; What else could grasp her gibber?
McCain the mighty warrior Has made of me a worrier With all his saber rattlin' Does he mean to go battlin' 'gainst foes like the Russians Without dire repercussions?
For McCain I have news: If more war you choose Go fight them alone. We will stay home So if there's a casualty It will be nugatory.
John McCain just has no shame, Who knew he’d stoop so low? At Barack’s door he lays the blame For oil high and econ slow
Falling stocks and housing woes Costly food, each bank that fails Endless war that nowhere goes Drought and flood, crowded jails.
For potholes and broken bridges Polluted water, dirty air Mosquitoes and summer midges Heat and dust, boombox blare.
For cloudy days and dirty beaches Famine, Ignorance, Pestilence, Grief. Don’t you think he over-reaches Strains the bounds of our belief?
Oh John Sidney you certain sinner Telling lies of such transparency. Proof positive this evil liver Cannot be taken seriously.
McCain that king among bores, Claims he knows how to win wars Giving voters the choice of oratory Or the certainty of final victory.
Trouble is the war McCain fought Ended Vietnam 1, U.S. nought. John McCain as a warrior Is a proven loser.
So perhaps the real choice before us Is less between speeches or wars Than a clear and perfect contrast ‘Twixt reason and idiot bombast.
Candidate of Death
I quite dislike that John McCain For reasons easy to explain It’s not at all his death’s head grin, Nor his oratory made of tin Not so much his corrrupt cronies Nor his morals, so very phony.
The problem I’ve with John McCain Has more to do with his refrain In which he does us all entreat To fear the prospect of defeat Of the Republican nominee Who just happens to be he.
This is cause for trepidation Rather than for celebration Because, says McCain himself, If we return him to the shelf And elect that other guy Without a doubt we all will die.
A leader to believe in Right from history’s dustbin Heh heh heh
My smile causes the creeps My cussing requires bleeps In appearance mishapen, With policies misbegotten:
On health, just don’t get sick On econ I am a bit thick Though in the big picture The rich must get richer
Foreign affairs are a bore In the absence of war While I bar lobbyist grease Unless I get my piece.
To the right I will pander While up gets my dander If anyone defies One of my lies.
A leader to believe in? Better pray I don’t win Heh heh heh.
Wobbling to the Finish With thanks to M. Carissimo
The Weeble’s a roundbottomed toy That cannot be kept down Shaped like a fat bok choi With the face of a grinning clown.
A doll with buns to the ankles Isn’t anatomically correct But however much it rankles With one the likeness is perfect.
Think of a being quite circular Whose pertinacity is evident And I’ll name a person particular Once running for president.
Hillary's A Heavy
I see Hillary knitting, like Madame Defarge, As severed heads roll into a basket. But ask not from whom the head rolls: It rolls from thee.
I see Hillary plotting, like Lucretia Borgia, The poisoned pill concealed in her ring. For whom is the chalice readied? That brew’s for me.
I see Hillary bestriding, a latter-day Colossus This nation from sea to shining sea. What a weight on the collective neck. Let’s not nominate she.
In the brain of McCain There is dust, A little rust Lobbyist lust And not a single thought.
The refrain of McCain: In Iraq stay Forever and a day So pray He never gets elected.
Because McCain is insane. This grandpappy Won’t be happy ‘Till the last chappy Has been sent away to die.
Know Your Enemy
If McCain is so strong On National Security Why does he go wrong Telling Shia from Sunni?
Iran is the former, Al Qada the latter. Each hates the other For them no small matter
But not for McCain! If to war we must go As you do maintain At least (for chrissakes) your enemy know.
A man of wrath is John McCain He wants a hundred years war. Bellicosity is his refrain He is a deadly bore.
“My friends” he drones in every ear “Final victory is heaven sent If you but never cease to fear – And make me your president.”
Just whom to fear is not explained Terror’s a rather vague enemy. Nor how victory might be attained; Its final shape never mentions he.
