Let’s Drewniak! Christie Spokesman Spawns Youth Craze

You gotta figure that according to Michael Drewniak, David Wildstein’s best feature is his “burning eyes.” Documents released in late March reveal a text by Drewniak saying: “The only trouble is that David is/was a true friend of mine. Now, I could claw his eyes out, pour gasoline in the sockets and light him up.”

Our roving reporter on the PATH train recently overheard one youth remark to another: “Yeah, Friday night at eight o’clock. Come on down, we’re gonna Drewniak.”

Just how does one Drewniak, and what is the correct etiquette, manner of attire and so forth? Here are a few do’s and don’ts:

— Always set up a Drewniaking playdate in advance so that the proper materials may be collated.

— Dress should be casual, with flame-retardant pajamas favored.

— If you is the Drewniaker, then who or what is the Drewniakee? For purposes of this tutorial, let’s assume it’s an inanimate object like a pumpkinhead (or Chris Christie’s conscience).

— The clawing of the eyes is largely ceremonial. Do not try this on a pumpkin without first making guide cuts using an X-Acto blade. There’s nothing more frustrating or anticlimactic than clawing at the eyes only to have them remain firmly in their sockets, thus impeding progress to the next step.

— For professional Drewniakers, Lee Press-On Nails are de rigeur.

— Although the original recipe calls for gasoline, any toxic liquid may be substituted, such as hair tonic or water from the Passaic River.

— In one colorful variant, McDonald’s breakfast sausages are inserted into the vacant eye sockets, and an Egg McMuffin stuffed in the mouth. This is affectionately known as a “Trenton telegram.”

— If, after Drewniaking a pumpkin, you place it on your head and take a selfie, this known as a Weiner-Drewniak. (If you then attempt to eat the pumpkin, it’s a Christie-Weiner-Drewniak — rarely accomplished without medical supervision.)

When attempting the rare Christie-Weiner-Drewniak, it is advisable to make the pumpkin into soup prior to consumption. Photo courtesy Salon.com

— If you combine Drewniaking with slut-shaming, that’s what’s known as a Gibson-Dunn, which also requires the filing of a few hundred pages of superfluous paperwork.

— When a Drewniaking is conducted for charity, and the Trenton telegram variant employed, the proceeds may be contributed to Ronald McDonald House and a tax deduction taken. (Be sure and attach Schedule P, “Charitable Deductions Involving Flaming Pumpkins.”)

Ronald McDonald House–the place one most fears winding up. Open upper storey windows reveal escaped inmates. Tyvek for Mayor.

— Drewniaked pumpkins may be repurposed for job training programs, reclaiming shattered lives and giving future political operatives a leg up.

This Ronald McDonald Mobile carries Drewniaked pumpkins to inner city youth. Eco-friendly engine runs on french fry grease and love.

— Despite interest in Drewniaking as a cultural phenomenon, there are still few high-paying jobs. Avoid work-at-home scams involving Drewniaking advertised on the backs of matchbook covers.

— Do not combine Drewniaking with fan-dancing or flagpole-sitting, as this plainly results in cultural overkill. The cat will not be amused.

This cat is thoroughly unimpressed by a gaudy display combining Drewniaking, fan-dancing, and flagpole-sitting. Pic: LetsSmileToday.com

— Since Drewniaking can pose a fire hazard, it’s helpful to have plenty of people standing around who can put out any blaze which may develop. An ideal place to conduct a Drewniaking would be a Walmart on Black Friday. If a fire does break out and no extinguisher is available, the next best thing would be to heap on children’s toys made in China, as these are known to have natural flame-retardant properties.

Remember, at Hot Tin Cat Blog, the saf-e-ty of the public is always the uppermost thing in our minds!

Safety of the public always uppermost!

CIA Lawyer Eatinger Linked to Dine and Dash Incident (satire)

It was Thursday, November 28, 2013 when Robert Eatinger–currently acting general counsel for the Central Intelligence Agency–walked into an Olive Garden in Falls Church, Virginia and demanded a table for eight. “I thought he was bringing in his family,” said manager Luis Martinez. “He ordered a whole turkey on a huge platter, with a gallon of gravy. Business was slow on Thanksgiving, so I did notice him, especially because of the way he was dressed: more formal than most of our customers, but with dark sunglasses.”

