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Hillary Obama
Oprah Tango

By Rip Rense
rip@riprense.com
1-15-8
 
Hillary said to Barack O.
Boo Hoo Hoo! I ain't no ho'!
 
And behold and lo, it worked like a charm
New Hampshire folks all left the farm
 
And cast their votes for Mrs. Clinton
Of things to come it could be hintin'
 
Like Wild Bill back in White House saddle
And Maya Angelou our brains to addle
 
("She's mah fav-rit poet," said Prez-dent Bill
And lots of other lightweight swill)
 
So it's all come down, you wait and see,
to which black lady gets to be 
 
the president's first spiritual guide
And in the Lincoln room reside:
 
Angelou or puffy Oprah
She's the country's TV Pope, rah! 
 
For U.S. electness, it's a duel 
Of political correctness, and we the fool 
 
Barack's high card is "girlfriend" Winfrey
While Wild Bill's is faithful Hillary!
 
(Oh, it's the other way, of course
Bill is just Hill's stalking horse)
 
It's one great, reeking, trite soap Oprah
Think it's hard so far to cope, ya
 
Ain't seen nothin' yet; your fears 
Weren't left behind with Hillary's tears 
 
This dirt-dumb race is based on skin 
And who just spoke the bigger sin:
 
Hillary's talk of LBJ'in' 
Or Obama's cagey hope-a-sayin'
 
You know that Hill said MLK 
Wasn't worth a bale of hay 
 
Compared to President Lyndon Baines's 
Signing' laws that ended pains-es 
 
Of black American persecution
That was America's restitution! 
 
Of course she didn't really diss old King 
'Twas tall O-Man who put the sting 
 
In Clinton's seeming slam at Martin 
Which brings us to the real heart in
 
This whole madness, all the blather
(It almost makes you miss Dan Rather)
 
Why don't these prancing martinets 
Get out some horns and clavinets 
 
And just blow noise at one another 
And all the nightly news, oh brother
 
Williams, Gibson, CNN 
Don't have the depth of Eminem
 
You watch the news, do you believe it?
Brain in toilet, can you retrieve it? 
 
These fine prospective nominees 
Have thinking people on their knees 
 
While they debate on who took dope
And who evokes more sense of hope
 
And who can speak the buzz-word, "change"
The most in a debate exchange 
 
(While spending bills like game board cash
Enough to give Greenspan a rash)
 
And so they've made the sorry race 
Into a tete-a-tete on. . .race!
 
It's pure slick Willie slitherin' slidin'
To call O. "nigger" by dodgin', hidin'
 
Behind MLK, of things ironic 
Next they'll be weepin', melancholic
 
Over dirty trickster accusation
"Can't we keep things elevatin'?"
 
What we need is good old Monica 
To come back and blow on Bill's harmonica
 
To get old lady Hill a-weepin'
And up the polls her numbers creepin'
 
Divorce would be a sure-fire way 
To win the hearts of the USA!
 
But this, of course, ain't gonna happen
Bill's old dog is mostly nappin'
 
And so we're left with less excitin' 
Ranting, raving, and testifyin'
 
The O-man wants the world a-thinkin'
He's Kennedy, King, and maybe Lincoln
 
And Oprah shouts, from sea to sea 
Win with me and you'll be free
 
And Mrs. B. will straighten you out:
"Barack's a slob, but have no doubt
 
He'll change the world, not just D.C.
He's the man of the future, can't you see?"
 
Well, many a soul just swallow it all
That "hope" is O-man's beck and call 
 
(Never mind Barack's a smoker
At least he not a lying toker!)
 
He's walking, talking harmony 
Half-black, half-white, part Galilee
 
And never mind that snide remark to 
Hillary, it was just a lark---
 
Barack O.'s the man to reign 
Fuggedabout his middle name 
 
(Hussein, it is, so conspiracy theorist
Can claim he's just Islamicist) 
 
The crux of this sad, sorry matter: 
Is there's no substance in his patter!
 
And Hillary, God---even worse 
Her liveliness is drawn by hearse
 
"Process," "voice," and "change" palaver
Could not compete with Ford's cadaver 
 
And for content's wretched sake 
I must point out her hollow, fake 
 
"End the war" triangulation 
Is empty as her fluctuation 
 
About the vote to give Bush power 
To nuke the world down to last flower 
 
And let us not to be forgettin' 
That Bushes and Clintons are a-settin'
 
Down together to schmooze and booze
And man-talk 'bout some female flooze 
 
These royal scions are kissin' cousins 
Of each other and Arab dozens
 
Mwah and mwah on cheeks they pucker
And think inside, you mother---Duck! Er. . .
 
So much crap is raining down 
We need a toilet paper crown
 
And no substantial observation 
On this election situation 
 
Would carry any real weight 
Without acknowledging Israel's fate
 
Whoever's prez, hey, it's a lock that
He or she's in AIPAC's pocket. . .
 
And now before I end these couplets
There's one more bit of cynical muck, let's
 
Sum things up with proper grimness
(As our wittedness is getting dimness)
 
The other side boasts things still worse 
Than Hillary or Obama curse 
 
I mean, elect a guy who thinks the earth 
Was conjured just before his birth?
 
Huckabee, now there's a name 
That makes you think of honey and Twain 
 
That wall-eyed crackpot former fat man 
Thinks Jesus Christ is just like Batman 
 
And then there's Mormon Romney, Mitt
Who obviously is full of sh, quiet, it
 
Sounds like a funeral when he's talkin'
As if a nice pine box he's hawkin'
 
Elect that guy and see how gorey 
Is the world's return to Christian guy-lor-ay! 
 
Then, twitching, barking, and talkin' smack
John McCain's come fightin' back 
 
You could almost hear the Wall Street sigh
When McCain knocked Mitt and Huck aside 
 
So goddamn what he's bullgoose looney
At least he doesn't believe in mooney 
 
Stuff about some underwear
Protectin' Mitt when life ain't fair. . .
 
John's part Wayne and part bad hunch
And not a little out to lunch
 
His deck is only Kings and Jokers
He'll get Osama with a red-hot poker!
 
Or McCain just might turn out mild
It was a lie, that black love child
 
It was an orphaned tot he raised 
And that speaks well for someone crazed 
 
Yes, John-boy tends to shout and rage
Thanks to Vietnam torture cage 
 
Still it might be fun to watch him boil
As he nukes Iran and grabs the oil 
 
Heckuva lot more entertainin' 
Than Mr. Nook-yoo-luhr Xanax Brainin'
 
But it's all moot, this rhyming ranting
And so is voting, and slogan-chanting 
 
It's true, that dying can be brave, 
Unless you mean democracy's grave
 
Which is to say, in awkward fashion
Diebold's a funny name for fascism
 
The machine that counts your heartfelt X
Is surer than successful sex
 
Between a cat and kangaroo 
on Mars, L.A., or Saskatoon 
 
Your touch-screen votes are permanent as 
An unrecorded note of jazz 
 
It's ironic, all, the vote parade
And old electoral count charade
 
When a simple keyboard stike, command
Can erase the will of this great land. 
 
Of course it's all just Wonderlandin'
To think that votin' keeps your hand in
 
The remains of this democracy--- 
That land of the craven, and not so free.
 
 
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