Titus Moronicus, part two

Part the second: Titus Moronicus, a history play
presented by The Dick Times: News that Bites!
Note to readers: this issue and a few that follow are
reprints of three year old material. New characters
and scenes will soon be added, thus bringing
everything up to date so that it still really bites.
For dramatis personae and earlier scenes please
see part one, an earlier posting. No synopses will
be provided as the serial continues to appear.
ed.
*************************************

Scene four, the book lined study of Dickus.
Dickus is reading a manuscript of the first
three scenes of a history play, “Titus Moronicus”.

Dickus, to himself: This is so cool I can’t stand it!

Sophia Loren, offstage : Dickus, cara, please come back to bed.
I miss you so much!

Dickus: Later, baby, and please don’t bother me
while I’m reading Scene Five, a garden apartment in Bigsville. Dubus and Laurinia are seated at a crude wooden table in the the kitchen. Dubus is drinking a root beer float through a straw.

Laurinia: Dubus, dear, please don’t make those disgusting sucking noises at the bottom of the cup. If you’re still hungry we can get you another one.

Dubus: Oh, foo! I don’t care about this treat or about anything else, except for what Ronus Balonius told me.

Laurinia: Oh, don’t worry about that cranky nut, Dickus. No one really knows that he’s alive, and besides, the few people that do read his trashy propaganda wind up throwing it away without passing it along to like minded literate friends.

Dubus: Well, I guess so, but with so much riding on this Croftus deal it seems like a bad time to take chances. There are millions at stake here! Maybe even as much as twenty million!

Laurinia: Wow, sweetie, that’s more than I make at the nail salon, for sure!

Dubus: Jeez Louise! Tell me about it!
******************************************
Scene Six, the counting room at Moronicus, Inc., a secret off -shore corporation out in the Gulf Stream someplace where only very important yachts are allowed to sail. Titus Moronicus and several close associates are going over the books.

Titus: Okay, Anderson, what do you come up with here?

Anderson: Well, boss, it looks like we’ve got about 500 billion loaded in and at least that much more on the way if that sap Dubus doesn’t catch on or screw up.

Titus: Don’t worry about that half wit! He still counts on his fingers and toes, so twenty of anything is about as far as he can get.

A cell phone rings, and Titus takes the call.

Titus: Speak.

Bushus, on the phone from Puerto Bunka: Titus, it’s me, Bushus. How ya doin’
out there in the old Bermuda Triangle?

Titus: Bushus! Great to hear from you! How’s that angel of yours, Barbarosa?

Bushus: Oh, you know those gals, Titus! What would we do without ‘em!

Titus: Hey, I hear ya, pal. So what’s up?

Bushus: Just got a call from that son of mine, Dubus. Sounds worried! Been talking to clouds or some nutty thing. Got to keep our eyes on him. Not good. Might get worse. Croftus looks like he’s out to run a scam from the inside, try to skim from both ends, a flim flam skim scam. Man, oh man!

Titus: Does Dubus know anything about this skim scam?

Bushus: Nah, he’s still in jammies
when it comes to flim flamming!
Thinks the meter man collects quarters
from the fuse box!
Drops coins in slot I cut in footlocker!
When gas guy knocks on door to read usage,
Dubus sees to it locker’s full,
leaves key under mat, my guys get dough,
Dubus gets fuel bill in mail, sends in check,
rubs neck and goes “Hey... ! What the heck?”

Titus: And then forgets about it and does the same thing next month, right?

Bushus: Did we pick a winner here, or what?

Titus: You da man!
*************************************
Scene Seven, a branch post office in Roma Cosa Nostra (RCN), a shady middle class neighborhood of Bigsville. Dickus stands at the counter speaking with Kristus Bellus, the postmistress, who is also a government informer.

Dickus: Golly, Kristus, I don’t understand why I never get any mail.

Kristus Bellus: Well, Dickus, it’s because your account has been deactivated. You got so few messages that we gave your box number to Fox News, which was just overflowing!

Dickus: Oh. Gee. Well. Okay, then, g’bye. (exits to left)

Kristus Bellus, aside: Wow! That guy is kind of a hunk! Too bad he’s such a loser.

Kristus Bellus reaches into her handbag and withdraws a sleek new state-of-the-art cell phone. She hums an A flat below middle C and the pre- programmed number of Croftus is sent into the ether. A buzzing indicates that contact has been made.

Croftus: Big Cee, here.

Kristus Bellus: Big Cee? Kay Bee.
Just saw writer guy.
He whined to know why
none buy into Dubus bashing.
I keep trashing his mail,
won’t fail to keep smashing his ego down,
but to no avail if you clowns don’t stop
thrashing in the water,
making waves so sharks smell fear,
queer Potomia deal !

Croftus: You gonna squeal?

Kristus Bellus: Lips sealed !
Won’t reveal a thing
if you peel off more dough,
give me ring to come pick up my share.
Don’t care about fool Dickus,
just want my cut of fat nut you’ve got for Bushus.

Croftus: And Dubus?

Kristus Bellus: He’s non compos mentis!
**************************************
**************************************
End of Act One!
**************************************
Entre Acte, a delightful musical interval
**************************************
Three minstrels, Goofus, Doofus, and Bandoneon
appear on stage, wave engagingly to the audience,
and begin to sing :
*
A mess of mass proportions
set in motion by these crooks!

They’ll steal us into bankruptcy
and keep it off the books!

And those who point a finger,
blow a whistle,
or make waves,
are painted as seditious
by these avaricious knaves!

Are painted as seditious!
A calumny most vicious!
Are made to seem seditious
by these avaricious knaves!
*
In every fair election
there are bound to be mistakes!

But now the state that gave us Gators
sends us poison snakes!

We’re climbing through a family tree
to see who’s most corrupt,
and squeezing all the fruits we find
until they all erupt!

So carefully we’re climbing!
So freely are we sliming!
And we’ll continue with our rhymes
until they all erupt!
*
We read the papers every day
to look for fresh examples,

It never takes us very long
to find revealing samples!

So many revelations of
a scandal in the press!
How deep the roots of rottenness
is anybody’s guess!

Our fingers black and inky!
The stories are so stinky!
And where this train is taking us
is anybody’s guess!

We know we sound malicious!
Of Dubus we’re suspicious!
We’ll do what’s deemed propitious
to redeem us from this mess!

We need some whistle tooters
and special prosecutors
to bust these pinstripe looters
and redeem us from this mess!

We hope we have your blessing!
The news is so depressing!
And if they start confessing,
they’ll redeem us from this mess!
Redeem us!
Redeem us,
please redeem us from this mess!
******************************
The minstrels exit to delirious applause.
*******************************
Intermission

Titus Moronicus, a history play

Here follows the serialized republication of Titus Moronicus,
a dramatic effort that was interrupted two years ago ( a case
of Titus Interruptus ) and has not yet concluded. More episodes
will be posted as they are written.
From Lincoln Avenue,

THE DICK TIMES
NEWS THAT BITES!

PRESENTS:
TITUS MORONICUS, A HISTORY PLAY
IN A FEW ACTS AND
SEVERAL PERMUTABLE SCENES

The players:
Titus Moronicus, a purveyor of fragrant oils
Dubus, his bagman
Bushus, father to Dubus
Barbarosa, wife to Bushus
Croftus, an evil schemer and
water carrier to Dubus
Dickus, a noble scribe
Laurinia, a concubine
Bonitia, a sorceress
Ronus Balonius, a ghost
Goofus, Doofus, and Bandoneon, three minstrels
The Cattae, two house pets
Kristus Bellus, a postmistress
and assorted drifters, grifters, and innocent gapers

The place: Bigsville, capital of Bucksania, a country truly blessed
The time: this afternoon

Scene one:
Dubus is lying on the grass in front of Casa Blanca, a large white mansion which Dubus thinks of as his own, but which was actually stolen by Titus Moronicus in a Florida land swindle.

White fluffy clouds float across the sky, and Dubus, a fellow of rich and fanciful imagination, tries to assign anthropomorphic names to the cloud shapes.

Dubus: Popcorn ball....no, cotton candy!.....No, snowball...no, scoop of vanilla, yeah, that’s the ticket! Dubus loves vanilla!

The Cloud: No, Dubus, not ice cream, but I, Ronus Balonius, ghost of Casa Blanca past and mentor to thy father, Bushus.

Dubus, in disbelief: Get the (*) outta here!

Ghost: No, Dubus, I communicate only the truth, or I am not a world war two combat veteran.

Dubus: You’re not anyhow! You just played one in the movies!

Ghost: Just as you, Dubus, have only played at being chief of Casa Blanca, while it is well known that your father, Bushus, appointed Titus to run Bucksania. You are but a figurehead, like those wooden carvings on old sailing ships, or like a wooden cigar store Indian, or like Pinocchio, Charlie McCarthy, Jerry Mahoney, Howdy Doody, or....

Dubus: All right! So what? Who cares, anyhow?

Ghost: Very few care now, Dubus, but Dickus is trying to engage the public in a critical dialogue regarding thy faux stewardship in Casa Blanca. Do you know Dickus?

Dubus: That old fool? Who listens to him withal.

Ghost: His audience grows, Dubus, and with it his daring and ambition! Take precautions to guard thyself from his pernicious mischief.

Dubus: A viscous handkerchief? A vicious indian chief? What's that to me? He's just some crackpot with a pen. Why, down in Texilia we'd have him thrown off a cliff. Or frame him for tax evasion. Or inject him in the Big House!

Ghost: You're not in Texilia anymore, Dubus. Guard thyself! Guard thyself! Guard.....
The voice fades as the cloud drifts off and dematerializes in a vaporous and insubstantial haze, its natural state.

Dubus, appearing anxious and somewhat agitated, arises from the lawn and exits while speaking to himself: Must tell Laurinia, must tell Laurinia.....
**************************************

Scene Two, in which we meet new characters in a new venue,"Just Desserts", an elegant but tastefully restrained villa in Puerto Bunka by-the-Sea, the summer home of Bushus and his wife, Barbarosa.
These two are found seated at an umbrella shaded table, drinking sun tea from a recycled institutional size Sam's Club kosher pickle jar.

Bushus: Tea tastes kinda funny, Rosa.

Barbarosa: Well, that goddam new maid we brought up from Texilia keeps breaking the crystal tea jugs! We should fire the stupid bitch!

Bushus: Can't do it, hon. Need the Texilia vote in the box for Dubus come next election. Can't go on counting on a cracker meltdown forever.

Barbarosa: Goddammit! Look at that rotten little mongrel! He's digging in the zinnia again! Go get the shotgun, you idiot!

Bushus: Now, hon, bad press, there. Can't do it. Too much noise and blood. Folks out there like their pets.

Barbarosa: Stinking little dog! Half witted son, Dubus! Idiot husband! Do I deserve all this crap?

Bushus: Rosa, hon, you've been just the best wife and mommy a family could ever hope for. We all love ya, Rosa, hon. Do anything for ya.

Barbarosa: Then drop dead, you pathetic fool!

Bushus: Can't do it, hon.
****************************
Scene Three, a street corner in Potomia, Bigsville's most notorious slum.
Croftus is in serious negotiation with three degraded and disheveled looking men dressed in tattered chalk stripe suits and greasy yellow "power" ties. Croftus wears a curious headpiece made from a skullcap with a bill-like curved eyeshade projecting form its lower edge. The front of the cap is decorated with an illumination which bears the legend “Feces occursum est”.

Croftus: Bless you, brethren, but thy lucre,
though certainly filthy enough,
is vastly insufficient to the task at hand.