Martinez went on to describe how Eatinger remained alone and standing. When the turkey arrived, he proceeded to place it in various stress positions, with one drumstick bent back over where the bird’s head would have been, and another drumstick inserted into the orifice adjoining the parson’s nose.

Eatinger reportedly took ice from a glass of ice water and rubbed it over the turkey’s skin, occasionally interjecting comments like, “How do you like that, turkey? Ready to talk yet? Ever been on a plane? Ever been to Cairo? I hear the weather’s lovely there this time of year…”

At one point, Eatinger went out to his car and returned with a boombox equipped with stereo headphones, which he stretched to fit over the turkey’s midsection. “He really cranked up the volume,” said Martinez, “to the point where other customers were complaining. It was torture to listen to: in the left channel was the Plastic Ono Band, and the right channel was Kate Smith singing ‘God Bless America.’ But the two channels together sounded like cattle being mutilated. The turkey acted as a natural resonator. The sound was horrific, but Eatinger was beaming and looking around like he expected the room to applaud him as if he were a sushi chef.”

Then Eatinger produced some type of device from his vest pocket. Martinez describes it as having about five small lithium-ion batteries wired in series, and cables with alligator clips that served as electrodes. “He attached the electrodes to the turkey’s extremities,” said Martinez. “He was turning some kind of dial until finally black smoke started coming off the turkey and wafting up toward the chandelier.”

“He hadn’t eaten a thing or touched the gravy. But then he picked up this gigantic gravy boat the size of the Queen Elizabeth and started drowning the turkey. I mean, he sloshed the gravy in stages like he was waterboarding the turkey or something.”

According to Martinez, when questioned about his odd behavior Eatinger explained that he was just using “enhanced interrogation techniques” to determine whether the turkey was really fresh or not. He then excused himself and went to the washroom.

“After he was gone fifteen, twenty minutes, I sent a busboy in after him,” said Martinez. “But the washroom was empty. The frosted glass window had been neatly cut–like with a glass-cutter–and there was a hastily-scrawled note on toilet paper saying ‘I had to go.’

“It’s one of the strangest dine and dash incidents I’ve ever seen,” said Martinez. “We had no idea who this guy was. But then with all the publicity about the CIA and Congress, I saw his picture and I kept going over and over it in my head, comparing it with that Thanksgiving night. It’s definitely him, that CIA lawyer guy.”

Robert Eatinger is no stranger to controversy, and attorneys are notoriously abusive and fetishistic. Still, Martinez confirms that the turkey was definitely deceased (and not merely pining for the fields) when first delivered to Eatinger. It seems that no animal cruelty laws were violated, nor any article of the Geneva Convention. There are no laws against torturing a dead turkey, just as there are apparently no laws against torturing a live detainee. The worst charge Eatinger could face is dining and dashing, technically known as “defrauding an innkeeper”– a misdemeanor in Virginia, though one youth was shot dead by police for scarfing pancakes at an IHOP and attempting to flee.

When asked if there was any hard evidence linking Eatinger to the Olive Garden incident, Martinez replied: “His whole bizarre dining room performance was caught on security cams. I reviewed the tapes myself and locked them in the safe. But two nights later we were burglarized. Strange thing is, the safe was sitting there wide open with a pile of cash left untouched. Only the videos were gone.”

Robert Eatinger was unavailable for comment, but did issue a general statement saying:

“I took my loved one out to dinner so we could get a bite to eat,
and though we both had been much thinner she looked so beautiful I could eat her. When they’ve tortured and scared you for twenty odd years, then they expect you to pick a career when you can’t really function you’re so full of fear. There’s room at the top they are telling you still, but first you must learn how to smile as you kill if you want to be like the folks on the hill. People say we got it made. Don’t they know we’re so afraid? Isolation… We’re afraid to be alone.”

No one is quite sure what he meant by that.

