(after the sytle of Eugene Field's famous lullabye, "Wynken, Blynken, and Nod")
Duckin’, Shuckin', and Jive one night
Sailed off in a chartered yacht —
Cruising on waves of a needless fight:
Borrowed, of course, not bought.
"What is your heading, and where do you go?"
The world-at-large inquired.
"We've decided that's not for you to know.
Just believe in the crew we've hired.
'Staying the Course,' we will never get tired!"
The Old World gasped and sang a dirge
As they sailed for the rocks ahead;
And the wind that fanned their every urge
Stank with the reek of dread.
The vagrant breeze was their vacant guide
As it bore them from windward to lee.
"Now face into the blast," it lied,
And don't be afraid to pee."
Just so, the gale beguiled the three:
The long night through, the jets they flew
By the dim light of stealthy stars.
Then down from the skies rained the shock that slew,
Celebrated back home in the bars.
No bravery cheaper or done with such ease,
Had ever induced such a yawn
Which poorly compared with the Japanese
Who'd at least waited for the dawn.
Yet strangely the suckers continued to fawn
The moon and sun saw the damage done
By Duckin', and Shuckin', and Jive;
Yet helplessly watched as they frolicked in fun
And struck at a hornet hive.
Then Duckin', and Shuckin' denied what they'd said
About 'Staying the Course' to its end.
"Never said it," they said, as thy heard of the dead —
Making up a new message to send.
"They ain't made a truth that our lies cannot bend,"
Dubya and Dick hatched a plan so sick
That it scarcely compared to a dream;
But Shuckin' and Duckin' kept oiling the slick
Rapping Rumsfeld, he made the Jive scream.
They know what they don't and don't know what they do,
Leaving no one to know what they mean.
Which covers the ignorant, larcenous spew
That they make with their Jiving machine.
The poor Planet Earth never saw such a scene
Duckin' and Shuckin,' are two little guys,
Both with their wooden heads,
Jive is their bullshitting buddy who tries
To speak — leaving language in shreds.
So shut your mouths while others weep
At the terrible sights they see,
And you shall endure these dreadful things
As you roast for eternity,
Where the old shoe fits Republicans three:
Michael Murry, "The Misfortune Teller," Copyright 2006-2012