Republi-cons On Parade!

The following blast of doggerel is my personal take on the modern history of the Republican presidency, inspired by a profound disgust that has accumulated over the past 50 years and a wee bit too much caffeine.

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It all began back in 1968 when Richard Nixon raped Lady Liberty at the Watergate Hotel. Tricky Dick was caught in the act by a janitor but escaped the clutches of the law by disappearing into a pleasantly warm, California night, saying he was "just stepping out to buy cigarettes".

He was gone but the stench lingered for years.

The assault, however, was not fruitless, perhaps serving Nixon's dark purpose, as Ms. Liberty found herself heavy and gravid with her rapist's spawn. The nation prayed for a still-birth that did not happen but breathed a sign of relief when the newborn, who was christened Gerald Ford, lived for only two years.

Four years later an amalgamation of hair dye, mythical anecdotes and a practiced theatrical smile named Ronald Reagan came forth to endanger the environment, trade unions, and the hopes and dreams of future retirees.

Thankfully, after almost eight seemingly endless years Reagan's brain finally collapsed under the weight of guar gum, artifical jelly bean additives, and a sea of old war movie scripts. He rapidly withered away but in his wake, emerging through a sea of dead homosexuals and record national debt, strode his parasitic twin.... George H.W. Bush.

Bush had been attached to Reagan at the anus for eight years and, in the end, had to chew his own lips off to extricate himself from his decomposing antecedent. No one was capable of ever reading his lips again. Or wanted to.

As a result of having both eyes obscured by Reagan's wrinkled and watery gluteus maximi for nearly a decade he suffered a social myopia from which he was never able to recover, especially when it came to self-checkout counters. The final straw was when he promised no newt axes, which just confused everyone. He summarily faded from public view, even though the public didn't know or cared that he was gone, accompanied by the strains of a lonely saxophone.

A short eight years later an enema drenched in heavy crude escaped the loins of a doddering H.W. Bush, stood up on its hind legs, and drawled the words that eventually made him the darling of the Supreme Court: "No one would want to suck the dick of me or Al Gore but at least I'm not Bill Clinton."

This enema's name was George W. Bush and he proceeded to fail upwards for eight years due, in no small part, to using the destruction of two great American cities to prove that the Democrats would have lost even more.

Using all of his skills as a viscous rectal exudate he fought a trillion-dollar war against the wrong country and then, as he was clearing the last brush he'd ever clear from the land around his central Texas bunker, the nation's banks foreclosed on thousands of American homes.

His job was done. And a mediocre painter was born.

Almost immediately his identical twin enema, Jeb Bush..... Awwww, fuck Jeb Bush!

Shortly thereafter a murderous Russia oil tycoon convinced an ambulatory set of hair plugs in adult diapers that he had an excellent chance to effect the destruction of the world economy.

The sign says "You are here."

The end.

- Lefty