Reason #930,389 That I Am Not An English Major
or Major Boredom Strikes on Election Night
In a horrible judgement call on my part, I told several different people that I was going to publish the following poem/satire. It was great fun for the first half or so. Then it just all fell apart and became tedious for some reason. I guess I didn't realize how terribly long the original poem was. In any case, here it is - the uncut and unclean satire of the poem generally attributed to Clement Moore, "'Twas the Night Before Christmas." I call my version "'Twas the Night of the Election." Ignore any typographical errors, weak rhymes, and other defects - I admit they're there.
'Twas the night of the election and all through the States
All the people were cursing while CNN replayed debates
The chads that were hung from the punch-cards with care
Would soon be torn off and discarded with a glare
The candidates were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of the White House danced in their heads
And Kerry in his mansion and Bush in his chair
Were prepping acceptance speeches and grooming their hair
When out on the networks there arose such a clamor
They crapped their Depends when the anchors read the whammer:
"A third party candidate has taken the lead!
The people have spoken - and chosen a dweeb!"
The moon on the breasts of the pornographic show
That the new Prez was watching gave his face a happy white glow
When what to his embarrassing surprise should appear
But a black limosine and 8 huge Secret Service agents in gear,
With their demeaners so silent and attitudes unfun,
The dweeb knew in a moment that his porn days were done
More rapid that missles behind Bush's command
These agents dug around and found tissues for his hand.
"So handy!" the dweeb laughed, but the agents did not.
"One more, if you please, to take care of some snot."
The agents complied, then explained what was up,
And the new President gasped and said "Fuck."
As Floridians before autumns' hurricanes flee,
When crowding with others, are smashed by debris,
So, avoiding the traffic, the Prez-elect flew
Towards DC - a pile of angry, federal poo.
And then, in a twinkling, Bush heard in the yard
The sounds of Oasis, shaking everything hard!
Then, as he stood and rearranged his shorts,
The dweeb walked right in and said "Hey, George!"
Bush was dressed all in black, from his head to his foot
Darker, wet lines marked the slacks of his suit
The bag full of debt he had slung on the States
Lay emptier than promises of low prime rates.
His eyes - how they marveled! His dimples - how pissed!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His sad little mouth was drawn down in a pout
And the look on his face said he knew he was out.
The tube from a bong he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had an elvish face and great pointy ears;
It was plainly obvious he was getting on in years.
The dweeb grinned at him, a bright look on his face,
And laughed at the President's long fall from grace.
"The strife is o'er, the battle done, you old goat
I've taken your crown and I'll continue to gloat!"
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his door,
But I clotheslined the bitch and put his ass on the floor,
And shoving his finger straight up his nose,
Poor Bushy screamed "This sucks! I've been hosed!"
He tried to get away, but I, the new Prez, gave a whistle,
And away his ass was shooed like the down of a thistle.
Yet I heard him exclaim as he was forced out of sight,
"Hey, thistle's a lot like sagebrush, right?"
or Major Boredom Strikes on Election Night
In a horrible judgement call on my part, I told several different people that I was going to publish the following poem/satire. It was great fun for the first half or so. Then it just all fell apart and became tedious for some reason. I guess I didn't realize how terribly long the original poem was. In any case, here it is - the uncut and unclean satire of the poem generally attributed to Clement Moore, "'Twas the Night Before Christmas." I call my version "'Twas the Night of the Election." Ignore any typographical errors, weak rhymes, and other defects - I admit they're there.
'Twas the night of the election and all through the States
All the people were cursing while CNN replayed debates
The chads that were hung from the punch-cards with care
Would soon be torn off and discarded with a glare
The candidates were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of the White House danced in their heads
And Kerry in his mansion and Bush in his chair
Were prepping acceptance speeches and grooming their hair
When out on the networks there arose such a clamor
They crapped their Depends when the anchors read the whammer:
"A third party candidate has taken the lead!
The people have spoken - and chosen a dweeb!"
The moon on the breasts of the pornographic show
That the new Prez was watching gave his face a happy white glow
When what to his embarrassing surprise should appear
But a black limosine and 8 huge Secret Service agents in gear,
With their demeaners so silent and attitudes unfun,
The dweeb knew in a moment that his porn days were done
More rapid that missles behind Bush's command
These agents dug around and found tissues for his hand.
"So handy!" the dweeb laughed, but the agents did not.
"One more, if you please, to take care of some snot."
The agents complied, then explained what was up,
And the new President gasped and said "Fuck."
As Floridians before autumns' hurricanes flee,
When crowding with others, are smashed by debris,
So, avoiding the traffic, the Prez-elect flew
Towards DC - a pile of angry, federal poo.
And then, in a twinkling, Bush heard in the yard
The sounds of Oasis, shaking everything hard!
Then, as he stood and rearranged his shorts,
The dweeb walked right in and said "Hey, George!"
Bush was dressed all in black, from his head to his foot
Darker, wet lines marked the slacks of his suit
The bag full of debt he had slung on the States
Lay emptier than promises of low prime rates.
His eyes - how they marveled! His dimples - how pissed!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His sad little mouth was drawn down in a pout
And the look on his face said he knew he was out.
The tube from a bong he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had an elvish face and great pointy ears;
It was plainly obvious he was getting on in years.
The dweeb grinned at him, a bright look on his face,
And laughed at the President's long fall from grace.
"The strife is o'er, the battle done, you old goat
I've taken your crown and I'll continue to gloat!"
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his door,
But I clotheslined the bitch and put his ass on the floor,
And shoving his finger straight up his nose,
Poor Bushy screamed "This sucks! I've been hosed!"
He tried to get away, but I, the new Prez, gave a whistle,
And away his ass was shooed like the down of a thistle.
Yet I heard him exclaim as he was forced out of sight,
"Hey, thistle's a lot like sagebrush, right?"
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