But if our president is McCain There’s one thing sure to dread Each speech of his will cause such pain We’ll literally be knocked dead.
Picture perfect is our man Mitt, So tailored and coiffed and groomed, But sad to say he’s not a hit I fear his candidacy’s doomed.
And yet he looks so jake! His clothes, his tan, his do. Were his hair a wig it’d look fake Hmm. Is that the voters’ aperçu?
Suppose he were disheveled And looked a tad less tony In our trust might he have reveled Seemed less the obvious phony?
I think not. His honesty lack When push comes to shove Is beyond that of the average hack; Even his millions can’t buy love.
George got a pass for going AWOL And a pass for the DUI ‘Cause he stopped the alcohol When told to by that guy in the sky And what’s a small desertion Compared to a religious conversion?
He got a pass for total ignorance And a pass for imbecility Voters thought they’d take a chance On his seeming amiability. And what’s the matter with knowing little When you’re your veep’s lickspittle?
Now home to roost are George’s chickens. We’re paying dear for those retakes. We know not what the dickens To do to fix his serial mistakes. Except to say, “Each vote with care bestow it And never again elect a presidential idiot.”
I do not like Hillbillary The reason why is plain to see Two for one’s a bargain sure For airline seats or furniture Pizza and beers and cups of tea But never for the presidency.
I do not like Hillbillary. Two heads indeed may better be For monsters in a narrative Or creatures very primitive But not at all, it’s evident For our future president.
I do not like Hillbillary. And it’s really not just me. A thing two headed cannot know If it’s arrived, or needs must go Whether of one mind it is, or two Has’t just begun or is’t all through.
Furthermore Hillbillary, it’s my belief No two-backed beast can be Commander in Chief.
Please Bill, Be still.
Oh Bill do shut up. No wonder Hill teared up You’re still a cut up When you should be a hush pup. With you we put up When Monica you did tup But now when you speak up We’re inclined to throw up.
Defending your Hill In grating tones shrill Your anger you still Let from your gut spill But the reason we’re ill Is you’re nought but a shill For an unbearable pill.
You cannot save her By spewing disfavor Of a bitter flavor. So do us a favor And retirement savor.
Like a summer rain fell her tears Though it was winter in New Hamp Confirming the worst fears Of those not in the Clinton camp.
Don’t cry for us, Mrs. C, Our sob sister you are not. You did once have our sympathy On account of that right wing plot.
But tears you really had no need To prove you’re of human stuff Your hectoring tone makes eardrums bleed And that is proof enough.
You did cheerlead this crazy war Though at the NIE took not a peep Of campaigning you may be weary sore But isn’t it we who should now weep?
To Be, Or Huckabee
Huckabee ain’t keen on evolution. Him big on restitution Of them baddies who kill or rape us Provided they done and gone found Jesus.
Him be a real Christian leader Has a wife but he don’t beat her Keep her by the stove instead ‘Cause that’s her job, outside of bed.
S’why in this here presidential ‘lection Ol’ Mike’s gonna be the selection Of them that love born-again thugs And value women – leastways their jugs And who hate that Charlie Darwin Enemy of all what’s Christian.
So y'all be sure to choose Mike Huck 'Cause him to God can pass the buck.
Norm Podhoretz is a delightful man Who’d love us all to bomb Iran. A sentiment positively contrived To please Bush and others sense-deprived.
Iran, they thunder, remains a mighty threat Their hatred of us we must not forget While without a doubt their religion Calls for our consignment to oblivion.
But just how those distant men in black Propose the United States to attack Is now unclear because our spooks Have learned the Iranians have no nukes.
While unsaid by Pod People, a simple verity: The Iranians would have to shed their sanity Before provoking with us a confrontation That can only result in their annihilation.
So shall we ignore Norm and Co. Or at least encourage them to find another foe? Let them declare war on poverty or acid rains, Or stupidity and obesity, Norm’s own twin banes.
