Boehner Composes New Version of Homer’s “Iliad” About Obama, 2012 Election
THE ILIAD
By Boehner
BOOK I
SING, O ROMNEY, the anger of Newt Gingrich, husband of Jackie, no-no, Marianne, wait-wait, Callista, that brought countless ills upon the Republicans. Many a brave pollster did he send hurrying down to Georgia and South Carolina, and many a hero sandwich did they prey upon, like dogs and vultures, for so were the counsels of Rove fulfilled from the day on which the son of George Romney, not to be confused with the son of George Bush, also George Bush but with a W, and the great Gingrich, first fell out with one another.
And which of the debates was it that set them to quarrel? Actually it was Rove, for he was angry with Obama (nor happy with Clint Eastwood either), and sent a pestilence to plague the people, in the form of op-ed columns and Fox News programs he hosted, because Obama had dishonored Dubya, his creation.
Now Obama had come to D.C. with wife and two daughters, and had brought with him a great good will. Moreover, he bore in his hand a nifty dribble and excellent jump shot, and had a passable singing voice and much Cool. But the 2012 elections were a Great Debacle and he besought the Republicans, but most of all the Tea Partygoers, who were their chiefs.
“Sons of Limbaugh,” he cried, “and other Arch-Conservatives, may the voters who dwell in the Red States grant you to sack the city of Priuses, gut the EPA, disarm organized labor, privatize Social Security, and say ‘Merry Christmas’ rather than ‘Happy Holidays.’ But free my Health Plan and accept a ransom for her, and please stop calling it ‘Obamacare,’ in reverence to Mitt, who gave me the idea.”
On this the Arch-Conservatives were for respecting Obama, provided he smote birth control, but not so Rick Santorumemnon, who spoke fiercely to him and sent him roughly away. “Old Imam – oops, Old Man” said he. “Let me not find you tarrying about Congress, nor yet seeking support for your Muslim Communist agenda. Your popular mandate and jump shot shall profit you nothing. I will not free Obamacare … but I’ll be happy to call it ‘Obama-Romneycare.’”
Obama feared him and obeyed. Not a word he spoke, until air time for his State of the Union. “Hear me,” he cried, “O God of the silver Bailout, that protectest Chrysler and holy GM and rulest TARP with they might. If I have ever decked your temple with garlands, as I’d like to deck Santorum, or burned your thigh-bones, as the House burns my bills like kindling, grant my prayer, and let your arrows avenge my tears upon those Damned Republicans.”
Thus did he pray, and his prayer was heard by the GOP gods: McCain, valiant warrior of old; Palin, fierce hockey mom and misspeaker of history; Cheney, whose birdshot wreaked havoc on the hecatombs; and Dubya, wine-bibber, who slackened the forestays, and slacked off other ways as well. Him did they hear and so summoned smooth-tongued Newt, the facile Speaker of the House, to set things aright.
Thus did Gingrich come down furious from the summits of Olympus, with his ego aquiver and writ of divorce rattling in his hands. He sat himself apart from those who ruled the GOP, his face dark as night and jowls atremble; and his silver tongue rang death as he shot his barbs in the midst of them.
First he smote the Mules, then the Elephants, but presently he aimed his ire at the candidates themselves, and all day long the PACs did spin control. Who then, O Muse, were in the pyres of the dead? Pawlenty, who Poled Poorly; Andromachelle Bachman, of Surprisingly Insipid Rhetoric; Rick Patroclus, also called Perry, of Equally Insipid Rhetoric, Who Forgot the Third Agency; And the great king Hermes Caeneus, Who Lovest Women, Perhaps Too Much. Even unto Jon Huntsman did Gingrich bring war, pestilence and falling polls.
For nine whole months Gingrich shot zinger after zinger into primaries and caucuses, until only he, Romney, Santorum and the Immortal Paul remained. Then Proud Romney, Victor of Puerto Rico and American Samoa, though few among them knew these lands had delegates or where Samoa was, rose and spoke.
“Fellow candidates,” said he, “I deem that we should now cease speaking of NASCAR, and Etch A Sketch, and of my wife’s ‘couple of chariots,’ for we are being cut down by Newt.” With these words he sat down, and Santorum son of Aldo, who knew things past and present, but was inordinately obsessed about things past, rose to speak. “What do you mean, ‘we’?” But he curbed his will and sat down in silence, for he believed not in negative advertising, at least not while Romney was spending ten times as much as he could muster and the Mormondon’s negative campaign continued to backfire.
While they quarreled thus angrily, cunning Obama went back to the Democrats, his company. “Is it not a wonder,” said he, “that the Republicans fall to wrangling and setting heaven in an uproar like a pack of jackals? If such ill counsels prevail, we shall have great pleasure at our victory banquet. Let us then advise our Super PACs to make friends with the Republicans’ PACs, and not scold or disturb them, but encourage them to hurl each from their seats… as long as they do not coordinate their campaign with ours.”
As he spoke thus he smiled and winked, and the blessed democrats laughed out a loud applause as they saw him bustling about the White House. Thus, through the livelong day to the going down of the sun they feasted, everyone hoping for an appointment in the next administration, so that all were satisfied. So Obama, the Olympian Lord of Cool, tied him to the bed in which he always slept; and when he had got on it he went to sleep, with Michelle the golden FLOTUS by his side.
Guest contribution by Howard Zaharoff from Newton, MA
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This is brilliant. Hilarious. And never truer words were spoken. Bravo!!