Political Cortex: Brain Food for the Body Politic

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
We sprang from our laptops to see what was the matter.
Back to our keyboards we came from each coast,
To logon to Markos and send him a post.

The moon on the oil rigs and black, driven snow
Gave the illusion of fair elections to objects below,
When, what did our horrified pundits soon guess,
But a miniature Bushog and a disfigured Congress!

With a little old driver, so lively and smug,
We knew in a moment it must be St. Shrub.
More rabid than wolves his neocons came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

"Now, Condi! now, Albert! now, Rummy! You clown!
Out, Scooter! Delay! Cheney and Brown!  
Out, Miers! Wait--Karl's still here--to the top of the wall!
Now, smash away! Smash away! Smash away, all!"

As provisional ballots before election winds fly,
When they meet with a challenger, are thrown to the sky,
So up to the House-top the hypocrites flew,
With their arms full of FOIAs, and Dubya's wiretaps, too.

And then, in a twinkling, we heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each Cabinet hoof.
As we drew in our breath, and looked cautiously around,
Down the chimney St. Dubya came with a bound.

He was dressed all in branches, from his head to his boot,
And his hands were all dirty, stained with oil, blood, and loot;
A bundle of failed policies he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his message how glum!
His ears strangely elfin; his brain stem was numb.
His droll little mouth was drawn up in smirks,
And the shape of his arms looked swollen with perks.

His words malapropos, his nose like a cherry.
He recoiled as he saw the ghost of John Kerry.
A fist he raised at that specter of reason,
"Death to your patriotism; it smacks of treason!"

The stump of outsourcing he held tight in his teeth,
And pollution encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad agenda and a little round belly,
That shook, when he cut dissent, like a bowlful of jelly.

He was arrogant and maladroit, a Right jolly old elf,
And we laughed when we watched him run into a shelf;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon let us know we had much more to dread;

He yelled, "Bring it on!" and went straight to his work,
Slowly filling the body bags; then turned, like a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the ladder he rose;

He sprang to his team and gave them a whistle,
And away they all flew like the smoke from a missile.
But we heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Raw Deal to all and to all, a good fight!"