From the archive
“I support, I embrace, I exalt
Every victim of sexual assault
– Unless it was Bill
Exercising his will,
In which case, the hussy’s at fault.”
“Though I handled Bill’s bimbo outbreaks,
Doing damage control on ‘mistakes,’
It meant nothing to me
And I really don’t see,
At this point, what difference it makes.”
Rules applied to the masses and not them,
But their hubris eventually got them:
First fell Spitzer, then Weiner,
And now somebody meaner –
The Belle of Benghazi, Ms. Rodham.
SENSE OF HUMA
“If your husband is horny like Bill,
You should pose as the good wife like Hill.
Do whatever you must
To regain public trust:
Once in office, then do what you will.”
WEINER DOES SINATRA
I’ve got the world on a screen,
I’m tweeting with a co-ed,
Got a thing about my weiner –
What a word! Where’s my wife? I’m enlarged.
I’ve got a shot that I send,
It’ll make her brain blow,
Or, again, it might offend her –
Lusty me! Can’t you see? I’m enlarged.
Wife’s a wonderful thing
As long as I have my flings.
I’d be a really stupid schmo
If I should ever let her know.
Little Anthony had to get meaner,
Being hung with a handle like Weiner,
Having always his surname
Being used as a slur name:
Could cognomens be any obscener?
Oh, you ought to get an oscar, “Mayor” Weiner,
For the explanation of your tweet,
But I doubt you’ll get an oscar, “Mayor” Weiner,
Or even keep your legislative seat.
If a human is hungry for strudel,
He can get some by using his noodle,
But his quest for confection
May result in rejection
If he paws like a poor, crazed sex poodle.
“New York State Attorney General” rang fine,
“New York Governor” sounded divine,
And yet even more eminent
Would have been “U.S. President”
– But, instead, he is now “Number 9.”
See how swiftly the mighty do fall
And their bigness become very small:
Get a little too noisy
While you’re cruising for Boise
And you’ll find your career in a stall.
BIRDS OF A FEATHER
In both Parties you’ll find creep and crank,
Even some who are thoroughly rank,
But Republicans wholly
Have disavowed Foley,
While the Democrats laud Barney Frank.
MISS KOPECHNE REGRETS
“Though I’ll miss your grand tribute to Ted,
I’ll be with you in spirit instead
As you strive to deny
That grave night in July
When he swam off and left me for dead.”
From the Clinton Archive
Nelson, Luciano, Capone
All had nicknames uniquely their own.
In Bill Clinton’s case,
You can bet “Cigarface”
Is the moniker by which he’ll be known!
Eight years of the Clintons in power
Leave a taste in the mouth that is sour
And an overall sense
That we need a good rinse
And should spend extra time in the shower.
The intern arrived optimistic,
But her outlook proved unrealistic.
Now she’s anxious to flee,
Having learned that D.C.
Means “Distinguishing Characteristic.”
What a vile conglomeration
Of every abomination:
In Clinton’s wake,
Only villains will make
A bid for the nomination.
PUTTING THE LEG IN LEGACY
A filtering V-chip’s desired
‘Til our Masher-in-Chief is retired:
His obsession with sex
Makes our news triple-X
And parental discretion required.
“The voter has no head for facts.
They stop him right dead in his tracks.
The public,” said Bill,
“Just wants a cheap thrill.
Now, Hillary, hand me my sax.”
SO THAT’S WHAT YOU CALL IT!
She was flattered he found her appealing,
But preferred that he be less revealing.
Bill tried to explain
He was feeling her pain,
But Paula knew what he was feeling!
We’ll overlook Bill’s obfuscations,
And his sexual aberrations,
And perhaps, within reason,
We’ll tolerate treason
’Cause he’s meeting our low expectations.
“If only we’d known before now
What a crafty excuse will allow:
When your villainies vex,
Say it’s just about sex,”
Chuckled Hitler and Stalin and Mao.
A President shouldn’t tell lies
Or do things that are really unwise,
But who cares about “should”
When the economy’s good
And the stock market’s on the rise?
Not so sweet his taste of swill.
Not so cheap his latest thrill.
How high the price
That’s paid for vice!
How right the name of “Bill.”
From justice they craftily fled
And avoided the sanctions they dread;
Now O.J. and Bill
Can linger at will
In the night of the fast-living dead.
Last week’s limerick
“Thanks for everything!” should be our motto:
If we’re grateful, then how can we not crow
“Thank you! Thank you so much!”
“Merci!” “Danke!” and such,
“Xie xie!” “Grazie!” “Shukran!” “Arrigato!”?