Grifter number two: Croftus, thou deceitful hypocrite! This fortnight past did’st thou extract from us four stone’s weight of purest Colombian as good faith on the prospect currently to hand, and now the price has risen threefold! And by thy whim or fancy,
but for no cause beyond thy most capricious greed!
What sayest thou to this charge
of most pernicious perfidy?

Croftus points to his hat.

Grifter number two: Speak, mute,
hold not thy tongue from twisting in upon itself
to form an auger which shall only serve
to bore more holes through further tales
of self- incriminating obfuscation.

Croftus points to his hat.

Grifter number three: Croftus, thy cap doth prove thee false,
for what a man weareth tells nothing of the inner self,
while hats that talk can but make sport of truth’s divinity!

Croftus points to his hat.

Grifter number two: Forsooth, thou art forsworn
by such a juvenile adornment!
Speak aloud! Give natural voice
to all the lies that Dubus bids you to convey!

Croftus points to his hat.

Grifter number three: Would that some exalted god
whose wisdom fathoms far beyond
the depths that we mere crawling, mewling worms
can comprehend now whisper to my ear
the reason why a crown of such exalted excellence
should lie upon a head so low as that of Dubus!

Croftus points to his hat.
************************

The Fate of the Union

The Dick Times:News that Bites!
Dateline the Capitol, 2 Feb. year of the post turtle
Chinese “Capitalism renews all energies” calendar
The Fate of the Union!

George Bush Deuce recites the gospel
Rove hath writ
in hopes of writing history
as he sees fit.

Red horde shouts “Hallelujah, lord!”
and climbs on board the bus to Dubbyville
as Bush continues spooning up
more irritating swill.

Our nation is now safer
with the fourteen hundred dead
the war has cost so far
and purple fingers wave in unison to prove it!

The moms whose kids have died protecting them
from bad Saddam
might wonder where the weapon that he had
to kill us all has gone:
did Rumsfeld secretly remove it ?

Our triumph over evil in Iraq
reduces disappointment
with the fact
that one who started all this rolling
in ought one
is still at large:
all six foot four of him.

Chances that Bin Laden will be caught
are slim to naught
given that he’s bigger
than the Beatles
in his land.

More close to hand, the fiscal dice are rolling down the felt
and all our S.S. numbers
may soon melt away,
but many Wall Street brokers will rejoice the day
this C.C. Rider made his play
(that’s Compashnit Cornserv’tive to ya’ll)

Dying broke now good for you, sez Dub
so older folks who didn’t rake it in
through corporate sleaze
will no more rest at ease
through medicaid-
Team Bush now pushes for
a cut in benefits to save four billion
in the next ten years,
the cost of six months fighting wars
to make the world safe for Halliburton,
Baptists, and a franchise for G.E.

The god stays in the picture for the G.O.P.
and what Saint Paul
and Calvin once proclaimed
is fast becoming carved in D.C. stone
or destined for the constitution

This pious simpleton and acolytes
have lied and schemed
to show us what the good old days
we never had
were like

when wars were worthy of our lives
and we all slumbered under Ike

before the negroes acted up
and kids decided not to die
because some state department
said they should.

Dick sez: would you risk your life for Rice?
Does that come with lobster bisque?

http://thedicktimes.blogspot.com

Dick Reviews the week!

The Dick Times: News that Bites!
Dateline Dee Cee, 30 January, year of the post turtle
Chinese “New Entrepreneurs” calendar
News ot the week in review!

Rice crosses fingers twice in double oath taking!
Two swearing- ins required
to make her keep her word
to save us from
all enemies, both foreign and domestic.

Bless Dick if he doesn’t think
she’s a double-crosser!
*****************************************
And! Hillary climbs new heights of double-talk
and balks at all-out fight to back abortion rights!

Her aides stay up at night to parse these speeches
and she reaches out to move the hearts and minds
of those who hate her most
as ghost of Clintons past!
******************************************
And! Iraqi voters file gallantly to polls to cast their votes
thus making world safe from U.S. presence there!

It’s on the square and up and up says Bush
in push to give his boys a chance to bail-
we hope.
******************************************
And! Executives at DuPont voice objections
to talk of U.S. pullout
fearing fall in future orders for body bags
if killing lags behind market projections!

They seek congressional protections
of Viet Nam variety
when Napalm was the scent du jour:
it smelled like victory.
******************************************
Dick sez: when all this is history
will it still be so much fun?

Dick does take-out

The Dick Times: News that Bites!
Dick does take-out!
Dateline the Capitol, 24 January year of the slug
revised Chinese calendar

Brown Rice is steamed by liberals
but doesn’t soften!

Dick sez: I often add some olive oil
to tenderize; try the extra virgin

Condoleezza rigid under rising tide
of criticizing!

Dick sez: not surprisingly, fried rice becomes
real crispy if it’s overcooked.

Some senators imply she should be booked
for passage out to Leavenworth!

Dick sez: when the server brings it to you overdone,
say “Hon, you suffer from a dearth of common sense;
this stuff’s too tough to chew!”

Bush sez tough Rice is good for you!

Dick sez: that guy knows beans about cuisine!
Scrape it off the plate and order menu number seventeen:
“Dim Dub Go Bai”

And: The Diquiz!
George W. Bush’s “war on terror” has thus far cost
the nation over three hundred B billion dollars in funds
spent or committed.
If Carl Sagan and Johnny Carson
were up in heaven now, would Carl make vivid to Johnny
the size of this pile by describing it as a stack of one dollar bills
reaching out to the edge of the solar system?

Hail Siezure!

The Dick Times: News that Bites!
Dateline Fortress DC, 20 January, year of the monkey, cont.
Hail Seizure!

So easy lies the head that sits beneath his crown
and this, the winter of our discontent,
will see no summer ‘til a new day dawns
in four more years.

In tears we’ll watch the army posting guard
so he can once again proclaim
“Bein’ president is real hard work!”

and all around the globe the world’s citizens
can scratch their chins and wonder
how a jerk like Dub could win the hearts and minds
of folks unduly blessed with everything
but common sense.

Dick sez: a mensa candidate he ain’t.

Dick Dubs an emperor!

The Dick Times: News that Bites!
Dateline DC, January ought five

Agenda frenzy in the offing
and Dick doffs cap to newly Dubbed
Faux George Third the Second
who now goes on to wreck the nation
by donning purple for inauguration!

With Darwin still in schools
and Jesus not yet on a twenty
there’s plenty for the Reds to work on
in the next four years!

Queers run rampant in our streets,
some New Deal stuff that still requires beating back,
no lack of sin to rail against and prayers to post
on court house doors!

Many wealthy still are taxed,
and death row inmates need to die
to learn their lesson!

Smith and Wesson wants us all
to own a gun
for sport,
and other sorts of Christian teachings
need to reach some stubborn ears!

Now that we have triumphed in Iraq
the troops will soon be back
to help keep order
should the Blues require
education
with the help of new best selling
Little Red Book.
Dick sez: look for that one soon at Borders.

And! The Diquiz!
How many elected Republicans does it take
to turn on a light bulb
over the head of the Democratic party?

Not so Speedy, please

The Dick Times: News that Bites!
Dateline The Rabbit Hole January ought five

Alice would have felt at home in Bush’s U.S.A.!
A weasel gets the senate’s nod for Justice Chief!
He personifies the metaphor “banality of evil”
in answers to the soft ball questions
on his take on torture!

“Oh, sure,” he says,” it’s easy to be gentle
to a gentleman, but don’t let’s spare
the red hot irons when guys are really bad!
A needle underneath the fingernail won’t kill you,
and if you’re innocent the pain will pass.
After all, this is the information age.”

This worm in human form is Dubby’s final answer
in the line of Red Horde A.G. picks!

Dick flicks his middle finger at Gonzales
and asks you to consider all these names below:
John Mitchell
Ed Meese
John Ashcroft

How many places were set at
The Mad Hatter’s tea party?
When will the Democrats arise
and finally, effectively, with some
degree of unanimity say
“Off with their heads!”
Oh, sorry, that would be capital punishment,
and three Democrats might not believe it’s
a deterrent to crime...( and as a consequence
probably won’t be reelected. )

Dick Times warning signs!

The Dick Times: News that Bites!
Dateline Indian Ocean, 2 January

RED ALERT! RED ALERT!
Jeb takes steps to larger stage
as Dub engages him in diplomatic role!

Another foal of guy from CIA
expresses his concern
in ways he learned
when hurricanes happened hard
in Florida!

The next red candidate for king
is stepping to the plate
before the latest crown is dropped
on brother’s sloping brow!

Dick sez: What now? Is this the “vision thing”
their old man talked about?
Could even Bobby Fischer
see this many moves ahead?

A Boy Named Tsue

The Dick Times: News that Bites!
Dateline Dee Cee, New Year’s Eve aught four

Bush finds tsunami one consonant
and many continents too much for him,
goes slim on rescue aid!

Afraid of using stash now set aside
for coronation bash
he cinches up the money belt,
goes Grinch one better
by behaving like a boorish swine!
Dick sez: fine with me, I’d hate
to change opinions in mid-sty.

AND!!! The management and staff of
The Dick Times wish all of you
if you are blue
a Happy New Year!
You’re red? Drop dead.
(You guys invented “Better dead than red”)

Junior G-Man

This was written four years ago, but it retains
at least one major criterion for publication on the blog: it bites!

JUNIOR G MAN
Junior, G - man now at last, swings his feet up on the desk
where bigger shoes have rested in the past.
His smallish Stetson, just five gallons,
hangs upon the outstretched hand of Jefferson,
a bronze he really doesn’t like,
a man we think he’ll really never understand.

The statue left behind by some guy who preceded him-
How many were there? Hard to tell...
The times before his dad and Dutch he can’t remember well
The days when he was still a drinkin’ man,
Before he had that temperance walk upon the beach with Graham.

Behind his back the famous Garden sits
Where Bushes of a different color bloomed before.
Now gray and snowy
but come spring, when winter ends,
filled with Texas pals and friends
firing up the barbecue.
Nothing else for him to do,
with all those fellows
that his father made him bring
taking care of business,
passing out the favors,
collecting on the debts,
making sure the congress gets
the message that the grownups
once more are in charge;
cleaning any incidental mess,
shooing out unfriendly members of the press
whose growing skepticism
might be giving him a headache
in an extra large,
and standing by the oval office door
to muffle any rap
that might intrude upon a four year nap.

But thorny issues on his plate, just now--
Plan Columbia, an Ohio town, growing drugs
or sniffing them, or selling them
He doesn’t know what all, he shrugs.
And shipping them through Mexico, a continent away, he thinks.
He’d been to all those places in the race that brought him here--
He blinks and blinks and blinks.
Remembering them is just so hard!
Need to get Marines or tanks or new B-ones down there
and find out
what the heck the problem is.
Does O-HI-O have
a national guard?

And fat old Sa-dam, out there in Iraq
building nukes and guns behind our back.
He’ll just have Colin take him to the woodshed once again
“We shouldda creamed that dude the first time out
Back in Austin we would execute the guy.
Hey, you A--Rab, your butt’s gonna fry
Just let me get my hands on ya’ll!”
Him, leaning out the window,
We can hear him shout
across the White House lawn,
an echo bouncing up and down the mall.

There’s all that real estate tied up by Clinton in his final days
when congress wasn’t here to watch the store,
making sure it stayed unlocked,
and now they have to bust the door
to undo all the knots that Willie tied around the parks.
Dick Cheney says that there are ways,
and Dad says don’t go off half cocked.
Dang that slick guy anyhow!
Junior’d like to feed him to the sharks.