*  *  *

Yes, We Have No Small Olives…

It all started when I was trying to explain America to a resident of Blighty. “America is a big country,” I wrote, “and nobody wants anything small, or so the marketing theory goes. There’s simply no such thing as a small olive on American supermarket shelves! One has to choose from such official USDA designations as large, extra large, jumbo, extra jumbo, colossal, super colossal, mammoth, and super mammoth. (Whether the “mammoth” olives are the least bit woolly is something I am unable to confirm.) This obsession with largeness is a tedious feature of American culture: large cars, large superheroes, large wars, large political scandals…”

Somehow, the rumors started flying… Hot Tin Cat went to the supermarket in search of small olives and couldn’t find any. What on earth were the small olives for? Small salads? Martinis for munchkins? Ammunition for an outsized peashooter? It’s gotten so bad that young schoolboys (and first-year law students) send me raisins surgically altered to look like olives with notes scrawled in crayon saying, “Hey Hot Tin Cat, are these small enough for ya?”

Time to clear up the confusion: I have never gone to the supermarket in search of small olives, nor would I have any particular use for them. I was merely citing them as an example. Nobody in America wants to buy anything labeled “small.” It might make them feel inferior. That’s why the official USDA designations are all transmogrified synonyms for “large.”

To be perfectly honest, I learned everything I know about the subject from educational television, specifically The Great American Dream Machine. Let’s grade the olives with Marshall Efron:

Yahoo Unveils Controversial New Logo (satire)

With its high fashion look and Flock of Seagulls inspired doo, Yahoo’s latest logo certainly makes an impression. Does it have legs, or is it just too much Marissa Mayer? Few would deny the Yahoo CEO has left her mark on the company, but biggr isn’t always bettr. More acquisitions (e.g. Tumblr) might mean more ethical problems for Yahoo.

The new logo is an assemblage of parts from Mayer’s now famous “Blue Narcissus” pic in Vogue. As such, it serves as a proxy for exploring both feminist and legal issues.

The logo does to Mayer what the fashion and advertising industries have long done to women: separate the body from the person, and use the body to sell a product, company, or concept. Nor is the body left whole, but rather sliced into its component parts.

Like a fashion mag feature on “Legs, Legs, Legs!”, the new Yahoo logo takes a walk on the wild side, perhaps stealing a chapter from pork butchery by using everything but the squeal. The assembled parts come to resemble some sort of flying machine, but can the new Yahoo really fly, or has it just grown too darned big? When we look at the new Yahoo, do we see an integrated entity or a collection of heels? Will the company be tripped up by mindless growth?

As discussed here, Yahoo’s Terms of Service are decidedly two-faced — another reason to like the new logo design. Being an aggregation of parts, the logo befits a company that aggregates content from different sources and delivers finished web pages to end users. One of the persistent legal and ethical questions concerning content aggregators is, at what point do they become publishers (or at least co-publishers or distributors) of the material they aggregate?

This question becomes highly relevant in the context of cyberharassment. For example, suppose one of the neo-Nazi groups that Yahoo harbors (see The New York Times here) posts an extremely threatening racist or anti-Semitic message — something you’d expect to see scrawled in a toilet stall. On its own, this message would not receive wide distribution. However, Yahoo brings the technical means (its servers and media network) and the financial backing (its sales of advertising)) to distribute the message to (potentially) 38 million visitors every day.

The author of the hate message is anonymous or pseudonymous, but Yahoo adds its company name and logo and aggregates the message with other content. Common sense tells us that by providing the technical means, the financial backing, and the brand recognition, Yahoo is playing a major role in distributing the message — perhaps even having a transformational effect on how it’s construed. As I’ve argued elsewhere, the aggregation and branding of hate messages alongside news & infotainment results in the mainstreaming of hate.

The Internet’s a funny ol’ place where things that would seem to be illegal on their face aren’t, as long as everybody puts paper bags over their heads and pretends not to know each other, not be involved in a collaborative process of publishing a web page. Many technocrats seem to think that as long as you can break up a large-scale process into a series of smaller components, you can obfuscate responsibility. This doesn’t work in terrorism, so why should it work in Internet publishing?

In a terrorist bomb plot, different people might bring different ingredients, and another person might mix them all together and deploy the final product. That’s what’s known as a conspiracy, and implies some culpability on the part of each actor. Yet, Yahoo’s arrangement with neo-Nazis and other questionable groups is: Hey guys! You bring the hate and we’ll bring the technology, branding and advertising, and together we’ll make a web page! But since you’re anonymous, and we’re technically not considered to be the “speaker” of the information, nobody can be held responsible.

