Written five years ago, but even more appropriate now, given the recent passing of Christopher Hitchens, who couldn't make it as a writer in his native England, but who successfully emigrated to America, where lower literary and intellectual standards prevail among the jingoists. So, with a nod to George Orwell's essay "Notes on Nationalism":

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

The jingoistic national
As Orwell named the type
Enlists to fight a brand new cause
Depending on the tripe
Unstable and transferable
To any nutty gripe

Beginning on the Left and then
Careening to the Right
Then back and forth to land again
In someone else’s fight:
Tobacco smoke and alcohol
Obscuring little light

Equipped with English accent and
A schoolboy’s stock of slurs
He finds another country where
A thought sometimes occurs
But too infrequently to catch
The speech his thinking blurs

This transferred British Boobie swore
That he could not descry
As single solitary soul
To whom someone could lie
And having written thus he changed
The color of his sky

Whereas in the United States
On any given day
The polls show vast majorities
In each and every way
Believing lies and hype designed
To lead them all astray

So some remain to lie to if
Someone will tell the lie
Credulity has never known
A limit, and here’s why:
Americans just want to think
That thought does not apply

This Boobie Hitchens claimed a rape
Had transpired long ago
Involving Boobie Clinton and
Juanita So-and-So
(Revulsion retroactive and
The “proof” ex post facto)

Not just content to sling this crap
The Boobie Hitchens swore
That his friend Ahmed Chalabi
Would tell the truthful score
About Iraq -- if funded with
The wages of a whore

And wanting so to play the role
Of Papa Hemingway
This transferred British jingoist
Talked tough in his bluff way
But found the rich were just like us,
Except for better pay

So signing on with Boobie George
And Dick and Don and Paul
The Boobie Hitchens quickly learned
The bitter taste of gall
As Ahmed’s paid “intelligence”
Turned rancid after all

For who on earth would think to trust
A bank fraud on the lam
Who frequented casinos while
He “fought” the bad Saddam
For years in sumptuous exile
Funded by old Uncle Sam?

Yet now that none of Ahmed’s tips
Have turned out to be true
The Boobie Hitchens holds his breath
And threatens to turn blue
Since no one but his fascist friends
Cares what he wants to spew

Thus duped and with his knickers down
He blusters for his bread
The pooch he screwed so baldly has
Climbed back into his bed
With Blair and Bush: three poodles screwed
By their own pooch instead

So if you want to find someone
Who’ll credit any lie
You needn’t search much further than
This British Boobie guy
Who’ll wind up any wingless bird
And then just let if fly

Michael Murry, "The Misfortune Teller," Copyright © 2006