But Ray’s hatched up some plea to let the bastard slide
and get away with all the lies he ever told,
so every road that’s never built through Yellowstone
to cut a tree,
to drill for oil,
to shoot the Bush Kalashnikov;
for every lease on drill rights that’s unsold,
For every pristine canyon
that must go without a hydro dam
Sonny knows Bill’s breathing free
not chained up in the slam
where every decent person knows he oughtta be-
“all those loyal folks out there who’d rather vote for me
than Gore or Bub...”
...oops,
don’t go there, Dub.

Two signs
*THE BUCK STOPS HERE
*NO HEAVY LIFTING DONE
Take just a sec to guess which one sits on Dubya’s desk.
With lots of brains poor Junior wasn’t blessed.
_________________________________________________________
Jim Mall, Chicago, Illinois, ‘naugeration day / 20 Jan. 2001

Dick sees Red!

The Dick Times: News that Bites!
Dateline Red Horde Central, 21 December

Bushspeak climbs higher peak
as Chief pronounces deep belief in Rummy!

Applying verbal tummy rubs
Dub goes “He’s good fellow,
follows mellow heart’s fond wish
to help the poor Iraqis serve up dish

of Sunday School democracy

in place of bad theocracy

where Jesus
doesn’t whisper
in the leader’s ear.

“Have no fear,” The Chief goes on,
“this will only last a few more years,
‘til all of us or all of them are dead.”

(This last part was not actually said,
but what the hell, it’s what the moron means.)

Dick sez: He's Time Magazine’s “Person of the year”

Dick Times News Flash!!!

The Dick Times: News that Bites!
Late breaking news flash!!!
16 December 04
The Times has just learned that George Bush
is about to plead guilty to everything and
enter the Witless Protection program!
Insiders leak plan to reduce relocation
and disguise expenses by spraying the President
with artificial " Hair in a Can" and integrating him
into the chimp colony of Chicago's Lincoln Park Zoo's
new primate habitat.
When viewing this exhibit please observe the zoo's
"Do not feed" policy.

Medal of Dishonor

The Dick Times: News that Bites!
Dateline Neverland East, December 1984

President George orWell Bush
pushes way beyond lost credibility
while decorating guys
with no ability
to win his war!

Medals hung on necks of terrorist creators
remind the cynical of nooses
looped on traitors!

But Bush can do no wrong
with rabid throngs of Red Mob
in his thrall
as they’re out Christmas shopping
at the mall.

They may be looking for
some new prosthetics for their kids,
the ones not getting draped with ribbons
by The Chief:
to Dick, the thief of reason, wisdom,
and the truth,
a witless pestilence
too dense or vile
to reprove
his hateful henchmen.

And! The Diquiz!
Your choice for the next
Czar of Homeland Security:
Gomer Pyle
Homer Simpson
Butthead
Inspector Clouseau
Barney Fife
Since the office is obviously an empty
symbol of macho incompetence, what
difference could it make?

A Right Rum Job

The Dick Times: News that Bites!
A Right Rum Job
Dateline 9 December, a place you won’t remember!

Buck stops short of Rummy
as he dumbs up in troop inquiry!
He’s looking small in town hall group
when challenged by GIs!

He asks these guys to stand up,
take it like a man;
it’s what your president would want,
the implication runs,
while Bush is basking in the sun
of Red Mob love,
high above
the junk yard armor fray.

He wears a sharp new soldier coat,
kind of like the one Ike wore,
but sans five stars.
Dick sez: and sans his risking sorry ass
in shooting wars.

And! The Diquiz!
Thirty years from now, will counter-culture kids
be combing through the resale shops
looking for “ one of those way cool
commander-in-chief jackets just like, uh,
you, like, know, like, uh that Clinton, like, wore”?

Dick vs. Dee Cee Turkey

The Dick Times: News that Bites!
Dateline earth, 2004, barely

Our Story thus far:
White House T.G. turkey gets reprieve
as Bush receives new lease!
Dems ask U.S. to choose another Bubba Lite,
Reds put up a half wit in the fight
and win
then say we’re all concerned with sin,
and that’s why Kerry lost the race!
Hero not a military man like Dub, say Reds,
as Powell, the only one they have to fill that role,
gets axed!

And on the color issue, Ridge,
the wiz of green to red,
is waxed as well,
and Ashcroft, too, a sorry memory!
That anti-dancing jerk
now seeks new work!
The papacy’s not in the cards for him
should Rome soon post a vacancy:
John’s church drinks grape juice at communion!

Heads fall like Paris in The Terror
as Bush seeks only bearers of Good News!
Cabinet shuffle muffles all dissent
and those who get ideas from now on
keep them hidden:
advice unbidden gets the donor whacked,
so don’t be looking for a crack new team!

A cheering squad just like his Eli days,
all ditto heads which bob in unison
as He commands!

His foreign policy now focused north,
he tries to make amends to Canada
but balks at crossing border
of good sense!

Too dense, he goes on making past mistakes
and won’t apply the air brakes in Iraq!
Red Horde puts insurgents to the sword,
convinced their Lord is pleased by body count!

Dick sez: is that part in
the sermon of the mount?

And! The Diquiz!
Which of these U.S. presidents felt compelled
to make a public pronouncement condemning
“Modern Art” as a tool of communism?
A. Dwight Eisenhower
B. John Kennedy
C. Ronald Reagan
D. Richard Nixon
E. Harry Truman
F. George H. W. Bush
G. George W. Bush
Clue!
Think of something that rhymes
with the “F word” ( no, not Falujah )


Coda:
for those geographically challenged
recipients who are unable to gaze into
the window of Dick’s Famous Books
( not it’s real name )
and view the midwest’s finest Christmas display,
here is a letter which rests beneath
a green plastic tree (made in China):

Too Santy at the Norf Poll
Dere Santy,
Pleese make peepul stop calling me
a lying moron.
Thank you,
Georgie
and p.s. pleese for Crismiss get me
a reel brane.

Don’t you wish that you were in this large
midwestern city, standing on the sidewalk
in rain or snow or whatever happened to be
going on that minute, so you could read
this letter aloud to your bored date
just like many of the drunks from the Italian
restaurant next door do?

The Dick Times Junk Drawer

The Dick Times: News that Bites!
Dateline Chicago 9 November

Many readers are like, yo, Dick, given your near pathological obsession with the late campaign, surely you must have lying around the hard drive just reams of unused material which you perhaps with undo modesty deemed too repetitious, too lame, or too, dare we say it, over the top to have sent to us, your breathlessly awaiting recipients.
Dick pleads guilty to this insinuation and herewith submits, only for ecologically sound, pro- recycling purposes, a small crumb from The Dick Times Junk Drawer.
*******************************
THE NEWSREEL:
Hicks lick city fellers
as urbanists lick battle scars!
Election mars U.S. image abroad
and Bush continues use of rod
in teaching values!

“Jesus hates a smarty pants!” says Dub,
and hopes to help the Democrats recant their sins.

Hillary begins by backing off long held beliefs
and easing into moderation
as southern boys are chanting “Don’t forget your station-
at the stove!”

While Karl Rove rubs pudgy hands together
his glands secrete testosterone-
he hones the headsman’s blade
and dreams of dynasties!
**********************************

THE SERMON:
Adolph Hitler, a youthful failure, came to power on the strength
of telling feel-good lies to a country divided by racial hatreds,
fears of socialist ideas, a failing economy, and a resistance to
new ideas which were in superficial conflict with traditional values.
He surrounded himself with yes-men, manipulated the press,
and discouraged dissent by appealing to patriotism.
He received support from wealthy industrialists and much of the
religious establishment, especially the Catholic hierarchy in Rome,
which saw him as an ally in checking the general drift away from
Christian hegemony in a world of strengthening secular values
reinforced by advances in literacy and education in general.

THE CARTOON!
( Try singing this to the tune of Onward Christian Soldiers )

YANK MY NOODLE
The verse:
Adolph Hitler came to town
riding in a Cad-dy
and he got another crown
passed on from his dad-dy


The chorus:
Adolph Hitler, keep it up
stroking those believers
all your loyal hangers on-
cowardly deceivers!

Verse:
Adolph Hitler had a ranch
where they hated fag-heads
He opened up an eastern branch
and started bombing rag-heads

Ch:
Adolph Hitler, Double U
each of them elected
both of them took trouble to
get the world infected

Vs:
Adolph Hitler made a mess
with murderous behavior
His big admirers in the press
saw him as a savior

Ch:
Adolph Hitler / Georgie Bush
two sides of a ni-ckel
not a dime of dif-fer-ence
cucumber to a pi-ckle

Vs.
Adolph Hitler loved his dog
and never killed a kit-ten
open up the Dick Times blog
to see what else is writ-ten

Dick sez: And here you are!

The Ballad of Sonny Warbucks

February 2001-March 2002

DEDICATION:
Tin-pot Texan, Yale man moron
Snorting ruffian
Simple puppet dangled on a silken lasso
Executing Asshole
Drunken Driving forty something party boy
Conservatively impassioned to
Bum us back to the stoned age.
Dan Quayle redux
Barney Flintstone in a tux
Sonny Warbucks.

SONNY WARBUCKS’ FIFTEEN MINUTE WALTZ
Long on horns, short on that which goes between,
Sonny Warbucks stands before a giant silver screen
A Patton or an Eisenhower, not,
but something smaller, from the bottom of the pot,
not having risen to the top by dint of labor or like heavy cream,
a lowly cowpoke
brought here by his pappy’s aging team.

This front man in the culture wars
appears to us upon a flag draped stage
within a tinted spotlight beam
while ushers guard the doors
to keep out ticket holders who are in a rage
because their stubs weren’t torn correctly
on the perforated seam.

THE MANCHURIAN CANDIDATE; A DIM SUM KIND OF GUY,
AND WE’RE STILL HUNGRY
Let’s try to add our Junior G - MAN up:
Ever since he was a runty little pup, not pick of litter or Boss Hog,
His mom, a B- word, Bar, his wealthy pop
who used to be top dog,
gave scant attention to this wayward, straying son.

They sent him off to be with other whelps
of rich- born pedigree
in the days of Kennel Legacy
when all the sons of graduated sires
could stand beneath the hallowed spires

of ivy league Old Mains

even though they hadn’t any brains:

they got in, if they had the bread,
and they were living, breathing ( they weren’t dead )

GOLDEN RULE DAZE
So now there’s Junior, standing in the Quad
of Andover or Yale and surely thanking
His Episcopalian God
for giving him the name George Bush.

(Junior’s like a junker car that needs a frequent push
from some gigantic semi truck which comes along each time
he falters on the road,
if he should trip, commit a crime,
fail to pass a course,
or what is worse,
get smudges on the Family Crest,
the Coat of Arms-- Connecticut, mon droit, tobacco farms.)

This Junior Eli only did what he knew best
he learned to drink
and never studied or began to think
He got a ta’too on his can
a mark of pride for every DK man

he played around like lots of kids
and drifted here and there
until he graduated and began
to fail at his career.


FAILING UP, LEARNING HOW TO BE A GRUP *
“Failing upwards” it’s been called and Junior’s done a lot
though you would never know it from the pile of dough he’s got

He’s come to be a millionaire through
family friends and sycophants
who hung on Poppy Pres’s pants.
These people gave him every chance
to trade the family name.

He drilled dry holes and sold them
for ”a couple hunnert thou”

then bought a franchised ball club
for nothing down,
and wow!
Guess what !
the state of Texas
built his boys a brand new park

so Junior sells for millions
and chalks up another mark.

He’s learnin’ how to play the cheatin’ game.