Give War a Chance
We’ve had the big shows, I and II, Enough war for me and you. Comes Bush, with mad ferocity, Bent on promoting World War III.
Not enough the Iraq conflagration Nor the Afghan altercation Both begun with warnings dire Each an endless bloody mire.
Now again this man of wrath Leads us down the garden path: Bush claims he must be free To bomb Iran to halt World War III.
That argument is hard to follow Most Bush’s story will not swallow. But as with the war in Iraq, His crazed illogic mutters, “attack!”
Truman had but Korea, Johnson and Nixon their Vietnam, Reagan took on mighty Grenada, Bush the first conquered Panama. Clinton’s spats were several though speedy: Warring both long and often is greedy. Only George, insatiate man of rage, Craves multiple wars, each lasting an age.
The Long Bad Trip
Of manly virtues was Karl Rove, Really quite a treasure trove. Brave he was, for an old pol hack, Kicked only those who can’t kick back.
As steward of the Katrina affair, He left an entire city in despair Not a problem for this public citizen: New Orleans never votes Republican.
When character he must assasinate, Not once did he procrastinate McCain’s supposed miscegeny Rove engineered most elegantly.
John Kerry’s alleged flip flops? There Karl showed his political chops. But of those who fed him he spoke ought ill. Faithful he was as his boss’s shill.
Indeed there lies his true legacy In twice helping Bush to the presidency. Rove’s survived this twin elevation As so might, perhaps, the rest of the nation.
The Reason Why (with apologies to Cecil Woodham Smith and Baroness Orczy)
Speaking to a friendly crowd, George W. had them wowed. He couldn’t recall all his lines, But remembered to say “Al Qaeda” ninety times.
He sees them here, He sees them there, George sees terr’ists everywhere.
No matter where the conflagration Or the brutal altercation From Mesopotamia to our own great nation, The perp for sure’s old man Bin Ladin.
He sees him here, He sees him there, George sees Osama everywhere.
Once each had a Red in bed But those long since have upped and fled Now there’s OBL instead Duck and cover, lower your head!
He sees it here, He sees it there, George sees Al Qaeda everywhere.
We just had to take Iraq To stop another terr’ist attack Though of them once there was a lack, Now with evil-doers the ground there’s black.
He sees it here, He sees it there, George sees evil everywhere.
And so other nations must be taken, In regions blessed or god-forsaken, ‘Till from each tree may be shaken A terr’ist, bent on our liquidation.
For without them there, And without them here, George’d be back to sippin’ beer.
An unpright man is Scooter, Never has been seen at Hooter’s. Did write a novel, pornographic But in his pants kept his own wick.
A legal defender of the innocent, Even when they were mighty bent. For Marc Rich secured a pardon, While all the blame attached to Clinton.
Although I. Lewis was convicted, His movements are unrestricted. For though guilty as hell is Scooter, President Bush has made him a commuter.
It now appears quite certain That the man behind the curtain Has all along been Cheney, An evil man but brainy.
Bush? But a figurehead, A rubber stamp, easily led. The Cabinet mere suits for rent, Voiceless and impotent.
Congress followed Cheney’s lead, Like the Court, all too weak-kneed. Other usual checks and balances Were given absolutely no allowances.
All power devolved to this wicked king. Frodo goofed; Cheney has the ring.
Now that Scooter won’t get bail, Can we feel truly safe? With his colleagues still out of jail, Raw anxiety needs must chafe.
There’s Drop-dead Dick, Libby’s boss, A foul-mouthed murderer, He shot a friend and felt no loss. He’d do the same for any him or her.
Ravening Rove, the architect, Inventor of the Bush regime. Though few doubt his intellect, In question is his mental hygiene.
And Bush himself, the Great Decider, Commander Guy all love to hate. A drunk, a moron, and a liar, Head of a gang that can’t shoot straight.
Old Scooter could go on the lam, But against the advice of us. He’s far better in the slam, Than out here where it’s dangerous.
