Concession Speech

Want to know why we booed the moment you
Brought up the winner’s name? We booed because
That’s what we’ve done since you started campaigning.
We booed and hooted, shouted slurs and threats,
And you kept talking, so of course we kept
It up, like the punk kid who tests his teacher
By pushing at the envelope until
It breaks, or Teacher shuts him down in front
Of the whole class (which makes him like a hero).
That’s what we felt like when you finally
Called us on what we kept on yelling out.
And that’s just fine, okay? We understand.
No harm, no foul. We knew you had to do it
The moment that the Media reared up
And made a stink about it. So instead
Of talking smack, we muttered it, or nudged
Each other with a wink, or we just smiled
That smile we share when we know what we’re thinking.

No smiles like that tonight. We’re standing here
Listening to this pod person concede
As if it didn’t matter if we lost
To That One, and our jaws are on the floor.
We want to cheer; give us some lines to cheer.
We don’t know where to clap. What are you saying?
Why aren’t you feeding us the meal we want?
We want red meat, we want the grease, the fries,
The shot of Jack that makes your eyeballs sweat,
And here you are, serving us something healthy?
What the fuck, John? You spent the last two months
Outlining what the other guy will do
To us and to the country if he won,
And now you tell us “Sorry; never mind.
He won, so all that stuff takes second place
To the high office that he’ll occupy,
And you should give your loyalty to him.”
Oh yeah? Fuck him. And fuck you too for thinking
That this is why we voted for your ass.

Enough, okay? Enough about how wealthy
You feel because you fought the losing fight.
Only the poor are losers, and we didn’t
Support you to be poor –- we followed you
Because you told us what we had to hear
In words with secret meanings. So when you
Say “honor,” we don’t know what that word means.
There’s no honor in losing; what we did,
We did to win, and then claim victory
No matter what the outcome. That’s our way.
And you walked down that way with us, with your
Eyes open, so you know as well as we do
That this does not end here -- this fight goes on.
So why for Christ’s sake aren’t you saying that?

You have to tell us to fight on, and be
Guerillas for the Cause, not silent soldiers.
We want something to shoot at, not salute.
Tell us whatever way you want that you
Believe That One is not our President --
We’ll translate if we have to. Just don’t say
We owe him loyalty because a principle’s
At stake here. Principles are why we fight.
Tell us that he’s the enemy –- or if
He isn’t, then please, please tell us who is.
Just do not ask us here to follow you
Down to defeat, or off the center stage.
We do not follow men –- we march against them.
Run up the flag. Tell us who wants to burn it.
Show us the enemy. We’ll march that way.
We are the arrow. Point us at the target.
We are the bullet. Aim us at the heart.

Copyright 2008 Matthew J Wells

I am, actually

Meanwhile, in this country

a long time ago, in a country far far away . . .

Survey USA posted this map of a poll they did exactly two years ago, asking 600 voters in every state how they would vote if the election were held today. Break out your blue crayons and start coloring in tonight's results as the polls start closing at 7 . . .

Campaign To Nowhere - The VP Debate

Well hey there, USA –- how do you do?
So glad ta meetcha; can I call you U?
I tell you there, this is my kind of race –-
I win if I don’t fall flat on my face.
So here I am propped up by tons of notes
Rock-bottom guaranteed to get me votes.
I can’t think straight, but I can memorize,
And that’s the way I’m gonna win this prize.
I’ll talk like I’m a guest star on Hee Haw,
Tell wholesome stories about maw and paw,
Name check the dictator of North Korea
(Though where that is, gosh, I have no idea).
You ask me anything you want and I
Will answer what I feel like in reply.
If this was SAT’S, I’d score a 3.
But it’s the vote! I LOVE Democracy!

So what if I can’t think past “How de do?”
Darn right I’m using cue cards. Wouldn’t you?
That PROVES I’m just a normal local gal.
I wouldn’t be a pol -- I’ll be a pal!
And I’ll be watching out in Washington
For everything that’s Main Street and homespun
And you can bet that I will always do
The same as you, and you -- and even you.
Hey -- just to let you know I’m patriotic?
My flag pin's so humungous, it’s hypnotic!

If I looked bad before, then blame the media –-
I’m just a blurb, not an encyclopedia.
They ambushed me with questions. That's not fair.
And then they showed my answers on the air!
If I had known, then heck, I would have skipped it.
They censored me –- they let me talk unscripted!
Of course I had to stumble, pause and stammer --
That Couric girl used sentences with grammar.
Well Moms like me hate smart talk in abundance.
We know the score here, not like all you pundints.
We know what you want –- you don’t want to think.
So here’s a talking point or two. (Wink. Wink.)

A war that’s nucular is really bad.
When bombs go off it’s messy and it’s sad;
The be-all end-all of some people there.
(But then there’ll be The Rapture, so that’s fair.)
Joe Biden and Obama? Just the worst.
Elect them and the USA is curst.
What they’ll do to this country is obscene.
They’re full of Shiite, folks. (Know what I mean?)
And gosh, those Castro Brothers –- what a pair!
(But not the pair on John McCain -- so there!)
The issues, now -- well golly, they don’t matter.
It’s not the substance, it’s the line of patter.
Americans, they crave that straight talk there:
The surge. Change. Lower taxes. God. School prayer.
Iran is Satan. Must win in Iraq.
Wall Street, you’re getting such a paddywhack.
I could say more (that list is just the peaks)
But jeez, I’ve only done this for five weeks!
And gosh, I think I’m pretty darn good at it!
(Unlike old Joe here –- watch him bureaucrat it.)

