Political Cortex: Brain Food for the Body Politic

"Oh Tom!"
the corportists wailed
against a biting early April
Washington wind.

"Oh Tom! Why now?"
Ken Mehlman was heard to say
over his breakfast
of crude oil and pancakes.

"Because it's time,"
The Hammer replied.
"I'm not going out a loser."

Far bigger fish to fry
in the lobby shop of his dreams,
just desserts for a career
of turning screws.

But in reality, you wimped out
kinda like Newt did
or Bob Livingston
just because he had some affair
nobody cared about.
But hey!
More secret stash
to be had
in the private sector,
right Tom?

The man of many nicknames --
Hot Tub Tom
The Hammer
Bugman
all strangely appropriate --
is no more.

Honestly, it must not have been
that much fun for Tom
after he leaped off a cliff
and became a regular guy
Congresscritter.

No more K Street lobbyists to threaten.
No more glad handing for the grease money.
No more golf junkets with Jackie A.

Tom will tell you with a semi-straight face
that, no, it's not because
a trip to the pokey is imminent.

He's doing what is best for the "party",
after all:

funny words from a man
whose always worried about his own hide first.

Such a comer, our Tom.
Tom, Dick and Newt --
the '94 Cowboys --
riding into D.C. to lasso
the big boys.

Tom's head
got so big
in '97
that he tried to take Newt down
only to realize
that Newt's head
was bigger than the
Capitol Dome.

No matter.
Tom was good at invective,
rallying the troops,
impeaching Bill Clinton
and a general swell guy.
Oh, there would always be
some free grub outside
Tom's office.
Some scraps left over
from a swanky reception
attended by tailored suits
and trophy wives.

But don't flatter yourself, Tom,
if you think K Street is
mourning your loss.
The Hammer is Dead!
Long live the Bo(eh)ner!

Ah, Tom. I'll miss you.
Kind of in the way
I missed Newt the Newt
or will miss Shrub.

Easy to kick around while you're here...

...grateful as hell
for my country
when you're gone.