What’s the Matter With Albania?
As Bush travels the world around, Wherever Air Force One is gated, Diverse the crowds that greet him be, But uniform is their hatred.
Enemy of peace, liberty’s foe, Blundering butcher of Baghdad, All know this imbecile ignoramous to be, Through and through thoroughly bad.
Yet in a place whose bounds were sealed, Where to want in, or out, got you shot, Bush gets a real hero’s welcome, For they love the man, a lot.
Yes, Albanians are nostalgic folk And for Bush eschew derision. He reminds them of old Enver Hoxha, The tyrant who made their whole country a prison.
Covering a Spot of Bother
If you a tree wish to hide, The forest is the place to bide. Who shuns human interaction, In a crowd finds satisfaction. Created a largish spot of bother? Diversion lies in starting another.
As deeply dumb as it may seem, Bush has a hatched brilliant scheme: His baiting of Putin Is truly worthy of Rasputin. By restarting the old war, that was so chill, We turn from his hot one, that goes so ill.
The New Fifty
Good news: sixty is the new forty! So what if gravity’s made us a shorty, For the new fifty is now merely thirty! Even if the fair sex is rather less flirty. True those hairs on the head, Grow in other places instead. And joints that were limber Lack their old ginger. And the brain with good recall, Is now prone to stall. Okay, so the newly fifty’s not such a hero. But who’d be twenty, now mathematically zero?
A Wolf on Paper
Of infinite crust, darkling seer often Sure of the superiority of his wits. Alas. May ‘chutes of gold the blow soften, The World Bank pres is no longer Wolfowitz.
A man holy right down to his hose, Would spit on a comb his hair to groom, On his sleeve might blow his nose, Left in his wake war in full bloom.
Mastermind of matters Mesopotamian, This neoconservative tour de force, Conjured up a Mid East conflagration, Then through stable door made like a horse.
Goodbye Paul. To a think tank get thee There to hatch more deadly schemes. Which we may now view quite calmly, Henceforth on paper our nightmares be, your dreams.
Spring approaches, that friendly season, Soft breezes, baseball, temps within reason, Cherry trees blossom, soon we’ll have cukes, So why is everybody acquiring nukes?
India, Pakistan, all over the subcontinent, The Mid-East, where Iran wants to be dominant. Israel has them already, for make no mistake, Not fences but nukes do good neighbors make.
In North Korea, whose leader is scary, Of the outside world they’re very wary. So nukes they’re building, by ones and by twos, To make their neighbors shake in their shoes.
Chavez, the tough-talking Venezualan, None too fond of the average American, Of Castro’s Cuba such a big fan, Can it be long before he too, Gains the means to wipe out me, and you?
So welcome Spring with open arms, Enjoy its myriad flowery charms, Observe lambs gambol before they’re mutton, And pray no crazy presses the button.
Gang Aft Agley
What to call plans to get on track, President Bush’s war with Iraq? Is it a Surge, an Augmentation, Or a Vietnam-style escalation? A rose by any name smells sweetly, And canon fodder submits meekly Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die. Still, before charged the Light Brigade, Some queried that crusade, While with the unerring perspective, Of the view retrospective History names the endeavor, A grotesque and bloody error. So history’s judgement let us now anticipate: Don’t surge our troops, but all repatriate.
Red State Lament
Here in the heartland we are singing the blues, For we’re headed to hell, by ones and by twos, Led by folks who do whatever they choose, The damned who profess San Francisco Values.
Out here we’re god fearing and very upright Those Friscans fear nothing but being uptight. Hair shirts we sport, to honor our makers They wear nothing at all in the Bay to Breakers
Those unlike us we tend to despise and reject. The most varied of humans get their respect. Sins we may practice, though in decent secrecy. They go public with all sorts of iniquity.
We’re intolerant of most every sexuality. San Fran welcomes any form of conjugality. Hmm. Could it be, now that they’ve won, Those Friscans will teach us how to have fun?
