Monday, November 3, 2008

Rickey’s Election Day Missive

Eight years ago, Rickey absorbed the curious events of the 2000 Presidential Election while stewing himself in warm ale in various pubs in London (Rickey was studying abroad for the semester). And while it seemed comical to discuss with bemused Brits the series of events that would allow Strom Thurmond to become President of the United States, the gravitas of the election hadn’t truly set in for Rickey. It all seemed like a lark. And then we quickly learned the consequences of the courts appointing a woefully unqualified boy king to govern a sovereign nation. Flash forward to 2004, when after watching his tax dollars being continually allocated towards fraud, lies, and outright crime for four years, Rickey had the insane notion that a majority of the electorate in a few key states might feel similarly and vote accordingly. Alas, Rickey was mistaken as the nation threw common sense to the wind and happily succumbed to loathsome idiocy masquerading as patriotism. This is a major reason why, for Rickey, the 2004 election hurt a whole lot more than the 2000 one—it validated an absolutely despicable school of thought. And so the second term of the Bush Administration stung Rickey’s sensibilities even more than the first, as Rickey slowly came to grips with living in a nation whose citizens happily embraced what George Orwell termed “Gutter Patriotism.” A nation where strictly by way of landmass, there's a lot whole lot more red on the maps than Rickey is comfortable with. A nation which, to be perfectly honest, kind of scares us.

But now, it appears that things are about to change, thanks in no small part to the boorish idiots who voted for George Bush not once, but twice. More than anything else, those people set the stage for an Obama victory. And all it took to wake us from our stupor was the severe tarnishing of American prestige and the disappearance of everyone’s 401K. Rickey would be lying if the idea of a man bearing the name Barack Hussein Obama being sworn into the Oval Office didn’t make Rickey do a mental fist pump or two over the past few months. Does Obama winning by 4% of the electorate user in a wonderful new progressive era in American political discourse? No, we’ll still be a delightfully backwards nation, but at least it’s a sign of things to come. At least the McCain campaign’s intellectually bankrupt attacks and modern day Red-baiting didn’t appear to sway any undecided voters (people dumb enough to still be undecided probably have no idea what socialism is anyway). Most importantly, at least the Rovian political machine didn’t pull off of a three-peat.

So remember to vote tomorrow—it’s kind of a big deal. And don’t forget to pick up your free Starbucks coffee after you do. Rickey’s game plan for tomorrow is to vote early in the morning, then travel to every single Starbucks location nearby (there are roughly 20), getting a free cup of coffee at each, all the while listening to the increasingly panicked lamentations of Limbaugh, Hannity, Sliwa, et al. over the AM dial. Yes, Rickey is excited, and you should be as well.

Because we’re going to miss the comedic fodder that Sarah Palin provides, we’ll leave you with a brilliant creative submission to RwR, courtesy of Rickey’s dad. Some topics absolutely demand to be mocked in lyrical fashion, and the Sarah Palin debacle is no exception. Enjoy this brilliant creation, which in Papa Henderson’s words is “a long poem--in inverse relationship to the intellectual depth of its subject.” Farewell arctic zealot, Rickey will miss you.

Palin Ode

From the cold loins of the distant North,
a fresh new prodigy bursts forth,
and from its tundras rude,
brings along her own First Dude.

This viagra to restore McCain,
juices his floundering campaign
and wins the warm embrace
of the Party’s fervent base.

The faithful gathered in St.. Paul.
thrill to her speech’s rousing call
Rick Lowrey says each line
sent chills up his male spine.

“She’s pert, and cute,” says Rudy G.,
“but her nasty streak most captures me.”
Though Pawlenty may demur
and Ridge complain, “Not her,”

McCain’s dice-rolling VP choice
gains plaudits from his Party’s voice
and sends ripples of dismay
the Democratic way.

The old straight-talker points with pride
to the Barracuda at his side.
“Our tough-talk tones conform:
Low taxes and reform.
Maverick in bra and girdle,
She’ll clear the lobby hurdle.

To entitlements, she’s said, ‘Go scat!’”
To oil executives, ‘take that!’
To that bridge to nowhere, ‘Shoo!
Thanks but no thanks to you!’”

So Palin and McCain set sail,
a stiff reform breeze at their tail,
to take Old Boy networks on
and clean up Washington..

Like some fierce hunter dressed in drag,
Sarah takes aim at what she’ll bag --
the stuff that Liberals breed --
corruption, waste, and greed.

At this, Joe Lieberman declares
he’ll trade in all his Jewish wares.
and shuck his Shabbas shawl
to heed the Gospel’s call.

He’ll plunk his toochus down and fill a
church pew seat up in Wasilla
where they can exorcise
his lingering Liberal ties,
so giddy with renewed delight,
is this new convert to the Right.

Exposed to public glare
and opposition stare,
our moose hunter with tinted glasses
meets early challenges and passes.

Her family gets by.
a scrutinizing eye –
on a babe in arms she drags along,
on Troopergate where Sis went wrong,
on a daughter’s moral flaw,
and shotgun son-in-law.

But her Party waves the protest towel.
at the Liberal media and cries “Foul!
How dare they spit out smears
when our Hockey Mom appears!”

