She of the Big Hair

Kay Hutchison, with hair so large
Said "Perjury's a silly charge.
Except when Democrats commit it;
Then, by Heavens, I forbid it!"

Hutchison on perjury, 10/23.2005: "[I]f there is going to be an indictment that says something happened, that it is an indictment on a crime and not some perjury technicality where they couldn’t indict on the crime and so they go to something just to show that their two years of investigation was not a waste of time and taxpayer dollars.”

Hutchison on perjury, 2/2/1999: "[S]omething needs to be said that is a clear message that our rule of law is intact and the standards for perjury and obstruction of justice are not gray...Because our system of criminal justice depends on people telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. That is the lynch pin of our criminal justice system and I don’t want it to be faded in any way."

"The Day was Dreary as Brit Hume," A Mournful Lay

George Bush stood in the Lincoln Room;
His face was ashen gray.
The day was dreary as Brit Hume,
As he sang this mournful lay:

"Oh holy shit, what will I do?
Turdblossom's been indicted!
And Cheney, Libby, Hadley too--
Oh Harriet! I'm frightened!"

"Enfold me on your virgin lap
And croon to me 'there, there;'
'Tell me I'm 'cool,' and all that crap
To chase away my care."

"Tell me that my adoring 'bots
Exalt me in the earth;
Tell me that all their waking thoughts
Aren't fixed on... Leavenworth."

"Without my Karl, I have no brain,
I cannot smear and scheme,
My whole agenda's down the drain,
Fuck...pour me some Jim Beam."

"I plunged the nation into ruin,
And screwed up my invasion,
And now the GOP is screwin'
My bestest nomination."

"Oh Harriet, rock me in your arms,
Just like a liddle boat
Far from the world and (hic!) its harms,
And read me My Pet Goat."

The Higher Dysphoriocracy in a Nutshell

The planes bring their bombs and more bombs,
plane after plane after plane;
Guerrillas creep out of their holes
and take away all that we gain.

Napalm is jellified gas;
it clings and it burns as you flee.
A village destroyed is one saved,
and the people, they burn to be free.

A cell is a hole where McCain
proved a man's soul could stay whole,
And Hell is a hole for a man
who when saved only sells his own soul.

The dead live again in the speeches
of those who think more men should die;
Like good money thrown after bad,
the dead help the State sell its lie.

Torture alone is our savior;
Our Savior says "Better dysphoria
Engendered by glowsticks in Gitmo,
than to let mullahs rave in Peoria."

The Man Horizontal we value,
though Vertical Man's just a schmuck;
The State builds stone mansions for one,
while the other is shit out of luck.

Hymn #112: I Love Thy Empire, Bush, My Lord

I love Thy Empire, Bush, my Lord,
I love thy Garrison State,
Fortress America! by whose Sword
Vile Heathens fall prostrate.

I love Thy Pentagon of Pow'r.
When I before Thee stand,
Thou art my Rock, my Strength, my Tow'r,
Here, have Eight Trillion Grand.

If e’er to bless Thy hallowed Graft,
My voice or hands deny,
Or prophesy a Coming Draft,
Let me in Gitmo die.

Bush, shall a scoffer’s tongue incline
Thy Cabinet to abuse?
Say Condi's dumb, Gonzo's a swine?
That man his Job shall lose.

For Thee, O Bush, our Hearts beat high;
To Thee our Prayers ascend.
We'll never ask thee reasons Why,
Wherefore, or to what End?

If Torture be some Raghead's lot
We'll know that he did Evil;
If Jetplanes bomb some humble Cot,
'Tis well - it served the Devil.

Teach us to stand upon Thy Word,
Not Rule of Law, nor Reason,
Give Thee our all, give Sense the Bird,
And let all else be Treason.

Coronation Hymn for Our Blessed Sovereign, George Bush the Second of that Name

Almighty Bush, Thy lofty Throne
Hath Torture for its Cornerstone,
And shining bright before Thy reign
Are boundless ways of causing Pain.

All Glory unto Bush we yield,
Thy Quagmire is our Empire's Shield;
Thou make’st our Nation's name adored
Like unto that of Mongol Horde.

With Payoffs are thy Lackeys bless'd
They kneel, they tout, at thy behest.
They in thy light, O Bush, shall dwell;
Let Naysay'rs be consigned to Hell.

Thy Boot with gladness all shall lick,
And those of Rove and Big Time Dick,
Our slavish Tongues to Thee belong,
For in Thy Ignorance we are Strong.

The Streets of Fallujah (April 2004)

to the tune of "The Streets of Laredo"

As I wandered out on the streets of Fallujah
I spied six Iraqis a-burning our flag
Their children were armed with grenades & Katyushas
I said to myself, "Occupation's a drag."