*Note: The “Grup”- challenged are directed to the author’s
earlier oeuvre, “The Grups” , which can be found at
the sites buzzflash.com ( look for “Star Trek” ) and the Washingtonpest.com
each of which has probably died and disappeared by now, or been absorbed by NBC, AOL, Microsoft, Ford, NAFTA, Starbucks, McDonalds, or an out of control bacterium generated by a laboratory accident in some Pentagon sponsored research lab. (or just go to appendix A )


WHEN SONNY GETS BLUE
Poor Junior’s in the dumps today
the papers aren’t reporting things his way

It’s been what seems a dog’s age since
they viewed him as an undisputed Prince,

first having nailed the board Al Gore up on a cross
a major reason for that pious looney’s loss.

Now they’re rubbin’ mud on Junior’s gloss.


HE PLOTS PRESS CORPS REVENGE
(Daydreaming, scheming, terza reaming)
Well, just you wait, you New York prigs, I’ll have you back out in the desert
you’ll be suckin’ rancid figs
when we bust that oil rustler in Eye-Rack.

You TV guys from CNN won’t act so dang superior when
you’re reelin’ on some stinkin’ camel’s back
or down and heavin’ date pits on the sand.

You’ll shake my hand
and kiss it, too

and when I’m finally done with you
we’ll be in bed together like before

when you first became this C.C. rider’s whore.
Footnote: (That’s Compash’nit Corn’serv’tiv to ya’ll )

YER ITCH OCCASION PRES’DINT
Sonny: watch him reading now - he’s got a Classic Comics Book.
Mouth open wide, lips moving slowly with the longer words
a finger moving side to side beneath the lines.

“Old Moby Dick just kills me, man”, he cackles at a sailor’s tale-
some nut’s obsession with a whale
his own obsession with kids’ reading skills on hold:
The vouchers plan still lingering, unsold.

“Them real thick hard back things
are for the birds,
and even readin’ this here comic book
is gettin’ old.”


FUNNY LITTLE PITCHERS, BIG EARS
Or see him at a photo op:
when Junior hears a flash bulb pop
he anxiously looks round the room
and checks to see if any there
aren’t on his team.

He tries to beam a smile but only mugs.
He blinks, and sneers, and smirks, and shrugs
and, panicky, looks round for help-
he’s stiff, his legs won’t budge
he swallows down a stifled yelp.

You look just fine, doll, Laura tries to reassure
the boy whose boots are covered with manure
and drilling sludge
from some dry hole out on the ranch

His Texas roots still planted firm.

We see his photographs and blanch with shame
this goofy looking cowboy bears our name:
we’re married to him

for a four year presidential term.

IT’S LIKE A GAY THING, DUB
“Got me a man-date, almost half the country’s vote!”
And still he doesn’t understand
he’s in a leaking boat,
in need of constant bailing out
to stay afloat.

Them lib’rals on the hill will try
to run him off the rails

and shake his tree

and jerk the tails

of his old duster coat.

And fundamental clergy
on the right
are urging that he take
no prisoners
in the fight:


Put the lefties in a Hefty Bag
and take it to the dump

the landfills in Virginia
have all got a waste high hump

that goes back to the fifties
and includes Tail Gunner Joe’s
chewed up intellectuals,
the self deluded shmoes.*

It’s the right wing’s frothing cant
An hysteric, manic rant

It’s rotten on the inside
Like some over ripened fruit

They see Junior as a Judas goat ,
their dream, the Rapture:

he should lead us

to the packing plant

and down the slaughter chute.

*Yes, we know that Al Capp spelled it with two o’s and no e,
but it’s always pronounced so that it rhymes with “Joes”,
Miss Prissy-assed school marm lesbo man hating
virgin dyke nit - picking nun - head BITCH! (Gee, I miss Frank Zappa, don’t you?)


TIME OFF FOR BAD BEHAVIOR,
CAMP DAVID, SCHMAVID; OR, MEANWHILE , BACK AT THE RANCH
He yells “Yee Haw” , he hollers, and he hoots
Pulls on his Tony Lama cowboy boots
then clicks the laminated leather of the heels
three times together
as he squeals

There’s no place like home
There’s no place like home
There’s no place like home

Zap! With lightning speed,
a helicopter’s engines boom
and junior races from the room to catch his plane-
it’s Air Force One,
and heading towards the evening’s setting sun
he’s Crawford Texas bound

and running like a flap eared hound
upon a scent of possums
hanging in the morning rain.
He’s just hell-bent to banish any D.C. pain

kicked back, in the bunkhouse, when the day is done.


SONNY FREE ASSOCIATES
T for Texas -T for Tennessee - Fat Albert’s state, which gave their vote to me
He thought that he could whup this Texas boy? I kicked his ass
‘cause ever’ newsman cov’rin’ my campaign was givin’ me a pass


SHOW US THE MONEY! AN INTERLUDE IN 3/4 TIME, FOUR WHEEL DRIVE, AND FIVE STAR ACCOMMODATIONS
Perot made billions selling to the government
Clinton, thousands, serving there.

With the Bushes you just never know
what, exactly, is the ebb and flow

of money, power, influence--
they live in quiet opulence
of ranches, summer homes, and when

they usher you into the den

it’s filled with Persian rugs and Faberge
they bought while on some private island holiday.

Far away from press and prying eyes
they’re on some cabin cruiser tying flies
or firing Purdey shotguns off across a bay*
*See the author’s soon to be published, or not, “Kennebunkport Christmas Day”


HANGING THE HOMEBOYS: IN SWING TIME RHYTHM
He’s got a web site, Snort Report, where his adoring fans
can give support to new emerging plans
on fighting crime.

Just drop a dime on anyone and see
how fast his FBI can be
in catching low end druggies or incompetent bank robbers.
He thinks about an execution
and he slobbers, drools, and salivates

while sobbing mothers stand at prison gates
to wait for bodies of their dead, injected kids.

“The niggers and the yids”, some of his cronies say,
“are whining ‘cause we don’t do things their way:
They want the killers to go free
and addicts shootin’ up with needles that are clean.”


You look at Junior and you think; Obscene,
that people of such lucky birth
have no idea just what a life outside the womb
is worth

The adolescents, idiots, the feeble minded on death row?
This dolt, if anyone,
should know their pain,

but their appeals to him are all in vain-
he pulls the switch
and though his upper lip might twitch
he’ll shoot a million volts
or help hitch up a hangman’s noose.

The simple minded goose is having fun-
he knows what’s best for them
and he won’t rest
until this noble job is done.


(SIMPLE) TOOLS RUSH IN
That Junior is a homophobe
is just as clear
as if he wore
a hooded long white robe

His choices for the Cabinet assure
while he’s around this malice will endure

Did prep school days
or ball club locker rooms
invade some soft spot in a frontal lobe?

Was he infected with the fear
that somehow, deep inside,
he was a queer?

He ruminates upon the fates
of those poor guys
that yokels cannot tolerate:


IF I WERE QUEEN...ER... KING, I MEAN
“Heh, heh, heh,” he snickers,
“If I had the chance,
I’d make the fairies
poop their Gucci pants

We’d have ‘em do a Texas two step
dirt road dance

the way them old boys done to Bird
behind the pickup truck!”

Want a half-wit leading you?
Well, you’re in luck

Mixing up his metaphors
opening some horrid sores

not halfway healed

he breaks a bargain never fully sealed

“to unify and not divide”
his dark side, ignorance: impossible to hide.

He gathers Matthew Shepherd in
the right wing net of venom

that’s been cast across all bases
on the haters’ field of dreams.

Conflating Shepherd with the man
he smirked about in one debate--

their killers surely don’t deserve
a better fate

but he won’t paint them
with their scummy Nazi brush

Don’t say “Hate Crimes” to him
he’ll tell you “Hush!”


When they distributed good taste
he got there late

but when they handed out
an inability
to talk while making sense

he didn’t walk, he ran,

he jumped a fence, he swam a muddy ditch,
he waved his cowboy hat
and yelled
“Sum’bitch, I gotta git me some a’ that”


CURSE ME! IT’S A NURSERY RHYME- -A JUVENILE DIGRESSION
FROM A GROWNUP ECONOMICS SESSION
Sonny Warbucks took an axe,
Gave Bubba’s budget eighty whacks

With help from “Al the Pal” Greenspan
He passed his tax reduction plan,

Then put two trillion in a box
With, stolen from Al Gore, padlocks

He kept it underneath his bed
and we went back into the red.

Shave- and- a- haircut - two c’s


AUTHOR’S WISHFUL THINKIN:
IS SOMETHIN STINKIN?
HIGH HOPES SINKIN?
HIS NUMBERS DROP (KERPLOP)
HEADLINE BYLINE: DEADLINE, HOUSTON: RUBBED WRONG, DUB SINGS WEEPY SONG:
HE GETS THE GONG--
TAKES LONG SOAK IN REAL HOT TUB
“POLLS TOOLS FOR FOOLS,
LONG RANGE GOALS=NO MORE LEVIS STOOLS”

The Grups no longer up
the Rabid Pup is in a huff
sez “That’s enough”

I say take a sup, Dub
You begged to join this Club--

Is it getting hot?

Quit your bitchin, Pal
You’re in the kitchen
just like Al and Bub.

Have you forgot
ten what it’s like
to take a shot?

Are you feeling rot
ten like some childish
little snot

who
went poo’ poo’
into his pants?

Who was it brought you to this dance?
You crashed right in!
No freakin body asked you in,
five hundred thousand asked you out!

Go wipe your butt and wipe your snout
and wipe that pout away
and don’t come back
another day. Yippy --ky--freakin -- ay


DRINKER THINKS HIGH JINKS LINKS
SINK HIGHER HOPES, DOPE MESS
NO PRESS BIZ SEZ PREZ KID, MAKES WHIZ
ON AL FOR ALL TO SEE,TEE HEE SEZ HE,
ME BE DEE CEE REFEREE
On the wagon, born again
Junior’s turned around

“I seen him back in eighty two
he acted like a clown”

such are reminiscences
of those who knew him when

but he’s done his repentance
and we’ve got to give him...WAIT! SHUTTUP! ***********

Did he inhale?
Almost go to jail?
Profit hugely from government subsidies?
Appear to mock victims of racist killings?
Deliberately and repeatedly lie about his political agenda?

******* .......The benefit of the doubt so that we might move forward
pro - actively into the twenty first century--and , NO! YOU SHUTTUP,
WHINING LOSER!

Fireman! More coal in the tender! Were losin’ our
head of steam
*********Right-o, Casey, so...

The Christian coalition
and its ex C.O. Ralph Reed

have taken the position
that Sonny Boy can lead

They geared up their membership
and built a grass roots base

and tried to do most anything
to help him win th.......*********

Hey, Casey! This is like shootin’ turtles
in a goddam terrarium! Where the hell
is this track leadin’ us, anyway?
Is this the goddam Wabash Cannonball
or the Wreck of the freakin old ninety seven?
Keep her on the rails, jag off!
*****************


So digging deeper we now see more sins,
revisit failings formerly revealed
and further twitch the tails of squirming hogs
whose snouts are deeply buried in the trough.
They barely notice that we’re jerking them around,
so busy are they, so convinced that no amount of slops
will ever be enough.

THE CREATURE FROM THE OIL LAGOON:
OR WHITE COLLAR CRIME, THE NATIONAL PASTIME
IN THREE OUTINGS

THE WARM UP, THE PITCH

Slicked up specter from a drain-off ditch,
oil barons’ spawn, a pawn, a princeling
mingling with the court
an ant sized emperor without a stitch.

Is this the sort we dreamt of
when we cast our vote?
This Judas goat?

A snotty brat whose history has been
to line the fat cats’ bank accounts with cash;
who, through some mystery,
now smashes down the door
and thrusts himself before
the presses’ dimmer bulbs?