At SMU, did George W., A library decree, Where generations of Texans can, Learn of their adoptive countryman, And his presidency.
Not mere millions, but half a billions To build is what it took. A library of glass and concrete Honoring a man with clay feet Never known to crack a book.
Reading’s not the point, of this new joint; There is no question of fraud. Instead are stabled writers, Those starving blighters, For George W.’s reign to laud.
Just how to raise, scribes to praise, An imbecile with broken diction? Even Mr. Bush can be commemorated By hacks sufficiently remunerated – So long as they’re writers of fiction.
Orare, Don Rumsfeld
Let us now praise Rumsfeld, Who in such esteem was held, That his absence from Defense Is to his true fans an offence.
For this, this was a man, And no ordinary Republican. From controversy he did not shrink, In enemies’ eyes, would not blink.
Had a folksy way about him, Parried critics with a special vim. Goodness gracious, he’d exclaim How you press guys do complain!
What’s a little looting, really, When the upshot is liberty? Why harp on body counts so high? It’s a soldier’s job to die!
No armor for our fighting troops? They should be grateful they’ve got boots! Tour of duty number five, boy? Lucky you, combat’s a true joy!
As for Rummy, no warrior he, Was like Gilbert’s boss of the Admiralty, Who stuck close to his desk, and never went to sea, And so became the ruler of the Queen’s Navy.
This chicken hawk, but in no wise dove, Was closer kin, to Doc Strangelove. Blood he favored, and broken bone, As long as neither was his own.
So all hail Rumsfeld, visionary, sage, and wit: Nothing became him in office like the leaving of it.
Dreams Come True
When Mr. Bush first laid claim, To making his own reality, Most thought him either quite insane, Or lacking in intellectual capacity.
But judge him not: Bush spoke truly. Those formerly mythical WMD, In terrorist hands unruly, Might, quite soon now, actually come to be.
A guide to preparing homemade nukes, And nerve gas maleficent, Was posted online by our very own spooks At the behest of our esteemed president.
Now the terrorists have the information To put on a really big show, Thus giving the Bush administration Their chance to say “told you so!”
The Coursing of the Stay
Stay the course no longer obtains, For the adventure in Iraq. Our leaders cudgel their brains, For new ways to mend that old crock.
Elmer’s glue will not work, Nor will string, paper clips, or paste. Even George has no more smirk, As the lives and treasure waste.
Whatever doubts about the right course, Might have this administration sad, Why keep flogging a dead horse, Or throwing good money after bad?
So instead of sacrificing our young, Bereaving still one more mother, Bring home our troops far flung, So (if they choose to) the Iraqis can kill each other.
Georgy Porgy, Pudding and Pie, Calls up the troops for them to die Says stay the course, complete the mission, And pardon me while I goes fishin’.
Meets with all our antique wise men, Hears them out, then bikes a mountain. Ponders the Mideast situation, And sits him down for cold collation.
Won’t talk to them North Ko'reens, Not while beckon those golfin’ greens Shuns the rabid I-ranians, Gotta watch ball with the other fans.
Spurns our allies right and left, Got those heavy weights to heft. Alarms are raised: the world’s going to hell! What George hears is the dinner bell.
The party of DeLay and Ney, Of Hastert and Foley, Swings from pederasty To governmental simony.
And that of Bush and Rumsfeld, Seems not to mind kids felled. Guns they wish us to wield, Whether in classroom or battlefield.
Cheney and Frist and Cunningham? Their show of virtue is a sorry sham, Their thinking, simply antediluvian: Like all the others they’re Reprobatelican.
The Reprobatelican Party
Defeatocrats! George shrills, The party of cut and run! We’re the party that stays and kills, We have all the fun.
They’re a mostly godless bunch, We stand for all that’s holy. On terror they’ve got no punch, We have old bugger Foley.
The Dems don’t want to listen To terroristic confabs. We do, ‘cept when out missin’ On extended rehabs.