I’ll tell ya how this great debate computes:
It’s Zoolander with hockey moms and coots!
McCain and I will rock like Ike and Tina!
We’ll take the world by storm –- just like Katrina!
And if we lose, don’t make no nevermine --
I’ll have a show on Fox by March ’09.


Posts in this series:

The First Debate

The Blame Game

Blame Vietnam.



Blame these guys. From the Consulting Firm of Gosh Golly and Heck:

[link from Addenak via Wonkette]

Blame Goldman Sachs. So who was instrumental in getting the SEC to waive all those pesky debt limitation regulations in 2004? Hank Paulson, that's who.

Blame the Left-Wing Media. Everything you suspected about John MacCain in one place. Opening shot: "I got a better chance of getting laid." Makes you wish Hunter Thompson was still alive. But then what doesn't?

Blame the Markets. That 85 billion dollar emergency bridge loan that AIG got two weeks ago? They've already used $61 billion of it.

Blame Sarah. It's true; I checked it out on Snopes!

(thanks and a tip of the Wells cap and bells to brother Gary.)

Blame Canada. Just because.

Campaign to Nowhere: The First Debate

It’s quite a show but not quite a debate
When two men battle to be head of state.
The old dog growls and snaps at the young pup
And tries to make him drink the loser’s cup.
The youngster only has to stand beside him
To point up how the years have ossified him.
And both of them lie on their backs and purr
Just to be stroked by Henry Kissinger.
(Or did they do the stroking? Hard to tell.
But either way, they both give off his smell.)

Meanwhile, beneath those fearful pheromones,
They’re each wearing their signature colognes.
Obama’s deferential and McCain
Looks like he’s suffering from denture pain
And wants to blame it on this pompous dunce
Whom he will never even look at once.
“The Senator,” he sneers, “misunderstands.”
(He’d slap Barack if he could raise his hands.)
Obama, gentlemanly and polite,
Keeps saying “Yes, the Senator is right,”
And you can hear the sound across the land
Of liberal forehead smacked by liberal hand.
“Don’t tell him that he’s right, you undergrad –-
He’ll clip it out into a TV ad
And make you look like Illinois’ prize boob!”
(Ten minutes later, it’s up on YouTube.)

This is the style of Arizona’s boy --
He answers every question with a ploy.
McCain’s idea of “think outside the box?”
A running mate who stumbles when she talks.
McCain’s most recent stunt? Beyond the pale.
It only needs four lines to tell the tale:
“Fuck you –- I’m being Presidential here.”
“Fuck Congress and their bailout bill of fear.”
“Fuck the debates -– I heed a higher call!”
“Fuck it –- I guess I’ll show up after all.”
And there he is repeating the refrain
That his last name is Maverick, not McCain.
Each time he speaks, he opens up again
The canyon that divides the Now from Then –-
THEN: shopped like mad at an exclusive store.
NOW: claims he never set foot in the door.
THEN: thirty years of showers at the club.
NOW: “No no no -– I took baths in my tub!”
THEN: chauffered in a limo everywhere.
NOW: “No –- I walked. I walked because I CARE!”
THEN: honest, loyal, faithful as a nun.
NOW: "My mistake –- that was wife #1."
There are so many ways you can make fun of ‘im.
Obama doesn’t try a single one of ‘em.
He’d rather make a cogent point instead
Which is like writing DOORMAT on your head --
Upon which, just to make the scene complete,
McCain obligingly wipes off his feet.

And when the posturing is all but done,
Both men will say “He lost –- which means I won!”
They will go back to their safe campaign bubble
Where deviation from the script spells trouble.
They’ll preach to the converted, and (like God)
Make promises the faithful will applaud.
They’ll lick their wounds and plan impromptu jests,
Give speeches to increase their campaign chests,
And face off two more times before we vote:
Donkey v Elephant, with us the goat.

Campaign to Nowhere

“So what do you think about the election?” says the lady cab driver.

Thoughts that pass through my head in the next three seconds: I am in Staunton Virginia being driven to a wedding rehearsal dinner by a woman who had just bemoaned the fact that the local state penitentiary has been gutted and is now offering condominium units for two million dollars each. You can smoke in the Waffle House, little girls try to get you to give them a ride to weddings, and complete strangers are so polite my New York DEWS is on red alert.

“I just wish they’d talk more about the issues,” I say, taking the “I’m Sarah Palin and I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about” option.

“I don’t think McCain is going to win,” the cabbie says.

Aha, I think, she’s for McCain. I give her another fence-sitting opinion, the one I’ve been using for about two months now. “If the middle of the country thinks we’re at war, McCain is going to win. If the middle of the country thinks we’re in a Depression, Obama wins.”

“I don’t like either of them saying they’re going to bring everybody back from Iraq. I think, the day they come home? That’s the day the war will come here. That’s the day all the people we’ve been fighting over there will take the fight to us. Because they’ll start thinking we’re so weak we can’t stop them.”

And if that happens, we can kiss goodbye to having conversations like this without also having them transcribed via satellite, I think. But basically I agree with her. Thanks to W, we’re fucked.

“We can’t bring them back,” I say. “Not that quickly.”

“We can’t," she says, and then we talk for a while about how Saddam was an evil tyrant who deserved to be taken down, but after we did it, we had no plan for the next step.

“Nobody’s thinking ahead,” she says.

“Hey, we’re America,” I say. “Home of the credit card. We don’t have to think ahead. If the bill comes due, we’ll throw it on another card.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” the cabbie says, and then she totally confounds my expectations.

“I like the way Obama speaks,” she says. “He seems to know what he’s talking about. Is he the Democrat?”

“He’s the Democrat.”

“I’ll probably vote for him, then. My family always votes Democrat.”

Cripes, I think. Rick Davis is right -– this election isn’t about the issues.