Are you having trouble sleeping during this holiday season because of guilt anxiety DTs withdrawal impotency incometency the harried pace of the holiday season?
Are you in need of some special Christmas joy?
After seeing his dog Barney reap in royalties and higher public approval ratings from his annual holiday movies Wanting to warm the hearts of his subjects during the holidays, Prez Dubya has decided to venture into Holiday entertainment himself by releasing a CD starring who else, DUBYA, belting out the holiday hits for your listening pleasure.
Imagine delighting your guests to the merry sounds of the holiday classics, performed by the leader of the free world!
Here's a sampling from the Opus Dubya:
I'd like to dedicate my first song to my wife Secretary of Stake War Chaos State, Condi Nice Rice:
Oh, the media reports are frightful,
But Iraq is still delightful,
And since we’ve two years to go,
Let's do blow! Let's do blow! Let's do blow!
The damned insurgency is not stopping
Maliki, he needs more propping
The lights are off again, oh no!
Let's do blow! Let's do blow! Let's do blow!
I'd like to dedicate this next song to my Numbah Two Dood, the world's only living heart donor, heh heh heh.
You're a mean one, Mr. Dick.
You really are a heel.
You're as cuddly as a cactus,
You're as charming as an eel.
Mr. Dick.
You're a bad banana
With a greasy black peel.
You're a monster, Mr. Dick.
Your heart's an empty hole.
Your brain is full of spiders,
You've got garlic in your soul.
Mr. Dick.
I wouldn't touch you, with a
thirty-nine-and-a-half foot pole.
You're a vile one, Mr. Dick.
You have termites in your smile.
You have all the tender sweetness
Of a seasick crocodile.
Mr. Dick.
Given the choice between the two of you
I'd take the seasick crockodile.
You're a foul one, Mr. Dick.
You're a nasty, wasty skunk.
Your heart is full of unwashed socks
Your soul is full of gunk.
Mr. Dick.
The three words that best describe you,
are, and I quote: "Stink. Stank. Stunk."
You're a rotter, Mr. Dick.
You're the king of sinful sots.
Your heart's a dead tomato splot
With moldy purple spots,
Mr. Dick.
Your soul is an apalling dump heap overflowing
with the most disgraceful assortment of deplorable
rubbish imaginable,
Mangled up in tangled up knots.
You nauseate me, Mr. Dick.
With a nauseaus super-naus.
You're a crooked jerky jockey
And you drive a crooked horse.
Mr. Dick.
You're a three decker saurkraut and toadstool
sandwich
With arsenic sauce.
And now, I'd like to dedicate this special diddy to the best things I've ever dun done, my gurls, Jenna and Barbara!
Drunk twins got run over by some reindeer
Walking 'round the White House Christmas eve.
You can say there's no such thing as Santa,
But as for me and Laura, we believe.
They'd been drinkin' too much egg nog,
Laura was smoking cigs with Tony Snow.
All the pressures from this damned nation,
Made me and Condi snort our stash of blow.
When we found them Christmas mornin',
At the scene of the attack.
There were hoof prints on their foreheads,
And incriminatin' hoof marks on their backs.
Drunk twins got run over by some reindeer
Walking 'round the White House Christmas eve.
You can say there's no such thing as Santa,
But as for me and Laura, we believe.
Now we're all so proud of Laura,
She's been takin' this so well.
See her in there smiling like a banshee,
Her meds dialed up, as you can tell.
It's not Christmas without drunk twins.
All the family's dressed in black.
And we just can't help but wonder:
Should we open up their gifts or send them back?
Drunk twins got run over by some reindeer
Walking 'round the White House Christmas eve.
You can say there's no such thing as Santa,
But as for me and Laura, we believe.
Merry Christmas, ya'll. Stay the course and buy my damned CD to support the troops or else I'll send the homeland security agency folks out to rendition your ungrateful asses to Gitmo or some hellhole in Eastern Europe or Africa!