How Junior gags and jokes
and pokes the ribs
of all those media guys!

Those dullards never wise to him:
he’s just their size.

“Let’s have a look”, they say,
and tightly shut their eyes.
“He’s not a crook-
let’s close the Florida book!”

A fair appraisal from the types
who get their checks
(and their butts wiped)
from corporate polluters?
Thousand dollar suits
and toothy anchors
cranking up the Junior cheering squad.


Their team: a tiny little tent
sewn up with locks along the entrance vent-
It’s God, and Jesus,
and a dozen minor saints.
(a melting pot it surely ain’t)

Are there opposing views?
It’s news to Jews.
A rainbow symphony?

The rap on that:
Church mice chewing holes
in old sheepskins.
Cheesy nibblers,
Constitutions dribbling
down their chins.

IT’S OVER THE FENCE

Now Sonny Warbucks, not the sharpest foil,
with all his poppy’s pals in tow
goes off to look for oil.

High upon a Texas mesa
Junior stands and scans
the lands below the border,
whispering to a telephone.
An idea lurking there, alone:
with this one, two’s a way tall order.

He doesn’t want to steal new fields
but needs to fabricate some boardroom scheme.
He gets his fill of desert scene-
A Foxy deal’s soon struck and sealed.

His forte, slapping backs-
not up to head- to- head attacks.

“Oh my”, he sighs,
”We’re gonna suck them wetbacks dry,
and I kin git me one good contact high
off Mes’can crude!”

The fumes of which, Son Dub presumes,
more potent for their origins in sleaze.
“Oh, please!”, responds the outraged voice
of pious Reason. Don’t be a
childish ass! You’re gonna want
that Mexicali gas!
Don’t diss poor Dub for doin’ biz!”



Well, Mexico’s not his, no more than is
Alaska, Yellowstone, and Estes Park,
and he’s the President,
not Prospector - in -Residence,
some oil-shale-sand shark.

But with these losers,
sweet-as-honey schmoozers,
bites are poison, and the barks
a righteous con.

You wake up in the morning,
and your wallet’s gone.

SODDEN SPITBALL, LOBBED

A circus, destined to go on:
the lefties wringing hands,
the righties, necks. A cycle spinning
til the decks get swabbed,

and all the Dons and fawning hangers-on,
the “czars” and their bizzarro fiefs,
the lifer whiners and the hair mousse gobbed
get washed away, go floating overboard,
get reamed, and steamed, and apple cored,
and whacked.

Get lost, you weasel footed hacks!
See Dante for your special place in Hell,
and take a load off: burn a spell.

The rest of us won’t turn our backs
Until you’re leavin’ ashes in your tracks.
**********************************

I GOT RHYTHM, IN 8 /12 TIME, 410 BIRD GUNS
No? Oh, just fugue it, then!

Ari Fleischer, big time
pigeon flusher
flashing Bushies budget bashing
trashing Daschel’s “no more cash in satchels”
( campaign finance, won’t do that dance,
there’s a fat chance it will pass ).

In the white house
fronting for the shallow Dumb Louse
Flushing out more leftie grousing
Press- abusing with some news
that we will snooze at
Scooping poop for right wing mutts

But, alas, we always get
just what we ask for

Only that and seldom much more

Close the door on “Green”
and start a new war
looking for some oil to drill

Let’s find something to distract attention
from what’s going on in Dee Cee
How about some brand new romance
with some flouncing creatures
from the silver screen?

If that doesn’t do the trick, well
go and watch some stupid Tee Vee
Now they’re showing all that crap
that’s called ree al it tee.

Don’t forget to lock the silver
nor to hide the family nest egg

cause in four years when it’s over
we might find that we’ve been cleaned out

by some clever home invaders
is your tongue too twisted to go on?


FAMILY FEUD (Is it rude to eavesdrop?
Could anything really interesting be happening? )

Poppy, git the buggy whip,
Jebbie’s actin’ up agin
don’t you think that it’s a sin
that he refused to kiss me?

No, not up there on the mouth!
He should plant one further south;
he didn’t get that big vote out
did he mean to diss me?

All them crackers that he owns,
then he goes and telephones
that I didn’t make my bones
so he might resist me!

Please tell Jebbie it’s not fair
And get him in a shirt of hair
that for the whole term he will wear;
why couldn’t he assist me?

Earth to June:
Sonny, get your dander down
just stop acting like a clown
wipe away that baby’s frown
or we’ll put a clone up

Your family worked to put you in
and though you didn’t really win
you hardly took one on the chin
start acting like a grownup!

It’s not as if you lost the race
so why not try and save some face
and try to match Dick Cheney’s pace
before his heart gets blown up?

Squeeze those eyes real tight and pray
that after next election day
you’ll hear the same Chief Justice say
“Son, you’ve got it sewn up!”

INTERMISSION***********
Let’s all go to the lah-bee
Let’s all go to the lah-bee
Let’s all go to the lah-bee
and get ourselves some coke!
(No, not you George, you’ve had quite ENOUGH !)


MISTER SPEAKER! or Waltzing Grizelda

A man not worth the printer’s ink to diss him.
On or off the speaker’s stage?
Who is there, or not, would miss him?
The words, some writer’s;
poise, a drama coach’s;
stance, a dance instructor’s pose.

He’s propped up like a Matthew Brady body
held with sticks assembled by the troops
to make him look alive,

and just before the camera’s lens is opened
someone lifts the eyelids
and then stands off to the side
to catch the drooping torso if it sags.

Is there a test that tells us who this new guy is?
He seems as empty as a K mart blue light shirt,

His architecture of a genre that consists of
pouring concrete out on dirt
and sticking in some poles
that hold an asphalt roof

although the lot fills up with Lincolns
stretched the length of football fields


and out pour all the downtown smilers
pumped for action
hoping that they’ve finally got some
heavy duty friction
underneath the wheels.

Big chiefs making medicine,
hardly looking to get squashed
by low rent competition

each new car a luxury edition.

Trophy wives, forget the beehive hairdos
them ol’ Texas gals still wear,

this year it’s mon soor Jack out in Virginia, dear,
and next week we’ll try London

if the tax deal’s finally cut.

Three hundred extra for the annum?
That’ll come in handy for the doorman
at our next reception.
By coincidence, his share.

Cartoonist’s dream?
A target just too obvious
to draw a bead on
Boring us to tears with flubs
is Dub’s new secret weapon

Most of us too numb to listen.
Dumb with stupefaction that the guy’s
still finding traction in the snow job
of the last election.

The Warbucks Waltz
still cued upon the D.J.’s table.

Dubbing masters
spinning frantically

A giant crowd is standing
on the room’s periphery

and wondering
if the dance will ever end,
and how the hell will we get home?
****************************


FRAG DOC CITY:
IT AIN’T PRETTY!
Frag:n. a shrapnel filled hand grenade; v.t., to throw one. Doc.: dim. of document
A ramshackle recapitulation of ruminations, fulminations, and regurgitations of news of the day
vituperations. A Watts Tower of political observations.The Homeric and Jethronic manipulation of
headline castigation. E mail masturbation.


PLAYING WITH MATCHES or THE FRAG DOC RAG

Bop / bop / bop / bop / bop / bop / bop / bop
Frag Doc doodly bop / whaaaaaat’cha doin’?
Frag Doc doodly bop / baaaaaar - be - que - in’!
Frag Doc doodly bop / nuuuuuhthin’ doin!
Frag Doc... sssssssss - BOOM! Frag! Doc!
Yeahhhhhhhhhhhh!

and keep him away from more destructive ordnance, too!


FAMOUS FRAG DOCS MOCK DUB AT HUB OF G-MAN CLUB
DEEP MAC GOES SUB-ROSA,
KNOWS A FEW THINGS ABOUT BUSH: WON’T HUSH.
CROSS FINGERS DUB LINGERS-
VAUGHN MEADER SYNDROME FATAL, SI HOMEY? RSVP
*************************


FICTION SCENARIO: DUB “TRICK” LOTHARIO!
GOP conventioneers targeted by Dixie Chick Cop Squad!
Cunning Linguist Nabbed in Atlanta Honey Trap!
Bush nuzzles nose in nasty niche
Georgia peach knees Son in breeches,
reaches for vice badge,
cudgels Dub on knob with billy club!
“Me be Mister Bush, no be bush master”
he sez later. “A crock of lies!”, cries actor Crowe!
( he’s “Gladiator”)
*************************


PARDON ME, BUOY, IS THIS THE CHAP YOU THREW ABUSE TO?
Burton certain curtain not pulled down on Clinton!
Hits mark, mines rich load in pardon loo!
Stuff runs down hill,
covers up Bub
til he’s hub deep in poo!
Too soon to tell: nose swell buoy up Bill?
**************************

HIGHLY CLASSIFIED AD!
CABINET MAKER SEEKS TRAINED ASSISTANTS!
FAUX GEORGE THIRD THE SECOND BECKONS:
LIFTS POP’S PASTURED POL PALS TO PEAK POSITIONS,
SEEKS SUGGESTIONS ON SUPPOSITORIES!
THEY ARE ALL REPOSITORIES OF
BUSH LORE AND, WHAT’S MORE,
ANAL RETENTIVE PLENIPOTENTIARIES!


MEDITATIONS ON DUB’S TOT TEE TOTALERS (NOT )
MEMOS METED OUT TO LEFTIE ZINES:
THEY TRASHED BUSH KIDS’ BEER BASH!
POET LASHES OUT AT TEEN TIPPLER TATTLE TALES!
*************************
Righties stuck in fake baloney
Lefties wrapped in sanctimony
Why not drop the teenage testimony,
go get someone grown up, truly phony,
dangerous, and in the White House:
Dub, the Dumb Louse, not the loving father,
caring spouse.
Is youse listening ?
*********************
OR
*********************
Leftie site Cries “Wolves!”
One guy sez that they makes fools of selves
delving into Bush kid’s biz,
risk becoming tools for Rightie rants:
they drop their pants, say “take me, I’m so yours,
you boorish Limbaugh hog!”
( They’re lost in most old fashioned pinko fog,
sing same old union marching song;
it’s “Anything we say’s okay cause they are wrong!” )
That gets the gong.
So long!
*****************
OR
*****************
More deep meditations on a Pete Seeger song
“Follow the Drinkin’ Gourd”
(The Bushes have it on a seventy eight up in K’bunk)

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun revisited or,
Hey, preachers, leave the kids alone: part three

TEXAS TWOSOME TACKLES BAR TAB TAR BABY!
TEMPT BLOODTHIRSTY PACK OF MEDIA MICE!
Bush kids bask in slime light!
Leftie nag-rags raise bar too high,
do the limp paw Limbaugh!
Waste good will, slide a few degrees
down good taste hill,
forget whose head should be on block!
Outs take sock at untamed youth,
act uncouth!
In the pluperfect, they blewth!
*********************
OR
*********************

"Off with their heads!" said the Queen.
And if you should think I'm too mean,
Just wait til the righties
get knots in their nighties
They're going to make such a scene!
( and you handed them the script, Pinko Zine Weenies! )
*********************
BUT:
All that mail to no avail:

Mac Meister Foists Frags
on cloistered pinky nags!
They say “We’re all that’s Left,
and you are so bereft of absolutes! “

Mac keeps on mailing all Dems beauts
of anti Bushie nukes and pushes poems
posted on the web at middle-center
you should enter

CAUTION: don’t try this at home.
No salesman will call.