As I was a-guardin' a convoy on Sunday
My Sarge was blown up, they extended my tour,
My best buddy died in an ambush last Monday,
Glad our "Mission's Accomplished," and we’ve won the war.

So beat the drum slowly for the brave coalition,
Play the dead march as they toss in their cards,
Dig in for the long brutal war of attrition,
For I'm a young cowboy in the National Guard.

Beg six NATO allies to shore up our quagmire,
Spring six Ba'athist Generals from prison today,
Send six more battallions, I'm caught in the crossfire,
And cough up that $25 billion to pay.

Oh drape the flag sadly o'er our soldiers' caskets.
Play the dead march for our nation's good name.
Send men to replace those who come home in baskets.
Don't admit you screwed up, you can outsource the blame.

No drums or dead marches for uncounted civilians
They killed some of ours, so we’re strafing the town.
We’re just a few good guys against all those millions,
And they all look the same, so just hose ‘em all down.

Beat the drum slowly for the ravelling mission
Shed crocodile tears, all you brave Chickenhawks
For the dead, sacrificed to imperial ambition,
For the shattered young Guardsman sent home in a box.

On a Bicycle Built for Shrub (2004)

Two news items:

20 May 2004 WASHINGTON (AP) - President Bush sought to rally Republican lawmakers around his Iraq plan Thursday, saying Iraqis are ready to "take the training wheels off'" by assuming some political power…

BUSH FALLS ON BIKE RIDE
Saturday, May 22, 2004 Posted: 6:00 PM EDT
CRAWFORD, Texas (CNN) -- President Bush fell off his bicycle Saturday while riding on his ranch, according to White House spokesman Trent Duffy. Bush, who was accompanied on his bike ride by his doctor....fell about 16 miles into a 17-mile ride. The accident caused minor abrasions to his chin, upper lip, nose,right hand and both knees, but he was able to ride back home, said Duffy....

Pedal on, O Schwinn of State

Pedal on, O Schwinn of State,
Bush-Cheney war machine so great!
Humanity with all its fears,
With all the hopes of future years,
Is hanging breathless on thy fate!
We know what "masters" warped thy wheels,
What workmen botched thy chain of steel,
Who bent thy training-wheels, and broke
Each sprocket, gear and twisted spoke.
You forged the misbegotten mess,
And when you fall off on your ass,
You'll blame the Congress, blame the brass;
The lib'ral press (defeatist traitors),
But ne'er blame Bush and his Crusaders!
In spite of plans that lack all sense,
In spite of false intelligence,
Ride on, nor fear to breast the tide
Of rising blowback. Smug and snide,
You took the nation for a ride.
You stole our sons, then hid their bodies
Go, pedal with your pals the Saudis,
To Hell with thee, to HELL with thee!

Not Brightest, Nor Best
to the tune of "Brightest and Best of the Sons of the Morning"

Not brightest nor best of the sons of Big Oil
A wastrel until he quit drinking;
Unaccustomed to service, and unused to toil
And too little given to thinking.

Vainly we wait for a sign that he sees
That the crisis grows daily much vaster
What “war president” ever took so much ease
As debacle turned into disaster?

While Baghdad is burning he falls from his bike.
(The training wheels came off too soon.)
Make this wannabe Ike on a trike take a hike
Along with that other poltroon.

The Ballad of the National Guard Bonus

01/25/05

Hello, boys and girls! Today
I'm here to offer Fifteen K
To each and every one of you
Who wants to serve and be true-blue.

Hello, soldier in the V.A. hall!
Too bad you lost your arm and all.
Here's a safety pin for your sleeve,
Oh, and Soldier, before you leave,

Pay this, or you won't get far:
It's a bill for the blown-up car,
Your missing rifle, and back pay
You haven't earned since explosion day!

It comes to right around fifteen grand.
Gee, we're sorry about your hand.
Your Purple Heart? Don't have it here;
We'll mail it. When your check has cleared.

A Rolling Clusterballad of Rumdum's Quagmire

We'll go in "lean and mean," ya see?
We won't need too many troops,
And there won't be a goddam insurgency,
Just garlands of flowers in the - oops.

It's only a few of Saddam’s old pals
"Dead enders" who just won’t quit;
They’ve blown up a few of our guys and gals
But soon they will all be—--oh, shit.

Well, we were still right to start this war!
And pretty soon now we will find
All those WMDs we were looking for
…There are none? You mean NONE?...Never mind.

The insurgency’s finally passed its peak
As I just heard from General Myers,
He knows, ‘cause I told him so last week;
Are you saying we BOTH are liars?

The soldiers need armor? more benefits?
They need higher combat pay?
They're at war, goddamit! This isn’t the Ritz!
Uh, waiter, I’ll have the filet.

We’ve been here almost two years now,
Our troops? Hell, no, they’re not tired!
Our allies aren’t either! …At least, not. . .Palau,
And I STILL haven’t been fired.

