Boobie Constitutional Concupiscence
(from Fernando Po, U.S.A., America's post-literate retreat to Plato's Cave)

And then we have the strange case of
The Boobie Bubba Bill
Who said he felt our pain so much
He couldn't get his fill
And even if we had no pain
He said he'd feel it still

He and his partner wife set out
To run for President
But they could not agree about
Just whom the people meant
To exercise authority
And run the government

The power partners packed a peck
Of pathos in their plank
And empathized with anyone
Who owned or ran a bank
Which helped them craft a platform that
In crude terms. really stank

They said we'd get the two of them
For just the price of one
Which made each worth a half a loaf
Much worse than only none
And in their Pyrrhic victory
They found themselves undone

These self-promoting parvenus
Misread what most had seen:
That Boobie Ross Perot had fired
A missile in between
The ribs of the Republicans
And split their ticket clean

Thus what the elder Bush had lost
The Clintons thought they'd won
With less than half the vote you'd think
They'd recognize the gun
Aimed squarely at their foreheads while
They went on having fun

But these two had to squabble first
About which half of two
Had won the job the other half
Claimed fairly as his due.
And so in fear and loathing crept
Newt Gingrich into view

This man who married mistresses
Successively in turn
Claimed that his moral purity
Entitled him to burn
The Clinton twin in effigy
If both halves didn't learn

But they did not, as well we know,
And hence the tacky tale
Of that which caused the Clinton twin's
Androgyny to fail
As what he/she did to her/him
Went far beyond the pale

"'He said,' she said," she said he said
Which meant she spoke for both
While at Bill's swearing-in she raised
Her hand and took the oath
Which petty grab for power left
The voters feeling loath

And when the Cabinet convened
They found an extra chair
Placed at the table for someone
Whose husband put her there
To manage damage to a plan
Called Hillary's Health Care

So thus there ended any hope
That working folks would know
Some simple life security
Or to the doctor go
If they got sick or needed help –¬
Which left them feeling low

Therefore as soon as circumstance
Placed ballots within range
The Boobie voters exercised
Their right to make a change
And did a thing so frightful that
It made bizarre look strange

They turned the House and Senate out
And brought the bad guys in
Which meant the Boobies Newt and Trent
And all their right-wing kin
Who promptly launched all-out Jihad
Against the Clinton twin

It hardly seems advisable
To say what happened next
It left the Boobies mesmerized
And feeling quite perplexed
To see their leadership revealed
As highly oversexed

Into Bill's ogling orbit swept
An intern plump and fair
Who lifted up her skimpy skirt
To show her underwear
And let him catch a furtive glimpse
Of what almost was there

As prosecutor Kenneth Starr
Would later leak the tale
And pass along his "secrets" to
The public without fail:
Ol' Bubba Bill had found at last
The Bimbo Holy Grail

Indelicately put, it seems,
She didn't miss a lick
It didn't spoil her appetite
It didn't make her sick
It did, however, scandalize
The moralizing hick

And in Bill's bald hypocrisy
The Right descried their hope
They wouldn't merely stand aside
And sulk and seethe and mope
But would instead make sex a crime
And hang Bill with its rope

With nothing really much to do
Except grub after cash
The "leaders" of America
Decided they would crash
The car of government into
One poor girl's horny gash

It mattered not that Bill had caved
And heeded all their screams
And given them the things they'd dreamt
In each one's wildest dreams
The Right were left like staring deer
Transfixed by headlight beams

This only fueled their rage the more
As robbed of their hot air
They had no purpose left in life
Except their teeth to bare
So Bill's capitulation came
To none who thought he'd dare

Where two faiths flourish side by side
They both claim to revile
Each other with a special kind
Of vitriolic bile
Reserved for child molesters like
The priestly pedophile

So should a renegade decide
To jump across the aisle
A fate awaits him best expressed
In classic Chinese style:
"Our enemies we kill at once,
But traitors take a while."

So Bill's sell-out of his own kind
For new friends on the Right
And blowjobs expertly performed
By Monica at night
Combined to buy him nothing but
Impeachment's ugly blight

Their vitriol and hatred seemed
Extreme to say the least
For one who’d been so kind to them
You’d think his health they’d feast
Instead they howled and hunted him
Like some unlucky beast

The explanation lay, of course,
In greed that left a pall
Above the seething of the Right
Who wanted Bill to crawl:
“If we could get this much from him
We should have had it all!”

So Bill became a symbol of
Some bucks that got away
To fund a pre-school program so
Some kids could get to play:
The hated thought that someone poor
Might eat a meal today

The well-off swells among the rich
Aspired to much, much more
And thought that they could get it if
Bill rolled upon the floor
Which they thought they could make him do,
Perhaps right out the door

His ready acquiescence, though,
And helpful compromise
Left his attackers madder still
Convinced that in his lies
They saw no manly fruit hung down
Between his henpecked thighs

A white Tar Baby in a patch
Of briars sharp and thick
A spineless puff of marshmallow
At which they'd flail and kick
A cross between the Doughboy and
The sperm whale Moby Dick

Then Boobie Jesse Jackson came
To share Bill's weary mile
And so they got down on their knees
To laugh and pray and smile:
A black man's Elmer Gantry and
A white man's Gomer Pyle

To both of these adulterers
An empathetic sigh
And to the tune of violins
The crocodile will cry
A single stream of tears out of
The corner of one eye

However, things got even worse
If such a thing could be
The government came all undone
Because of he and she
In Puritan America
A scandal’s cup of tea

Republicans and Democrats
Decided to deride
Each other for their mistresses
And closets deep and wide
In which lay ugly skeletons
That they had locked inside

Unedifying fights ensued
That none escaped unstained
While lawsuits and grand juries spawned
A frenzy unrestrained
Which left attorneys richer
And their clients badly drained

But no elixir known to man
Exists to cure this spell
The farther upward that they fail
The more their memoirs sell
Since Boobie ladies just devour
Ghost-written kiss-and-tell

But even if no one has kissed
Or rang the intern's bell
The President celebrity
Will surely make out swell
With "speaking fees" from Goldman Sachs,
Do-good means doing well

Michael Murry, "The Misfortune Teller," Copyright © 2005