Thursday, June 17, 2004

Ode to Condi Theory inclined, upon the President she waits, Always besuited, she hedges, misstates. Her visage grim, pinched face a glower, Husband already married, he'll never deflower. Back to Stanford ye go, seminars and meetings, Punditry, Publications, Paid Think tank bleetings. The Soviets you studied, they exist no more, So do what you can for the wingers you whore. For Rummy, for Scooter, for Cheney, you've cried But when it comes time to push you seem to just hide. Tragically your bright star is now dim and blurred, That's what destiny holds, when truth you've demurred. Burmashave
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