***************************



RHYMSTER RANKLES RIGHTIES,
RAISES DUB BACKERS’ HACKLES
BY UNSHACKLING WORST VERSES!
Turns loose lousy stanzas in Bonanza
of Ponderous poison penmanship! Poetry lovers say
eighteenth century dentistry less painful!
They’re disdainful of this unplugged drainful
of slop thrown up on web!
Keyboard pounder counters:
“Nobel Prize in Ligature? Yo, I got that tied up!”


****************************


Protesting National Review Online Columnist,
Englishman John Derbyshire’s not so satirical hypothesis that
Chelsea Clinton does not deserve to live, ergo should be killed. ( ! ) Look it up.
( his sponsors are also in for some flying shards )

FLASH: NRO POOPS BED!
Derbyshire gives head
to Right Wing frogs!
Rabid Brit logs on to site
stays up half the night
to take a bite of Chelsea's leg!

Begs all " see this girl
as cultured pearl
from rotten oyster,
now go foist her in the dump!"

What a hump this fascist bastard is!
Let's take a whiz on NRO
and tell their patrons we won't go
to Amazon dot com or Brill!

Did Buckley take a poison pill
when hiring on this pig?
His hatred is so big it brings on shame
to all who bear the name of
National Review!
( P U ! )

*************************

FRAG DOC -FLASH
JUNIOR KICKS FLYING BUTTRESS IN CONGRESS!
CHURCH AID MAKES GRADE ON HILL!
“HOG SWILL”, SAY FOUR DEMS, ANON.,
(CAN’T TAKE CHANCE
NAY VOTE WON’T DANCE AT HOME,)
FORTY SIX WAVE HANDS AYE,
FOUR SAY “BYE”, TAKE STARBUCKS BREAK.
***************************



RIGHT WING WRINGS NECKS
Dems wring only hands,
Make no plans to win the next election!
Lefties get infection, think they’ve sinned:
lose erection, will to win!
Left, right, left, right, Division, HALT!
(Buncha hard- ons)
***************************


WWJD
G-MAN IN APSE! DEMANDS LAPS,
PUSH UPS! SLAPS LIENS ON SACRISTY!
CHASTITY NOW FED LAW, CRIME NOT TO PRAY!
MUST SAY “WHAT WOULD JUNIOR DO”
FOUNDERS TURN IN GRAVES,
DUB SAVES BIG TRICK FOR LAST: WE FAST!
BSE IN TEXAS HERD!
HE’S ONE MAD COW BOY.
*****************************



ASHCROFT LOFTS BEAUT, sez diplo-fruit too cute :
Hormel gets boot, "not swell for Hague",
reasons vague: homo hate?
Truth not A's long suit ,
didn't budge on fudge judge:
"Likes crooks"
(one for books! has brown looks! )
Thumbs down
on Bush clown
for A.G., si? RSVP
**********************




Furious Web scribblings follow: (Fellow from Chicago)

FLASH: IRREPRESSIBLE MAC MEISTER MESSES UP,
TYPES NOTE HYPING LEFTIE GRIPING ,
TAKES TO TASK NOSE WIPING LIBS.
ASKS: OUT OF CRIBS, ON FEET IN STREET
MEET SCHMOE FOE TOE TO TOE!
THEY SAY “NO GO, JOE , MIGHT GET
DOG DO ON SHOE!” MAC SEZ “HE’S PREZ.”
NOT NICE? EXTREME TYPING IN DEFENSE OF LIBERTY
IS NO VICE.

*************************


FLASH: DEMS BASH OWN HEADS,
TRASH OLD IDEALS:
MOUSY SQUEALS ON WEB
LIKE STOOD UP DEB.
HOW COME SOME BUM
LIKE DUB CAN CLUB US DEAD?
**********************


FLASH: DEADLINE, MAC HUB--
Deep cover Dub Club sends sub in for Dumb One!
Near clone shown playbook, tapes (walk, talk).
Apes chimp looks, cyber chip embedded!
Out door, Son Bush gets hard push, Aks (sic)
“How's come I no more be big dee cee referee?”
“Begone, June”, say Yale Hail Fellows: give him moon.
“We take charge, you take barge.” (Southwest Air)
********************************

FRAG VICTIM SAYS I STICKED HIM WITH SPAM SPREADER!
BLUNT EDGE SMALL WEDGE TO ANNOY,
I NOW EMPLOY ICE PICK!


ANGRY RETURN:
BURN MAIL LIST, CRUSH FILES IN FIST,
SLIT WRIST, THROW SELF OFF HIGH ROOF.
SURE PROOF OF FRAG’S DEATH?
“YOUR LAST GASP, DOC BREATH!”
***************************

AND !

DEAR MAC MEISTER;
DID YOU FIND MY NAME ON SOME LIST OF
PEOPLE RECEPTIVE TO INANE GIBBERISH?

NO LIST. HERE’S GIST:
MAC PI---D @ MIS-TER DUB,
USES FRAGS AS NET CLUB.
MAKE JUNIOR SWOON?
TOO SOON TO TELL,
THIS=SMALL STICK,
JUNE’S SKULL REAL THICK,
(COVERS ONLY OIL SLICK)

YOU SICK OF MAC?
STEP BACK, TAKE CEL;
CALL GOODWILL,
DONATE MODEM


************************


DEADLINE: MAC HUB
Joker poet now pukes Junior nukes!
Barfed on Ralph’s quest,
Back stabbed Al, got gore on shoes!
Now sings Bubba blues:
Bill’s grade: The Best!
but he needs re hab, long rest!
Take Rorschach test, kid;
dress stain messed third run bids?
Its shape? Looks like “SIDS” *
*Sorry imbecile Dub silhouette
**********************


BACK SLAPPING HACK WINS THIN,
PUTS STOLEN VOTES IN “HOT SACK”!
“SIN BAD”, SEZ GLAD HANDER,
“ME GET BIG DANDER UP, BE RIGHTEOUS GRUP!”
PANDER TO JESUS FOLK: “PUT DEMS IN NECK YOKE!”
DUB BE SOME “TEXAS JOKE”? LAUGH’S ON US, SAD MAC SEZ.
********************************************



MAC MEISTER MUSES ON USE OF NET MAIL,
THINKS “NO SALE” WHEN HAIL OF BOOS COMES BACK
TO WEB ATTACK.
“YOU KNOW JACK!” SAY NAYS.
JAW GOES SLACK: KNIFE IN NECK!
THINKS WHAT THE HECK,
TAKES ANOTHER CRACK AT WHACKO! (GB)
***************************************

THE PREMATURE BURIAL
Bouncing back in spite of popular demand,
the Son of Sonny Warbucks rises from the mire
to fire new shots across the S.S.G.B.’S bough
and rock the cowboy’s cradle.
*****************************************

JUNIOR TUNED TO A.M. RADIO:
SIN BASHERS PREACHING REHASHES OF BIBLE STORIES!
“ OH GLORY”, SEZ DUB, ” I WISH SATELLITE DISHES
BROUGHT THESE CREATURES
TEACHING MORALS
TO ALL MORTALS
ACROSS THE WORLD!”
WITH MILLIONS SQUIRRELED AWAY
AND NO RAINY DAYS IN SIGHT,
DUB MIGHT WELL WANT TO FIGHT OFF BLIGHT OF ANTI-CAPITALISTS
BY BURNING CROSSES ON LEFTIE’S LAWNS
UNTIL IT DAWNS ON THEM TO STOP MAKING FUSS,
BOARD JUNIOR ACHIEVEMENT BUS!
****************************************

DUB FINDS SOLACE IN FUNDAMENTALIST’S MALICE
TOWARDS HIGH TEST SCORES, BORES IN WITH POINT OF DUNCE CAP,
SEEKS TO RE MAP ROUTE TO PEAKS OF HIGHER LEARNING,
YEARNS TO LOWER STANDARDS WITH SCHOOL VOUCHERS!
OUCH! Say those elitist intellectuals writing ineffectually for slowly circulating periodicals,
pirouetting on heads of pins at cocktail parties, posing on public t.v. panels,
and shedding low sodium tears over each new right wing revelation
of church / state affiliation
proposed for legislated education, and, plus,
now we gotta watch cartoons shot in Claymation!
DISNEY, DIZZY, SPINS IN GRANITE TOMB!!
Groucho: “Who’s buried in Grant’s tomb?”
Sonny: “ Uhhh...Cary? That movie star guy?”
Groucho: “ Outside of a dog, a book is a man’s best friend. Inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read.”
Sonny: “Who’d wanna read a book? Inside of a dog?”
Groucho: “Say good night, Dick.”
Sonny: “ Good night, Dick.”
********************************



TAX CUT’S FATE IN PERIL?
Promise Keepers soon to squeal “Liar! You will soon feel
Satan’s uncompassionate fire!”
Dub’s new take on taxes: “ Read my flubs!”
Faux Texan’s bold tack, roll back rebates,
restate “most profoundest principles”?
U.S. to relive Poppy’s lips quip if there is further slip in stocks?
Arise, Spin Docs, grab socks, comb locks,
don T.V. - worthy frocks!
Blab newspeak to Newsweek, NBC, see how far you get
before the next election when even Florida sez
“Take flying leap, dim creep! You’re all wet!”
******************************

DEEP THINKER STIFLES BLINKS
But winks at church / state divide !
Chides womb raiders: “Mummy’s Curse!”
Could be worse, as Bushmeister
masters teleprompter,
gets Pope comp for Rome trip!
Vatican visitor now big contributor
to church doctrine!
Leaves Nancy, Dutch in lurch!
Reeve heaves breathless sigh!
Extra diabetics now to die?
“Just more lambs for heaven,
maybe next time they’ll roll a seven
on first toss! “ sez our new
stem cell research boss.
( Get him the crap outta here ! )
***********************


LAY ON, MAC FLUFF, UNTIL WE’VE HAD ENOUGH!
DISMAL SCIENTIST EXPERIENCES BRAIN DRAIN!
U.S. LEADER CHARGES STEM CELL HILL,
ECONOMIC SUMMIT! FALLS SHORT IN OVER REACHING!
APPROVAL RATINGS APPROACHING QUAYLE’S!
HE FAILS “DUH” TEST !

Gray matter takes holiday, MRI says “no way!”
Giant gaps prove tongue lapses no accident!
President Happenstance takes big chances while thinking,
Eyes blinking mean no inkling of what comes next!
Was he hexed by Texas desert oil dousing witch?
Was there some glitch in DNA that makes him talk that way?
Is Bubba comin’ back someday? ( Let us pray )

*****************************


A LITTLE WAFFLE NOW AND THEN, BUT HOLD THE SYRUP
Dear George: Are you still here?
We hoped that you had gone away,
but there you linger, stubbornly, and,
against our expectations, with a finger to the wind.
A wind that’s strong enough to snuff the candles
you light daily for your pal,
the puppet master with a broken heart?

The talking heads muse on without a nod or wink
that Cheney, stepping down, would leave
a vacuum in the White House-
As if a West Wing neon sign announced
“The Son of Hoover”, now held over
for the rest of his
unnatural term.

*************************


THE HORROR........THE HORROR........
HISTORY RUSHES IN WHERE ANGELS FEARED TO TREAD
AND LEAVES SO MANY THOUSANDS OF OUR FRIENDS AND HEROES DEAD

A BROKEN RECORD:
DUBYA DUBYA THREE or
Onward, Christian Soldiers!

The Horror of our darkest hour finds Crusading Knighthood
once more is in flower:
“The Beast is hiding here ! “
his sharpened spear tip pointing to the east,
his most perfervid fans are thirsting
for a feast of blood.
“ Our god’s the one worth dying for, not theirs ! “
the girded warrior solemnly declares.
“ We’ll finally wipe those vermin from the earth !
We’ll hunt them down and kill them, one by one
until we’re certain not a single rat survives !
It worked the last time, and the time before,
and the time before, and the time before,
and the time before, and the time before,
and the time before...” ( somebody lift that goddam needle ! )

***********************************************



SHOOT OUT AT THE HOOTENANNY
On his watch, The Terror stalks our home.