They say we don’t care About the laws, or order. They would not ever dare Do our kind of torture.
Their values are not real, They even hold with wiccans. We just lie and cheat and steal, We’re the Reprobatelicans.
From Pain Refrain
Sad to say our president Is thinking with his fundament. Mr. Bush wants a license to chastise All those he’s inclined to despise. He claims agonizing his foes Brings the nation repose.
In this he’s certainly in error. Torturing won’t end terror Though it’s guaranteed To sow the terrorist seed And those promised a harem Will spread lots more mayhem.
How to discourage the Decider From inflaming each new suicider? We can try to gently explain, That it’s not right to cause pain That beatings are a tort, And no George, waterboarding’s not a sport.
The Uniter’s Vision
To protect our border, And send illegals thence, The Reprobatelicans propose A great big fence.
Seven hundred miles long, Lined with barb wire, As crossers get smarter, It can rise ever higher.
And around Baghdad, Choked with killing’s stench Bush has commanded An enormous trench.
This will put a stop, Avers our president, To the outrages inflicted, On each and every resident.
This trend in the making, From reason has immunity. And will only end, When Earth’s a gated community.
Safety in Blunders
The Bush administration Says trust us with your lives. We offer you protection From those bearded bad guys.
We’ve made you ever safer, With our line so very hard, Those terrorists don’t dare stir, While we are standing guard.
Though we’d like to believe, The administration’s story, Their talk fails to relieve Our ever-present worry.
The Bush men and Ms. Rice, Do not inspire confidence. Their judgment’s not so nice, And worse is their incompetence.
They blundered with Bin Ladin, And muffed it in Iraq. They’ve failed to stop the Taliban, From their big comeback.
Trust this administration, After all the wind they’ve sown? For the sake of our preservation Trust 'em as far as they can be thrown.
To creatures mythical, the list, Must be added the Islamofascist. As with the hippogryph and unicorn, Not a one was ever born. Although they can be rather beastly, Islamists are nothing like Fascistii.
One claimed godhead, most sacrilegious. The other is just frenziedly religious. One cultivated rockets and scientific sages, The other wants back to the middle ages. Instead of uniformed armies and navies mighty, Islamists come singly, often clad in a nighty. Try to picture, if you can Mussolini grafted to Bin Ladin.
So the war of words on terror, Is guilty of a major error. The modern Islamist militant, Is no retro fascist belligerent And Islamofascism, nothing but the mad creation, Of the mythmakers in the Bush administration.
Dumb and Dumber
Were Bush to debate Ahmadinejad, Nary a word of truth would be had. In one corner, a holocaust denier; In the other, a congenital liar.
One would argue black is white. The other, that Jews start every fight. Yet these men of faith might well agree That theo’s just as good as democracy.
Man With the Goldman Tongue
Henry M. Paulson is a very rich man, Who also happens to be, A very staunch Republican Hence he’s Secretary of the Treasury.
His income is growing, For nothing he lacks. His dollars keep flowing, From Goldman Sachs
But if your income’s falling, it’s his belief, Republicans aren’t to blame. Econ policy for the rich didn’t cause your grief, To say so is quite inane.
Rather, says Henry, here’s the thing, It’s just market forces at play. If your income seems to be shrinking, It’s because you aren’t worth more pay.
Mendacity Takes a Holiday
Against veracity he’s generally proof, But just recently Bush spoke truth. Asked what the connection, Between Iraq and 9/11, He forewent the customary lie. “Nothing!” was his factual reply.
A momentary indiscretion, Or a new determination, That in addressing the polity, Honesty is the best policy? With this incorrigable charlatan, The former is more than certain.
A Bush By Any Other Name
Here his name is mostly mud, The British call him “crap.” His policies are each a dud, His rule, a lethal trap.
He squints and smirks and rides a bike, And favors long vacations For thinking he has strong dislike, He’s the bane of the United Nations.
