The Year in Verse
A Politickles Retrospective
Bush had plenty of sleep before,
Knowing now he will get no more,
With the clanking chain
And the cries of pain
From the ghost of a grieving Gore.
There once was a man named Vlad
Who was known for a habit he had:
With such pride in his nailing,
When he took to impaling
No one ever would challenge his chad.
“It’s really quite simple,” Al said.
“The one who’s behind should have led,
So we’ll void votes for George
And then we will forge
Enough ballots to put me ahead.”
Every Democrat losing a race
Has a serious question to face:
Should he follow the plan
Of the late Carnahan
And expire just to capture first place?
If the “new and improved” Albert Gore
Met the first Albert Gore from before,
A debate would ensue
Between Als Old and New
Over which Albert Gore to ignore!
You say you can’t stand anymore
Advertisements for Bush or Al Gore?
Well, no matter who’s won,
This election is done,
So get ready for 2004!
Aides offer an explanation
For Albert’s exaggeration:
“It’s not that he lies,
It’s just that he tries
To use his imagination.”
Aware that he may be disbarred,
Bill Clinton is taking it hard:
He’s never once paid
For mistakes he has made
And would rather not reap his reward.
With their focus on goals of their own,
Young people today who postpone
Or incline to disparage
A commitment in marriage
May find themselves aging alone.
You can have all your hullabaloo
And ‘arbor illusions too,
You can care about trees
As much as you please,
But the trees still won’t care about you!
Five Justices’ wanton support
Preserves the grim “right” to abort:
To keep babies alive,
Replace one of those five
And establish a life-choosing Court.
Al Gore wants to target tax cuts
With innumerable ifs, ands, or buts
Yet we target each day
What to do with our pay,
With no help from presumptuous nuts!
“You don’t have to be very clever
To know that I’m anxious to sever
All connections to him
Whom I once on a whim
Called the greatest President ever.”
If free markets are something you dread,
Our Constitution is over your head,
And American history
To you is a mystery,
On election day, please, stay in bed!
R2D2 and Robbie had more
Variations of speech than Al Gore:
“Risky scheme, risky scheme,”
His unwavering theme,
Has become just a bit of a bore.
Downwardly spirals demand
For that outdated Albert Gore brand
The quality’s cheap,
The price way too steep
And Prince Albert is soon to be canned.
They prefer that it not be recalled
How their youthful behavior appalled:
“Trust none over thirty,”
Roared the young and the dirty,
But that was before they went bald.
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 mood of the people is clear
As November’s election draws near:
We’ve had more than our fill
Of Al, Hill, and Bill
And we wish they would all disappear.
Their parents won’t be overruled,
Nor their personal values retooled.
Their minds will grow strong
As they learn right from wrong,
‘Cause these children are being homeschooled.
My neighbor’s a tree-hugging pain,
But he’s unsympathetic to grain:
If I chance not to mow
And my grass starts to grow,
He’s the first on the block to complain!
You may think that Im pulling a prank,
But I’m trying my best to be frank:
In my search for a rhyme
I have run out of time,
So you’ll just have to fill in the ___.
Nominations are not in contention
And there’s nary an issue to mention:
Crowning Bush and Al Gore
Will be such a big bore,
So why even have a convention?
It’s truly depressing to see
What’s become of the GOP:
Still pro-life, more or less,
And for gun rights, we guess,
But no telling how long that will be.
Students headed for college each fall
Have to keep their opinions in thrall:
It’s essential to be
Perceived as “PC,”
So they try not to speak up at all.
“When we measured no parts per million,
We raised standards to parts per billion.
We’re the new EPA
And we’ll have it our way,
Finding parts per trillion and zillion!”
Their abiding misanthropy shows
What’s behind the Earth Firster’s pose,
For these mopes without mirth
Have no love for the earth
And are nothing but Mean Green Joes.
Huey Long could not have foreseen
This perverse American Dream,
But the vision today
In a land going gay
Is of “Every man a queen!”
I’m loath to make light of the lying,
The fraud, the corruption, the spying:
The norms villains shatter
Are no laughing matter,
But the only alternative’s crying.
Conservatives say it’s a gas,
But liberals give it a pass:
My book is a mirror
That shows their flaws clearer,
And they hate what they see in the glass!
There’s a cure for the liberal bacillus
That’s invaded our system to kill us:
(In pill form or spray!)
With the powerful antigen “Phyllis.”
When combative conservatives hush
And the brazenest liberals blush,
We know that the fun
Has already begun
And the nation is listening to Rush!
Your days are now numbered, Fidel.
Pretty soon they’ll be tolling your bell.
When they shout, “Cuba free!”
Rum and cokes are on me,
And I’ll hand out Havanas as well.
I will thank Gore and Bush in advance
If they’ll promise to take a firm stance
And conceal their beliefs
About boxers or briefs
And their preference in underpants.
Census takers who tally my head
Will not know if I’m black, white, or red:
Because, in the space
To designate race,
I inscribed the word “human” instead.
As he wriggles and wiggles and squirms,
The Republican chairman confirms
That he relishes clout
And is anxious to flout
His support for strict limits on terms.
“We ignore those impossible pests
And their parents’ complaints and requests:
As a matter of prudence,
We disregard students
And focus on feathering our nests.”
“Our donations are going to Gore,
That ponderous, pandering bore:
He’s a stiff Beta Male,
But his soul is for sale
And we really can’t ask for much more!”
I’m aware that my viewpoint excites
The wrath of the Leninites,
But I wield this pen
As a citizen,
Defending his God-given rights!
Here’s what to say to a clod
Who denies the existence of God:
“If He isn’t true,
Then neither are you,
Who were shaped with a soul from His sod.”
“We’ve each received our ration
Of the latest political fashion.
Dismiss us as artless,
But don’t call us heartless:
We’re ‘conservatives with compassion.'”
Doomsday deadlines bear recalling
When they’ve passed and we’re not sprawling:
If dreaded fate
Is running late,
Then perhaps the sky’s not falling.
“Be forewarned that our slanders won’t stop
Until yours is a unionized shop:
Oh, the pictures we’ll paint
When we file our complaint!
So you might as well throw us a sop.”
“Most assuredly I’m the master
Of calamity, crisis, disaster:
What my clients call woe
I transmute into dough.
How I wish their misfortunes came faster!”
“But, Boss, to save fuel, I must drive
Never faster than 55.
If I want to save plenty,
I must not exceed 20
Which explains why I’m last to arrive!”
With taxes exorbitantly high,
It’s hard to put anything by.
And yet there’s no surety
In Social Security,
So I guess I’ll just work ’til I die.
Just as sugar may draw out the ants,
There’s a better than even chance
That amateurs and hobbyists
Turn professional lobbyists
When a government’s giving out grants.
It should come as no surprise
That poverty rates will rise
When more is spent
On the indigent,
‘Cause you get what you subsidize.
As their days of departure draw nigh,
You may hear death-row denizens sigh:
I’m not certain still
That it’s so wrong to kill,
But I personally would rather not die!”
“Oh, Mama, don’t let that thing get me!
Oh, Mama, you’ve not even met me!
Oh, Mama, please give
Me a lifetime to live!
Oh, Mama, you’d never regret me!”
Our thousand-year party was fun.
We’ll repeat it for 2001.
A millennial glow
Two years in a row
And a hangover second to none!
The electorate, tired and downhearted,
Wish the candidates could all be discarded.
They’ll be beating the drum
For months yet to come:
The campaigning has just barely started!