After a cautionary nod
from staff chief David Axelrod,
Obama’s team pulls back
and eases its attack.

Hands off this lady, she’s too tender --
also too tough. We can’t upend her.
Let’s not capsize our barge
with any sexist charge.”

Though Beltway egghead types dismiss
Ms. Palin’s homespun folksiness,
her “you betchas” and dropped “g”s
enthrall her devotees.
Her message, well rehearsed and proud,
stirs the low-information crowd.
as she makes her Party’s case,
and feeds its red-meat Base.

“Obama,” she insists,
“Hangs out with terrorists.
I’ll let specific details be,
but he’s different from you and me.

His plans to share the wealth,
will ruin our moral health.
He’ll tax more of your hard-earned dough
to give to no-goods on skid row.”

This Barracuda may
(like any maverick) stray
and get off message time to time,
but she always steps into the lime-
light everywhere she goes.
How bright her aura glows!

But in two interviews,
Embarrassment ensues.
She’s looked across the Bering Strait
to keep tabs on the Russian state
and flash “Alert Code Red”
if Putin “rears his head.”

As words escape her facile lips,
nonsense spills out and syntax slips.
Each verbal flub and lapse
reveals more knowledge gaps.

What’s more she hasn’t read or seen
a newspaper or magazine.
Somehow she can’t name even one –
not even The Wasilla Sun.
We didn’t expect Le Monde,
but why not Field and Pond?

Then Sarah falls a prey
to actress Tina Fey
and gets a weekly chance to see
herself portrayed on late TV.

Each gesture of her act
preserved almost intact
calls into question if we know
which gal’s the substance, which the show
or if each woman’s spiel
is equally unreal.

With each windshield- wiper wave we see,
each wink and smile and “golly gee,”
Palin’s uncanny double
adds to the surreal trouble.

Then she’s back out on the campaign race,
to energize her cheering base.
With no blink or interruption,
she’ll go after corruption.
Old Boys in Washington, beware!
This moose hunter is armed for bear!

But wait – some information spills
concerning certain wardrobe bills.
One hundred fifty thou
is quite a bit of dough

for clothing, hairdo, and mascara
to put the touch of class on Sarah,
decking her out to sell
like a painted Jezebel.

Are these the clothes a modest lass
should model for the working class?
And how might Joe the plumb-
er view that upscale sum?

Let’s ask that touring right-wing shill
to tally Palin’s wardrobe bill.
How many wrench sets, guy,
would all her posh clothes buy?

Sarah steps in – “Let me explain.
These clothes are just for my campaign.
I’ll give them back, you see.
They really aren’t me.
In Anchorage when I get home,
I’ll shop like any hockey mom.”

This Wardrobegate affair
sucks something of the air
out of Ms. Palin’s campaign tires
but doesn’t douse the earnest fires
that spark her faithful core --
they love her even more.

The lowbrows and the pious
blame all on media bias.
“There’s nothing incorrect or shady
about our Party’s Avon Lady.”

But now the Market’s engines seize
as credit lines and bank loans freeze.
and not even this great Mom
can dodge the fiscal bomb.

Too bad years back when she was sorting
six schools out learning sports reporting,
she kept aloof and leery
of economic theory.

But that’s just water, empty air,
across a bridge that goes nowhere,
for now the Fates disdain
herself and John McCain,

Denying wardship of the Nation
to the Party of deregulation.
Palin complains, “That’s ‘getcha..’”
Is she brassed off – you betcha!

Soon patience helps her understand
her mission in God’s holy plan:
she’s toiling in the fields
for what the future yields.

And if it’s not 2008,
she’s set up for some later date.
Four years are quickly sped,
and then she’ll rear her ugly head.

Will she then change her campaign note
and seek more than the yahoo vote?
We’ll leave that up to her
when she and First Dude confer.

And if some serum can inject
her brain with bottled intellect,
perhaps she’ll gain that prize
for which she surely vies.

[Posted at Humor Blogs]

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Smitty said...

A haiku, by Smitty

Oh Arctic Lipstick!
Incoherently rambling;
You have dropped your G.

Mark said...

Good luck tomorrow -- I hope you don't get any nasty surprises!

Jeff said...

Damn Rickey... you dad's poem IS brilliant! I wasn't planning on reading the whole thing right now but I was hooked on the first stanza and laughed my way through the whole thing. Now I know where Rickey gets his stinging wit.

There was only one obvious omission from the whole piece... a missing adjective in this line: "and then she’ll rear her ____ head." ;b

Rickey Henderson said...

hm, good catch Jeff, there is an adjective missing in there...

Rickey's pop will definitely be glad to hear you enjoyed it. The guy once wrote an entire epic poem about the Bush Presidency in Homeric verse. Funny, and crafty as all hell. Clearly, crazy runs in the family.

David said...

It strikes this loyal reader that Rickey has inherited his wit and intense writing skills quite honestly from Papa Henderson.

Well done Pops!


Prefers Her Fantasy Life said...

Well-done Mr. Henderson. Does he have his own blog?

Rickey Henderson said...

It's been defunct since 2006, but it's still up:

jeremy said...

i think you're forgetting that palin is kind of hot.

Mr Furious said...

Too late to try and scroll through that poem tonite. Maybe tomorrow...