Obama's opponents try to portray him as

An "Ayers-head" (as in Bill Ayers) and as someone who has the "Wright stuff" (as in Rev. Wright)

New Name for San Francisco

In light of the California Supreme Court decision legalizing gay marriage, San Francisco has been renamed SAME FRANSEXO

Rush's Dreams and Nightmares

"Inspired" by Limbaugh's dream, as in "White Christmas" (see my previous post), I have written and produced a satirical piece to the tune of "White Christmas". It is posted on You Tube and JibJab. The music and original lyrics for "White Christmas" were written by Irving Berlin. Here are my lyrics.

I’m dreaming of a nice riot
Just like the one in ‘68
Where the delegates huddle
And policemen struggle
To show protesters the gate.

No doubt you want to aks me
About my oxycontin use
Dittoheads weren’t fooled
Nor was the ACLU
Prosecuting me was a ruse

I’m dreaming of a nice riot
As operation chaos unfolds
Where tear gas fumes fill the air
And Democrat party leaders despair

No doubt you want to aks me
Why did I not serve in Vietnam?
Since I had a cyst on my ass
I decided I could take a pass

Who's Afraid of Barack Hussein (Obama)?

To be sung to the music of the song"Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?" Music by Franklin Churchill.

Who’s afraid of Barack Hussein
Barack Hussein, Barack Hussein?
Who’s afraid of Barack Hussein?
No, not Hillary

When she started to campaign,
To campaign, to campaign
When she started, she assumed
She’d win handily.

Came the day when fate did frown
And Barack flew into town
With audacious hope he hoped just enough
And slowed her campaign down.

So Hillary turned around
And brought Bill into town
And he huffed and he puffed and he huffed just enough
To help her regain ground

Barack knew how to speak
To bring people to their feet.
He was a great orator
So with Bill he could compete

But Bill continued to huff
And he continued to puff
And then he turned so red in the face
That Hillary brought him down.

Who’s afraid of Barack Hussein
Barack Hussein, Barack Hussein?
Who’s afraid of Barack Hussein?
Bill and Hillary

When she started to campaign,
To campaign, to campaign
She was certain she would reign.
Now she’s not so sure.

If Ever I Would Leave You, as sung to Iraq by George W. Bush

This is the second in a series of songs from "Camelot", redone to fit the magical kingdom of George W. Bush. The first was Bush's Gourd, as in being out of your gourd, to be sung to the music of the title song. There was also an earlier piece, Bush's Ode to the Iraq War, to be sung to the music of the refrain from "September Song".

If Ever I Would Leave You.
(music by Frederick Loewe, original lyrics by Alan J. Lerner)

If ever I would leave you, it wouldn't be in summer.
Knowing you in summer, I never would go.
The surge going greatly, your towns red with flame,
your Council of Reps that puts ours to shame.

But if I'd ever leave you, It couldn't be in Autumn,
Since in Autumn you have Ra-ma-dan.
I know how you pray so, and people must fast,
I know you in Autumn so I must stand fast.

And could I leave you running elections in the sand,
With Winter's coldness helping you take a stand?

If ever I would leave you, How could it be in spring-time?
Knowing how in spring I'm bewitched by your oil?

Oh, no! not in spring-time! Summer, winter or fall!
No, never could I leave you at all!


Original lyrics:

If ever I would leave you It wouldn't be in summer.
Seeing you in summer I never would go.
Your hair streaked with sun-light,Your lips red as flame,
Your face with a lustre that puts gold to shame!

But if I'd ever leave you, It couldn't be in autumn.
How I'd leave in autumn I never will know.
I've seen how you sparkle When fall nips the air.
I know you in autumn And I must be there.

And could I leave you merrily running through the snow?
Or on awintry evening when you catch the fire's glow?

If ever I would leave you,How could it be in spring-time?
Knowing how in spring I'm bewitched by you so?

Oh, no! not in spring-time! Summer, winter or fall!
No, never could I leave you at all!

Bush's Gourd, as in being out of your gourd

From the Merriam-Webster online dictionary:
Main Entry: gourd
Function: noun
2: the fruit of a gourd : any of various hard-rinded inedible fruits of plants of two genera often used for ornament or for vessels and utensils
— out of one's gourd also off one's gourd : CRAZY

BUSH'S GOURD

(To be sung to the music of the title song of "Camelot."
Music by Frederick Loewe. Original lyrics by Alan J. Lerner)

A plan was made a distant time ago here
Congress and the Courts should be ignored
And there’s a certain limit to the laws here
In Bush’s gourd

There’s always time for bicycling and training
But not for reading memos to get bored
And not much time to listen to complaining
In Bush’s gourd.

Bush’s gourd! Bush’s gourd!
I know it sounds a bit far out
But in Bush’s gourd, Bush’s gourd
There's never any doubt.

Al-Qaeda and Saddam did 9/11.
Democracy is thriving in Iraq
Here no news is untoward
And no ones’ ox is gored
So join in on the fantasy that’s here
In Bush’s gourd

There’s always time for bicycling and training
But not for reading memos to get bored
And not much time to listen to complaining
In Bush’s gourd.

Bush’s gourd! Bush’s gourd!
I know, it’s pretty hard to take
But in Bush’s gourd, Bush’s gourd
There’s never a mistake

Weapons of Mass Destruction were all hidden
The recent surge is working in Iraq.
Here no news is untoward
And no ones’ ox is gored
So join in on the fantasy that’s here
In Bush’s gourd.
************

Here are the original lyrics.

A law was made a distant moon ago here:
July and August cannot be too hot.
And there's a legal limit to the snow here
In Camelot

The winter is forbidden till December
And exits March the second on the dot.
By order summer lingers through September
In Camelot

Camelot! Camelot!
I know it sounds a bit bizarre,
But in Camelot, Camelot
That's how conditions are

The rain may never fall till after sundown.
By eight, the morning fog must disappear.
In short, there's simply not
A more congenial spot
For happily-ever-aftering than here
In Camelot

The winter is forbidden till December
And exits March the second on the dot.
By order summer lingers through September
In Camelot

Camelot! Camelot!
I know it gives a person pause
But in Camelot, Camelot
Those are the legal laws.

The snow may never slush upon the hillside
By nine p.m. the moonlight must appear.
In short, there's simply not
A more congenial spot
For happily-ever-aftering than here
In Camelot.

Bush's Ode to the Iraq War

To be sung to the music of the refrain in "September Song"
(with apologies to Maxwell Anderson and Kurt Weill)

For it's a long, long time from May (07) to December (08)
And the funds grow short when you reach September (07)
As Iraqi insurgents turn the place to flame
Congress has no time for the waiting game

As my months (in office) dwindle down to a precious few
October, (Nov., Dec., ..., July, Aug.), September, …
Throughout these precious months I’ll stay (the course) with you
Throughout these months I’ll stay (the course) with you
*****************************

Here are the original lyrics, for those of you under fifty.

Oh, it's a long, long while from May to December
But the days grow short when you reach September
When the autumn weather turns the leaves to flame
One hasn't got time for the waiting game

Oh, the days dwindle down to a precious few
September, November
And these few precious days I'll spend with you
These precious days I'll spend with you