His language is rather louche, He never cracks a book, The French call him mistaire boosh, He is no ordinary schnook.
In Iran they say he’s Satan, An evil-doer and such, They may be exaggeratin’ But probably not by much.
Grand Old Partyers
Why does the Republican Get to have quite all the fun? Is it that his baroque mendacity Amuses more than plain veracity? Or that it is understood, Sharing’s wimpy, greed is good? To fight terror, war is grand, Police work, far too bland: Who wants a long investigation, When you can have a conflagration! The biggest Republican thrill of all? When one rings up, God takes the call.
Ach du Lieberman
Pious Joe Lieberman, Seeks a resurrection. Spurned by a constituency Wearied of his sycophancy, And certain his replacement Will eschew abasement Before the imbecile Whose domicile Heaven help us, Is the White House.
Ach du Lieber, Lieberman! Since you are a holy man, Why run independently, When you can join the GOP? It’s the perfect haven For your type of maven: The sanctimonious squirt Who wears religion on his shirt Champions with intensity, All captains of industry Feigns to rise above political mud And fearlessly wages war, with others' blood.
Not a Boy, Nor a Girl
Without broken eggs, Omelets are not made. Thus freedom for Iraq In casualties is paid. For the Lebanese Whose body count is high Peace may only come When lots more people die. The birth of a new Mid East! Does Dr. Rice proclaim. And what mother ever calved, Without her share of pain? Which begs another query, Of that mom so very wretched: Was Caliban’s delivery, Quite what you had expected?
Language of Faith
Perturbed by a foreign snit, Bush says stop that Hezbollah “shit.” A certain news-gathering troll He brands a major “asshole.” While the President’s speech is salty, His memory’s just a tad faulty. It was Bush who demanded indignantly, The restoration of White House dignity. Instead our chief shaker and mover Has made of his office a sewer Where to language bucolic, Two-legged rats frolic And the weasels, skunks, and roaches Have absolutely no reproaches, For the spewer of slime, They find sublime.
Air Conditioned Office Wisdom
Surrender? No, says Frist, nor will we retreat. And Denny Hastert won’t cut and run. Yet in Iraq, their bellicose conceit, It’s our troops who’re under the gun.
While none suggest surrender or retreat, And cutting and running’s off topic, A straw man just can’t be beat As a substitute for logic.
According to his Staffly Chief, The Bush mojo’s lost to a thief. We must get it back, says Bolton, Else his manhood he’ll be moultin.’ For without his mojo, Mr. Bush, His macho simply turns to mush. The war president, the great decider, Runs the risk of being neither. And yet the tragedy’s not unmixed, For many problems will be fixed. Though President Bush may be a martyr, We are all safer, now he’s Jimmy Carter.
C.E… uh, oh!
George W. Bush, MBA, The Commander in Chief, Knows all about flow charts, Present value, and debt relief. He graduated from Harvard, Where the ed. is fab, Honed his smarts, and learned The gift of the gab. At B school they taught him The Executive Credo: Never apologize, never explain, Make loads of dough. What you do is always Of little account; What you say is ever Of import paramount, Provided it’s said, look you With sufficient obscurity, That no one will notice Its utter lack of veracity. Reward all allies With lavish abandon, Dump foes in the river With cement overshoes on. Above all don’t forget, If you succeed by your art, The rest of the world can, likely will, Go to hell in a handcart.
A rising tide of military brass Wants the removal of Rumsfeld’s ass, From his seat as chief, Of the armed forces fief. But can we blame Don, For all that’s gone wrong? Iraq’s flames he’s fanned, Missed Osama in Afghanistan, Put troops in harm’s way, For their armor wouldn’t pay, Ran torture chambers aplenty, Made crooked contractors wealthy. The Economist calls him a serial bungler, Also, he’s not getting any youngler. Your time has come, Rummy. While not exactly funny, Your reign will be seen, As just one big scream.