I think that proves I’m doing just fine!
That this clusterfu--war soon will BE won,
That a “quagmire” is only a state of mind,
And you must have a mind to see one.

When Despot Shakes His Sordid Fist

When Despot shakes his Sordid Fist
Not all the World doth tremble:
Some indicate where to be kissed
And say "Thou dost dissemble."

He ordereth Legions to increase;
They dwindle, not grow more.
He ordereth the Waves to cease
And still they lap the Shore.

A Tyrant wields his Rod in vain;
In vain his vast Empire:
'Twill fall, like cities of the Plain,
And Nineveh, and Tyre.

- Sapientia Stillingfleet

Neoconservative Lament, or, Swine before Perle

This world has grown cold for a neo-con, dears:
Though once we were loathed but respected,
Now we only get loathing commingled with jeers.
We're disconsolate, blue, sad, dejected.

We had power untold and a lucrative gig
When we ruled from the five-sided castle;
Now we're looking at time in a Federal brig
For some two-bit security hassle.

Those traitors at State and the foul CIA
Tried to smear with lies clumsy and crude
The very best friends of the whole U.S.A.,
Just to make it look like you've been screwed.

Only rogue agents In League With World Terror
Would drag our fair names in the dust,
For no neo-con ever, was ever in error;
The way of the Righteous is Just.

So even if each Special Plan we advised
Was a a gem of craptastical error
We'll never admit that the war we devised
Has made the world safer...for terror.

We'd like to get back to our principle errand:
Making desert lands safe....for investment,
So Green Zones can blossom like roses of Sharon,
As it says somewhere in the Old Test'ment.

And our will will be done, tho' some may not get it,
There is light at the end of the tunnel,
Though your soldiers and allies and money and credit
Seem to vanish down some giant funnel.

For Liberty's end is but freedom's beginning,
Each setback more proof we've succeeded.
Our logic (Orwellian) proves we are winning,
When really we're we're flat-ass defeated.

Oh, Dubya, Dear Dubya, It's Going to Get Rough

by Oliver Wendell Halliburton

Oh, Dubya, dear Dubya, it's going to get rough,
Your downfall's beginning, you slime.
America's tired of your lies and your guff,
And your Daddy can't help you this time.

Item One--here you strut on this old video,
Telling lies just to make folks afraid.
Item Two--all the photos that you wouldn't show
Of the bodies of those you betrayed.

Item Three--here's a memo on torture you wrote;
Four's your gulag, where law is forgotten.
Item Five--here's the payoffs that bought you the vote.
Here's your character witness: Bin Laden!

Item Six--here you loaf, just a-strummin' guitar
While folks in New Orleans went under.
They drowned while you clowned, slept, and peddled your war;
Now the whole nation's pissed, and no wonder.

Item Seven: The cronies you put in high posts:
Party hacks, college roomies--a brood
Who just gawked while a hurricane ravaged our coasts
--If a terrror attack comes, we're screwed.

Item Eight--Karl Rove, your old Slimer-in-Chief
Being frogmarched to court for his treason.
Item Nine, which you brought in the night, like a thief:
Our debt, which is vast beyond reason.

Item Ten is the failure of your mad invasion
That would rebuild...the whole Middle East!
You never told us that a whole generation
Would be needed to do it, at least.

Oh, Dubya, dear Dubya, come home in duress,
Impeachment's beginning, you worm,
And afterwards, criminal charges we'll press
And, please, please, God, a stiff prison term.

Oh, Dubya, dear Dubya, come home with me now.
Your free passes have ALL passed away.
I pray you'll sleep tight in your cellblock tonight
With Cheney and Rove and DeLay.

Fifty Conservative Blogs! Count 'Em! Fifty!

The Blogs! with apologies to Edgar Allan Poe

See the wingnuts with the blogs!
Rightwing blogs!
What a world of terror has them grovelling like dogs!
How they shiver, shiver, shiver
In their meager cyber-spheres
All their pundits are a-quiver,
Spin backfiring like a flivver
Like a rocket up the rear!
Spreading lies, lies, lies
As their brain implodes and fries
From a mad hallucination of their leaders marched like frogs,
In the blogs, blogs, blogs, blogs, blogs, blogs, blogs,
-In the trembling and dissembling of the blogs.

See the proud progressive blog!
Kos's blog!
What a world of activism issues from its log!
How the posters, posters, posters
Sitting up til nearly dawn
Nail the lies of rightwing boasters
So that Kossacks, over toasters,
Can rejoice and carry on.
Nailing lies, lies, lies
Giving candidates supplies
Of the data that'll help them stick a wrench in Bush's cogs,
Oh, the blogs, blogs, blogs, blogs, blogs, blogs, blogs,
The smiting and the righting of the blogs.