(Sorry... absolutely no pies after the fold...)
Just mention Iraq and you'll hear them rail,
Details they like to skip.
They started this psychotic war,
For the oil wells mighty grip.
Primate was a flying monkey-boy,
The Skipper a craven boor.
Fox messengers regaled that day,
Of a three hour War, a three hour War.
The blather's started getting gruff,
O'er the lives this snit has cost.
If not for the scourge of the fear they spewed,
Halliburton would be crossed, no winnowing for plus cost.
The shits took ground from the poor of this down-hearted desert pile.
Thank Dubulya, the Skipper too,
And the Millionaires that they ply,
The Moody Czar, The Professor and Laura Ann,
Here on Dubulya's Isle.
The Skipper and his "Little Dubby"
Skipper Jonas Cheney, former captain of industry and now part-time skipper of the S.S. Halliburton which has run aground on the shores of Iraq, or "Dubulya's Isle". He is the Skipper, but everybody knows that it's Dubulya's isle.
Dubulya... just Dubulya with no last name... he prefers it that way. He's been working under the grace and tutelage of the Skipper for years... being groomed as second in command and one day hopefully becoming a leader. He used to be a pilot in the service where he acquired the handle "Flying Monkey Boy"... for some reason...
Nice, sweet, innocent Laura Ann... love interest for Dubulya...
Dubulya's other occasional love interest Leezer Rant the famous Moody Czar.
Professor Don Sneakly... the brains on the island... he's a wizard at making do with nothing at all:
Skipper: "Professor, You gotta help me... I think the batteries on my pacemaker are giving out... I'm feeling so tired...
Professor: "I had anticipated that this might become a problem, Skipper, so I built you a new battery using this banana and two coconuts... now, bend over, we'll have to insert it rectally for the best conductivity..."
Skipper: "(Gulp!) Professor... please! Anything but that... isn't there some other way... those are awfully big coconuts..."
Professor: "I'm sorry, Skipper... this probably seems like some form of inhuman torture to you... but it's the only way for you to eventually get off this island alive... and just think of the information we'll be getting..."
The Howls... elitist, frequently arrogant cheerleaders for any of the plans from the Skipper, Dubulya, or the Professor to get off the island... (There are too many millionaires to mention involved here... so take your pick!)
So its all for sale as they blast away,
In fear for a long, long time.
They'd like to take the best of things,
While moppin' up the slime.
The primate and his skipper, too,
Both subject to arrest,
Will make the others cough up more,
For this xenophobe slug-fest.
No phones, no lights, exploding cars,
Like robbing Mafiosos,
It's limited for a fee.
Enjoined to fear, the weak pretend,
There's no surfeit of smiles,
From 25 million tossed aways,
Here on Dubulya's Isle.
(I know a lot of you are thinking about now, "What about Rove?" or "Where's Karl?" Well, I think we can just about stick a fork in him... so I decided not to include him... Taking a suggestion from Rep. Slaughter I decided to go ahead and give him his pink slip.)