We ran, You ran, Iran
With our current wars so old, Yesterday’s news, history’s also-ran, It’s high time for policy bold: Let’s attack Iran! With nukes they are making whoopy; Our chiefs of intelligence say so, Folks who never draw conclusions loopy. Their weapons plants, therefore, we must blow. We’ll bring the Iranians freedom, democracy, Our leaders are sure to crow. Do you think our leaders need a lobotomy? For they haven’t had one already (as far as we know.)
Fare thee well, Tom DeLay. The nation owes you a debt of gratitude. As out from Congress you make your way, We salute your moral turpitude. Just like the others of your pious ilk, William Bennett, Newt Gingrich, limo-loving John Sununu, Fete yourself, don’t cry over spilled milk. As that Frenchy said, hypocrisy is the homage vice pays to virtue.
Bush, Harper, and Fox, Held a meeting by the sea. “We must think out of the box,” All three were pleased to agree.
A peaceful border, said Fox, is needed. Fair trade, urged Harper, is its own reward. Those are ideas, Bush conceded. But ‘bout that box: y’all mean paper, or cardboard?
Antarctica’s temp is getting high, So that in time there’ll be, Lovely beaches on which to lie, Alongside a nice warm sea.
The melting sheets of ice now cover, Fields of green, colorful flowers, Lanes for strolling with a lover, Grassy knolls and shaded bowers.
So to Rio, Hawaii, the Riviera And other playgrounds on the water, We’ll soon be saying sayonara, Antarctica is for our holiday charter!
In retrospect, Antarctica’s appeal, Where all vacationers surged, Time will without a doubt reveal, When everywhere else’s submerged.
Council of War
In colors phony Said George to Tony, We will paint a plane To provoke Hussein. The craft we’ll dress in blue and white, The U.N. colors, just for spite. In Saddam’s guise we’ll shoot it down, We’ll feign outrage, and with angry frown, For our armies we’ll loudly shout, So to drive that tyrant out! Nice one George, said humble Tony, But in our path is one small stony: Our chums at the U.N. will say it’s a frost, For not one of their planes will really be lost. “Good point” observed a saddened George, “Some better lies I’ll have to forge.” Certain the world of Saddam must be rid, That that’s precisely what he did.
War of the Words
The war goes well, say George Dick and Don, And if not we’ve got the press to blame it on. With their cameras, phones, and low self-esteem, Journalists are wreaking havoc on our grand scheme. If those reporters will only shut up, Our troops in Iraq can pack up. Once the press stops leaking facts like a sieve, We can declare total victory, and leave.
Condi’s in Indonesia, Making a case for collective amnesia. We know you hate us, she admitted, For the bloody blunders we’ve committed. But our differences can be buried with toil, For you need our money, and we need your oil.
State of the Onion
We’re addicted to oil, says George, Though on it we unrestrainedly gorge. But if we must be more competitive, Why make higher ed. more expensive? As for second guessing as strategy, It’s better than catastrophe as policy.
It’s self-defense, not assassination, Says the Bush administration, Not torture, but interrogation, While Eastern Europe’s for incarceration. The Geneva Conventions are “quaint,” Support for warrants very faint, And who needs an old saw, Like the rule of law? Next up, a presidential disquisition, On the need to establish an American Inquisition.
Unremarked go the lunatic lies, While another soldier dies, In the quagmire called Iraq The carnage won’t stop, Until those at the top, In their straightjackets are put safely back.
Frying Pan Blues
He lied about Iraqi WMD, He lies about wiretapping you, and me. But however worthy our beef, With this dreadful Commander in Chief, His fate cannot be impeachment: Next in line’s his even worse Vice President.
What a Rascal is Alito (With apologies to L. Bemmelmans)
Were it the choice of Judge Sammy Alito, Individuals would be roasted, grilled, and frito, Before there came any harm at all, To entities large and powerful. High officials, big business, and the banks, Will cheer Alito’s ascension. The judge has earned their earnest thanks, By deciding ever for them, sans dissension.