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The Bush Haikus
February 6, 2002
by Patrick Clark

Torn by the winds of passion and lost in the fog of war, the following haikus fluttered over the Rose Garden hedges and were recovered by everyday Americans like you and me who, undaunted by terror, were going about their lives of unchecked consumerism. Following several days of spell checking, we’ve deduced that the original documents were definitely written in English. Further research has led us to believe that these poems — though whiskey-stained and crayon-scrawled — are the work of none other than that venerable wordsmith, George W. Bush himself.

No doubt it is surprising to some to find that it is actually the form of the haiku-rather than the dirty limerick- that the President prefers. On reflection, however, it is only natural that the spartan purity of the haiku’s five-seven-five lines appeal to our Whitehouse Gary Cooper, a man comfortable with few words and even less meaning. Indeed, these simple pieces do much to convey the gruff tenderness of the plain-spoken West Texan trapped inside the body of a heartless corporate geisha.

Here are brave, elegant lines, bursting with an unencumbered love of money and power that a lesser man might deny. Here is the smug sanctimony of a recovering drunk, the pious zeal of a former addict unafraid to look into the eyes of a nation- and lie. Here, in simplistic celebration, is the autobiographical musing of a man who has lollygagged in the harness of mediocrity, slobbered on the dung heap of stupidity, snorted from the mirror of excess, and drunk deep from the well of-well- from whatever well drink was on special that night. You get the point....

It is said that Nero amused himself with fiddling as ancient Rome went up in flames. We find it soothing to think that even as the President burns through the economy faster than a trust fund check in Boystown, he is commemorating himself and these epic days in such magnificent, magnificent verse.

Santa Claus was wrong.
He heard, “President” but missed
Me saying “of Baseball.”

Skull and Bones was nice
But I liked cheerleading best.
Me. Pompoms. The team.

It’s not so easy
Defending the skies of Texas.
Damn that urine test!

Muslims get virgins:
When I die I hope to go
To Bolivia.

Insider trading?
Heck, what’s so bad about it?
I made my money.

A Juarez hooker
Taught me everything I know
‘Bout integrity.

I wear cowboy boots
And own a ranch but never
Seem to ride a horse.

It was near six years
Before anyone taught me
How to spell Governor.

I will not have sex.
Who needs issues? I repeat,
I will not have sex.

I’ve brought dignity
Back to the Whitehouse, they say.
Carl and Laura both.

That dirty, lowdown
Treacherous evildoer-
I’ll get you, Jeffords!

When danger threatens
And evil attacks, leaders
Run to Nebraska.

I told them bastards,
A carpet of gold- or bombs.
I told them bastards!

Run Osama Bin!
You spoiled religious freak! Now,
Define “irony”.

‘Mercans are asking
All these questions ‘bout Enron.
Oh, look! We’re at war!

Ari, I love you.
When your lips move the media
Sighs and turns away.

Dick is a meanie.
I cannot call Kenny Boy
“Kenny Boy” again.

Poppy had this job.
So although he trades arms now
I do what he says.

Low expectations
Is the best defense, Carl says.
I’m too dumb to lie!

I can’t spell impeach.
And if I can’t spell something,
It can’t happen, right?

It wasn’t truthful
That pretzel choking story-
Dad, Dick bitch-slapped me.

The author is a carpenter in Colorado. He believes politicians should be reintroduced to an hourly wage.

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