A Horrid Son of oil-drunken sheiks, we think,
has made a terrifying witness to his faith
upon our shores, and we are torn between
our righteous fury for revenge, our heart felt sense of loss,
and even wishing that we’ll get it right this time.

GIMME THAT OLD TIME RELIGION (NOT)
Arise, oh my sons
keep seated, foul women,
lift rifles, brave warriors,
and stifle your wives

Our god once more calls us
to go out and murder
he’s asked me to send him
six thousand fresh lives

he won’t be happy
til your hands are bloody
so go and start killing
with box cutter knives

Don’t worry, I’m safe here
where Satan can’t find me
I’ll e mail instructions
from caves and from hives.

kill ! Kill ! Kill !
Waste the infidel !
Blow yourself to smithereens !
You’re doing Allah’s will !

Live free or die !
Mom and apple pie !
Drop the big one on them and
make certain that they fry !


The Talmud, the Torah,
Koran and the Bible
all must have readings
just sodden with gore.

Their priests always show us
good reasons for slaughter
and each one has blessed
such behavior before.

The popes of the dark age
the dopes of the airwaves
the Rapture, the Cru’sades,
snake handlers, and more,

they ask us to murder
for this god or that god
their venom and poison
run out on the floor.

Kill ! Kill ! Kill !
Smash the infidel !
Blow yourself to smithereens !
You’re doing Allah’s will !

Live free or die !
Mom and apple pie !
Drop the big one on them and
make certain that they fry !


It’s old time religion
that’s got us all twisted
Why don’t we say, ”No, thanks,
we’ve all had enough.

Please take your piety
and your hypocrisy
now just bend over...
open wide...stuff!”

But Darwin’s equation
has things changing slowly
and lightning epiphanies
might be a bluff

Evolving hypotheses
lead to catastrophes:
cave men with A-bombs?
We’re gone in a puff.

Kill ! Kill ! Kill !
Crush the infidel
atomize us all to dust
and you’ve done Allah’s will

Live free or die !
Don’t like apple pie ?
We’ve got H-bombs piled up !
You’ll be the first to fry !


In politics, just as in
many professions,
while running for office
you’re bound to get crushed

unless you pay homage
to mystical spirits-
the press will just hound you
until you are hushed

So cave men and senators
wear some religion
right out on their sleeves
and they keep it well brushed

In front of a camera
they like you to see it
their eyes become misty,
their cheeks warm and flushed.

Pray, pray, pray
seven times a day
You’ll get to heaven faster
In The Fundamental way

Clutch the Bible tight
love god with all your might
kill those other bastards, now,
it’s clear you’re in the right.

Killers on the eastern side
and killers from the west
all of them believing
it’s their god who loves the best.
Science sighs, Art cries, Reason dies.
Hope pushes cream pies.

**********************

HE BUGS ME: War ! Huh! Good God!
What is it good for? ( don’t ask me, I don’t give a damn !
Next stop, Afghanistan...)
RABBIT RATCHETS DOWN RHETORIC
READS RIOT ACT IN TACTFUL TONES
U.S. STEPS BACK FROM EDGE OF HOLY WAR
Reading from a deftly crafted script,
having slipped the leash for seven days
and tripped into a pattern of extemporized remarks,
Crusader Rabbit leaves his wild hare side behind
and finds a moderated voice of far less threatening bellicosity.
His animosity to common sense still fixed in place
and telegraphed by every curious movement in his face,
but now he’s held on message by some cooler heads
while Cheney’s incommunicado, in some bunker
just in case.

************************
Flags and Guns, confusion over what comes next
his spinners asking that we overlook
his earliest eruptions

the while, the world is gagging with revulsion
at the madness, at the fury, at the most inhuman vision
that the absolutist haters have just visited upon us.

We reach for poetry, for sacred texts, for guidance
in this unfamiliar state of frenzy; we, thus far an undefiled
and undefeated virgin in our unstained marriage bed,
our lands til now unbloodied save for times
we’d done it to ourselves.

They hate us
cause we’re better off than they,
cause we do things
the democratic way,
is what the vengeance seekers say.

****************************


AWAKE, SPIN DOCS ! AND LOCK AND LOAD !
NIMBY, NIMBY, NIMBY, CROAKS THE VILE TOAD
OF SELF DELUDING IGNORANCE NOW IN A STATE
OF FARCICAL DENIAL
Our own covert and deeply rooted history of terror
now comes back to haunt us.
Those tubers that we sank in foreign soils,
our interventions and assassinations,
grown to tumors filled with cancer,
festered boils bursting out upon our once unblemished skin.
How sad we are,
and how unfair so many comrades on the eastern coast
have paid this price for roasted chestnuts
put in place beneath the coals
by State Departments of the past.

Not quite a vast conspiracy, more like petty thievery
dumbly meddling with the destinies of worlds apart from ours
which happened to be rich with oil
or rubber or magnesium
and other goods ad nauseum
which folks who lived there thought they owned

In an innocent delusion that some god
was on our side
and would keep us safe from retribution
for a weekly contribution
to the deacon’s passing plate
and we could get a bigger car
and fancy real estate
and ride out any storm the might arise
relying on a fantasy called SDI

***************************


NEWS FLASH ! FUNDIES HATE OUR LIBERTIES!
ASHCROFT OPTS FOR SMALLER TARGET,
SHRINKS BILL OF RIGHTS, SHINES LIGHTS IN
EVERY CASTLE’S CLOSET !
Spend and spend and spend some more
put locks on every aircraft door
then tap the phones and e mail lines
and levy non-compliance fines !

They’re fighting last year’s war, they always do
And forward looking bureaucrats are few and far between
with every new Big Brother law
we add another weightless straw
the camel’s back’s soon broken right in two.

The bad guys never have that much to lose
and consequently do just as they choose, know what I mean?
without a finger in the wind
( and by their lights they haven’t sinned )
they’ve sent an evil message of “Good News”**

They seem to hate the whole world, not just us
Your beard’s too short ? They make an awful fuss, create a scene!
They stone their women, chop off hands!
Will they accede to our demands ?
Did Mo Atta drive a Greyhound Bus ? ( i.e., is the bear Catholic) ( dig deep )

They’re nuttier than fruitcakes
and they’ve got automatics
do we have an alternative
to killing these fanatics?
( this is not actually a purely rhetorical question, but, indeed, it’s
an invitation to engage in meaningful Socratic dialogue on the issue of
“justice “ versus “revenge”. ) (oh, just nuke the scumbags ! )

**Note: Good News is the tract that the ( fundamentalist ) Jehohovah’s Witnesses pass around.
If the writer’s memory serves ( as it often does when news clippings have been mislaid )
our current Attorney General ( no, not the reviled Reno woman )
is one of those people. Well, hell, it’s a free country, isn’t it ?

********************************

PUPPY LOVE: MIDWESTERN UMBRAGE NOTE!
LET UP ON LOOSE LIPS! HE SHOT FROM HIP ? HE’S ALL WE’VE GOT !
well, as Jose Jimenez said, OOOOOh, I hope not! ( dig deeper )

Still playing in Peoria, where every building’s under thirty floors
and tax producing gambling boats that float upon the shore
provide a most unlikely target for the foreign born fanatic
Sonny Warbucks’ vision stirs some patriotic blood
( the fake kind, not the stuff you lose in gunshot wounds )

The boom in sales of flags and ammunition
just might help to mitigate the market’s soft condition
so let’s sit back and find a comfortable position
in the LA-Z-BOY (tm)

To bomb, to nuke, inveigle, or invade?
Nah, just relax and watch Geraldo.
Larry King still plays there, too, he might catch the conscience
of the.....zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz (snore) huh? wah?
Sail on, oh gambling boat of state, sail on.

*******************************

IT’S NOT ABOUT BILL
The predecessor, processed in the mill of scandal
by the press,
having overseen unheard of run - ups on the street
and fewer military misadventures
than the two who came before,

a once but never thence to be a future prince
since banished from his nation’s helm by
constitutional decree,
is sitting this one out in silence,
more or less, at least for him.

Bubba’s now in relative reclusion,
his voice, a few are sad to say,
no longer sought
especially now in times so fraught
with different trials,
his office miles away, in Harlem.

The court has just pronounced that he can’t practice;
will the fellow never reach perfection?
His old legal chief, That Reno Woman,
under fire again for hurting Florida thugs,
coincidental with her run for office there.

The right wing’s creepy bugs maintaining
their erection for the gal. (doesn’t that hurt ?)

And Gore on Dub? “I’ve joined his club,
he’s our leader now.”
As Harry Caray put it, Holeeeee cow!

******************************


A SHORT ATTENTION SPAM (sic.): A SONNY OUTLOOK
Quick turnarounds in first reactions to the hideous attack:
wrangling on the hill and curbside check ins now are back,
and Condit’s misbehavior in the sack ( who? ).

Ari Fleischer’s lying to the pack of panting press
and telling us to “watch it” - what a mess the poor guy made
then stepped in, then when on to track it through
our living rooms. Yuck ! Where does the buck stop now?

Official public humorists, their garish neon dimmed
by weeks of inattention
struggle once again to get their faces out
before the cameras
to assure us
nothing’s funny now. Oh, okay.

Frothing TV preachers
mirroring the most malicious mullahs
in their hatred of the modern world

and academic yakkers
making brownie points as talkers
on the radio.

Sonny’s rodeo rides on.

***************************




MARCHING WITH GEORGE! AHHHHH! an old song, or DON’T MESS WITH TEXAS

With numbers up, the warlike pup
has finally got a break
high approval ratings
are left in terror’s wake.

It’s George Two’s turn to shine and lead
we’ll stifle our dissent,
now’s not the time to question where
those lost Palm Beach votes went.

We’ll march in step behind him
and we’ll practice our salutes,
we’ll all carry m-16’s
and dress in soldier suits!

It’s one for all and all for one
until Bin Laden’s dead
or til we’ve taken out his eye
just like the bible said!

Surprise! Surprise!
It’s Dubya in command!
Surprise! Surprise!
There’s joy throughout the land!
We’ll get the rotten bastards
who have frightened us to death
As we go marching with George! Ahhh !


We’ll stand in solidarity
and watch as corporations
struggle for new subsidies
and new remunerations,

as airlines fold and ho’tel chains
ask congress for support
and as each laid off worker
has an income falling short,

And as each weeping senator,
his hand above his heart,
adds more appropriations
so his state can do its part

by building dams or paving roads
or making ammunition
or growing more tobacco
to aid in world nutrition.

Surprise! Surprise!
Do yo’ name be Osama?
Our guys! Our guys!
Is gonna git yo’ momma
and all your daughters and your wives
and teach them how to read
As we go marching with George! Ahhhh !

Despise! Despise!
and hate those diaper heads!
Arise! Arise!
they’re worse than all the reds!
And we can all sleep soundly now
and safely in our beds
cause we are marching with George! Ahhhhh!

EEEEEEE-YAH-HOOOOOOOOOOOO!

*************************



CIVIL WAR BUFF RECLINES, PUTS FEET UP,
READS NEWS HEADLINES:

“TER’ISTS BAD” SEZ SON OF EX - PREZ BLUE BLOOD GUY (HIS DAD)
Texan maxes credit card, “Raisin’ dough for guns is hard!”
Social insecurity not far away !
Al Gore’s quotin’ Ray, goin’ “What’d I say ?”

TALKING HEADS IN CRISIS! MUST RETURN TO BORING OLD DEVICES
AS NEW YORK TERROR INTEREST FADES! BUT JUST IN TIME
U.S. INVADES!
Anchor actors stage exciting new encores
as blasted site elicits snores!
Get more face time in “Strike Back” modes
as B - 1 bombers drop their loads!

PRESS CORPS GOADS THE WHITE HOUSE SPINNERS!
How soon will Sonny’s team be winners?
Does Ashcroft, too, think we deserved it cause we’re sinners,
drink and dance, can’t stay out of one another’s pants?
Fliescher flushes and demurs!
(Doesn’t want to swim those fundamental sewers )

U.S. FLEXES MISSILE MUSCLES!
Goal to set free turbaned man’s corpuscles!
Shed bad guys’ blood, then send flood of food!
MMMMMM, those MRE’s are good!
Pass the Hellman’s (tm), please!

THIS JUST IN!
LIMBAUGH DEAF AND DUMB!
DITTO BUM DROPS OTHER SHOE,
Fears second ear is soon to suffer loss!
Boss of moron radio to fade?
Many fail to rush to Hallmark store for get - well card
to send to haters’ favorite tub of lard!

**************************


WORLD RELIGIONS: EVENTS AROUSE
NEW INTEREST IN CULTURAL DIVERSITY!
A CHILD’S COMPOST PIT OF VERSES

SIOUX BEE OR NOT SIOUX BEE
Burqa workin’ for ya, dear?*
mphff
Is a mullah lurkin’ near?
mphff
Read much? Books and such?
mphff

A woman’s place is in a shroud!
Ankle showing in a crowd?
She gets stoned!
filleted and boned!
Hubby treat you like a slave?
He’s murdered,too, if he should shave!

We’ll bomb the bastards til they learn
they should behave
like Good Christians
preferably the reborn kind, the only ones worthy
of holding higher office, apparently.
*footnote: she can no longer be called “honey” after today’s shocking revelations. Today, 11 Oct., The New York Times reports that the Al Qaeda network, bin Laden’s group, finds partial financing through the production and sale of honey in the middle east.

PUBLISHER’S DISCLAIMER:
simple minded self - styled “poet” tries to disguise shortcomings and disarm critics by co - opting the obvious observation: not able to ascend aesthetic heights of imagination and sensitive soul stirring metaphor, he opens basement door, takes deep breath of dank air, stirs septic tank, joins ranks of ignoramuses amusing with low brow ethnic slur! “Die, American cur!” scream under - educated Muslim fundies. ( AND! PET LOVERS ALERT! WHY DO THESE GUYS ALWAYS USE THE WORD “DOG” IN REFERRING TO THE OBJECT OF THEIR CURRENT RAGE?
WHY DO THEY ALL GO, LIKE, “AMERICA’S A DOG”, “BUSH IS A DOG”, “THE JEWS ARE A DOG”? WHAT IS THE POSITION OF THE ASPCA ON THIS ISSUE? )


PRAISE THE LORD (BUT PASS THE AMMUNITION)
BRUCE WILLIS FAILS US!
SCHWARZENEGGER DROPS BACK, PUNTS!

Years of Hollywood’s most vapid fantasies
have come to death upon a larger stage
where real life heroes give their lives in droves.

Whose watch this happened on is not an issue in the press.
It’s far too big a mess to blame on this poor sap or any other;
it’s father and it’s mother being years of inattention
and malicious interfering,

eighty years of us not hearing
all the world’s shouting
that we’re muscling in
where we’re not wanted;

do those cries of anger shame us now?
No, our explanation is that we’re too pure,
they’re jealous of our golden glow,
and just can’t stand this Perfect State
of Free Expression.

The Horror happened while too few were watching
when watching wasn’t popular
when we had better things to watch
when watching wasn’t worth the bother
or some would call it nation building-
in their minds, a great deal worse
than State Department sponsored coups
which clearly would have been okay.



Was some god watching over us that day?
the one that smiled down the day before?
the one that all our senators implore and call upon?
the one of the eleventh? or the tenth?
the one who watched the planes before the knives were drawn?

Mohammed’s god, or Jesus’ dad, or Moses’ tablet carver?
The same old guy or three whole other ones?

And what about the world at large,
with deities upon a thousand golden altars

are they not all the avatars of different dreams?

Should we conjure more effective schemes?
Can’t we sweep these passions from our head?
Or will we go on counting
on a bearded old jehovah
who happens to be out to lunch
or on a fishing trip
or forwarding his calls that day
and we all wind up dead.

*****************************




HURRAH! HURRAH! WE’RE FINALLY DROPPING BOMBS! or
THE CREPED CRUSADER
The Creped Crusader! Riding high upon his war - fed survey ranking,
surging up from dismal pre - bin Laden press!
He should thank the charismatic madman for this boost,
and not the least because his A - Team
would have looked to fight an Arab war
before the second term,
their grasping fingers itching for a lever
on the oil field flow.

Blank checks, arriving daily
in the terror’s first few days,
aren’t handed out as freely now
as congress takes a closer look
at long - term consequences.
( Sonny’s guys are throwing fences up
around a few too many
of those Precious Freedoms
we’re so hated for. )

Our pinpoint bombing strikes
have wiped out
what the commies couldn’t smash
before they left,
including, we must certainly assume,
many moms and kids who had no vote
for Chief of Executions in the Afghan mosques.

Back home, a few old Peaceniks march
and demonstrate
in spite of universal “Stand United” signs
designed to keep us solidly in line
and rooting
for Our Boys.

Nine - Eleven is The Date they say
that we will not forget.
Eleven’s been a biggie here before:
the day and month and hour
that they quit the killing
in the War to End All Wars,
about one hundred million
liquidated lives ago.

Plus ca change
merde nous mange
( pardon my French )



YA’LL GIVE ‘EM HELL, JUNIOR! or HAMBURGER ON THE SIDE, PLEASE.

left...........right
left...........right

Slogging through the desert sand
Sonny and his warrior band
Attack!

The Taliban to every man
and ten year olds
with short life span
Fight back!

It’s fun to fight here in a war!
For those who’ve never fought before,
we’ll show you how to keep the score:

Body Count
The other side:
There follows a list of the Arab sounding names of thirty seven thousand men and boys, all of whom are presumably in heaven with Allah, drinking Jack Daniels and gambling on thoroughbred horse racing as an infinity of concubines attends to any whim.

Our side:
There follows a list of the melting pot sounding names of one hundred and eighty three men and boys, all of whom are presumably in heaven with Jesus, singing hymns and watching Monday Night Football as all their old family pets and long dead relatives gather round, smiling and drinking Classic Coke (tm).

The uncommitted side:
Manifestly angered by the inexpressible inhumanity and immorality of the September eleventh attacks, demanding that justice be served but nonetheless maintaining an ethical position of martial sidelessness: i.e., all of the goo - goos, yellow rats, peaceniks, appeasers, and do - nothing hand - wringers who would rather be paying six dollars a gallon for gas or driving forty thousand dollar solar powered plastic bubble toy mini cars from Japan or one of those other rice burner making countries of the Pacific toilet rim.

The “A” side:
That side of a 45 RPM record which was the popular, or “hit”, side. The unpopular , or “B” side, was often unlistenable rubbish, thrown in by the producers so that buyers didn’t feel cheated, knowing that space was available but unused. Occasionally, the B side became an unexpected hit, and the producers then felt cheated. If one were to examine this process and attempt to extrapolate from it a paradigm or template by which to make predictions on the consequences of certain geo - political decisions and domestic partisan behavior there would probably be a Nobel Prize waiting about thirty years down the road. (Wow, man, that is, like sooooo heavy!)

The Far Side:
Two cows wearing beehive hairdos and harlequin eye glasses are in an Afghan pasture discussing clearance of the tens of millions of buried land mines that remain from the last war fought there. They minimize risk by standing on their hind legs.



MAN, I’M REALLY BUSHED! I GOTTA CRASH IN THE
THE MIDDLE OF THE SECOND SCENE, FIRST ACT or
HAPPY TRAILS? WHAT IF REINCARNATION FAILS?

Bucks and war and blood and oil,
Mystics, mooches, simple tools,

robber barons, slippery schemes,
the unindicted piracies
of weasel enterprises

these and other balls still sailing over head
ineptly juggled by a hand that’s unconcerned
if some should fall
or if they bounce / or shatter

or even if they’re really there
or anywhere at all.

and while that hand is far away
in some deep cosmic pocket
playing with loose change,

sex and saxophones are tooting down the interstate
in last years’s SUV

you watch it disappear ahead

some asshole’s rushing up behind
and flipping birds
and leaning on the horn

you see her mouth is flapping in the rear view mirror
the hands are waving in a parody of disbelief


she’s running late
and doesn’t understand why her agenda
isn’t up here on your plate
It’s cruel to keep her stuck back there
a deer runs out
you hit the brakes
the bitch in back slams in and climbs your trunk
and you spin out and roll,
turning over, hit a pole

the curtains close

and you will never know
if someone kills Mercutio,

Or if the Princess Turandot will ever hear
her suitor’s name.

Does a lady finally sing?
Was she sharp or flat?

Do we / know why
she’s always fat?

Does Sonny ever grow
into
a larger
hat?

***********
Exeunt.
***********
The end.



APPENDIX A
(THE GRUPS)

Star Trek, the original television show
Production 12
“Miri”
10/27/67
Star Date 2713.5
Guest star: Michael J. Pollard
Synopsis: Children of a distant planet reach puberty, get a horrible and deadly disease, age rapidly, and die. Younger, as yet unaffected children call these aging and unseen creatures Grups”, which the crew of the Starship Enterprise correctly deduces to be a contraction of “Grownups”.

Multiple press releases, press conferences, conventions, and talk shows
Republican Party productions
Summer, fall, and winter, year 2000, regular Earth time
Sound bite: “Grownups are coming back to take charge.” Oh boy.

THE GRUPS
The Grups are coming back to power, born anew
Foretold by Michael Pollard to the Enterprise’s crew
and bragged about by right wing blowhards
since the Big Steal in the Sunshine State.

Those Grups who got the boot from Bubba back in ninety two
before they had a chance to break the bank
or build a bomb that orbits out in space
to keep the rogues and rebels in their place.

We have those Grups to thank:
They gave us Newt, and Lott, and Quayle
and Poppy’s vision thing, a thousand points of light,
And Limbaugh, Chavez, Helms, and Starr,
and other scary creatures of the night.

The Grups are on the march once more,
Wrapped in flags and clutching bibles as before.
It won’t do any good to lock your door
If Justice is a fiefdom of the right.

Grups have always thought they own
an ordained right to sit upon the throne,
And while they’re drilling oil wells they’ll throw the poor a bone
called “trickle down” : words they live by, words they love,
But those beneath them feel they’re being dripped on from above.


The Grups have heard the call to serve again,
A Burning Bush has given them the Word.
They’re all puffed up, pretending that they’ve won our hearts
And hoping that our memories are short:
that we’ll forget the promises they made, of unity,
Compassion, education, all that stuff.
At last an end to partisan assaults,
no more gridlock on the hill.
Here, while we’re at it, take this little pill,
don’t call us in the morning or at all;
we’ll be too busy cleaning out the vaults
at Treasury, Interior, or in any other room
To which Florida has given us a key.

Now just as always when you’re told by Grups
“It tastes bad, but it’s good for you”, just push away their smelly cups.
Just hold your nose and bite your tongue
and push that stinky spoon away.

Grup, Grup, Grup: say it til you throw it up, and never pray
that you will be a Grup someday.
JIM MALL