But perhaps more important than any of these legal or moral issues is one crucial question: Does Henry Blodget like the logo redesign? Can it be used to artificially inflate the price of Yahoo stock, then short it before the bubble bursts? If so, then all’s right with the world.

New Yahoo logo by hoogie of the Photoshop Battles subreddit based on original in Vogue magazine.

All Creatures Great and Tea Party

Video memes for understanding John Boehner and the Tea Party

Like vikings and beekeepers, Tea Partiers and veterinarians go together (at least in the person of Ted Yoho). Dissatisfied with existing memes about “financial lemmings” or the “Seinfeld shutdown,” I began searching my mental archives–specially the bin containing reruns of All Creatures Great and Small, the British TV series about Yorkshire vets, based on the books by James Herriot.

When I first posted this, the video memes seemed persuasive. In retrospect, I just enjoy the videos for their own sake. This revised version has less heavy-handed commentary, but you will find 4 embedded clips from All Creatures Great and Small, plus one Farm Film Report (SCTV), and a hilarious music video from the 80’s: “House of Fun” by Madness.

So what about a drunken and irresponsible John Boehner as The Mad Conductor:

Then again, this clip suggests that Tea Partiers are outlandish, scary (but ultimately ineffectual) political “experts” called in to perform an elite task:

Yes Ted Cruz, “Thank you kindly for your expert help.” The idea that TPers are blowing up government led me to this gem. Call it cowshed humour if you like:

It turns out another useful meme is SCTV’s Farm Film Report. What happened to the social safety net under Tea Party influence? It blowed up–blowed up real good.

Like Big Jim McBob and Billy Sol Hurok, Tea Partiers are the ultimate deconstructionists, taking more relish in destroying things than building them up.

I could go on, bringing in the famous Monty Python cow fling and the Northern Exposure retread, but here’s another All Creatures clip from “The Bull With The Bowler Hat.” That cryptic moniker actually describes a Min of Ag boffin who officiates over artificial insemination of cattle. This is a delicate operation requiring the greatest diplomacy–not unlike switching Tea Partiers to a clean CR just as they’re thrusting away at Obamacare in full ardour. So to complete the setup, imagine John Boehner and Eric Cantor as the vets, and Ted Cruz as–well, the bull:

I shall never look on this cast of political characters in quite the same light, now thinking of Boehner and Cantor as strange matadors armed with party-popping collection devices, and Ted Cruz as the hapless bullock.

Maybe I need to do another post called “Welcome To The House of Fun.” Take the Madness music video from the 80’s and superimpose pics of Louis Gohmert, the U.S. House of Representatives, and all the fresh-faced Tea Partiers–still truly adolescent but “up for fun.” In retrospect, perhaps they’re best remembered as a “pack party-poppers that go pop in the night.” On the other hand, TPers are about as a subtle as a Mack truck, lacking the featherlight touch extolled by the sixteen-year-old in the song. They would be more at home in a joke shop.

I can just picture a Tea Partier eyeing a vacant House seat being told by Republican elders: “Try the House of Fun–it’s quicker if you run.”

* * *

Congressman Ted Yoho — A Musical Tribute

I’m always impressed by the elegance of Tea Partiers and their subtle grasp of economic issues. TIL that Congressman Ted Yoho apparently thinks the whole concept of a debt ceiling is nothing but an eastern liberal plot. There’s really nothing to worry about! From the WaPo treatment, I gather his soul is carved from Bedrock, he loves Fred Flintstone, hates socialism, is most at home with large animals, and hails from a stone-age family. His drink: Kool-Aid. Flanked by a host of distempered Barney Rubbles, he’s ready to drive his Flintstone-mobile straight over the fiscal cliff. And so,

Hooray for Captain Yoho
The debt default explorer
Did someone call me schnorer?
Hooray, hooray, hooray!

Hooray for Captain Yoho
The hairless horsey surgeon
He’s dumber than a sturgeon
Hooray, hooray, hooray!

Hooray for Captain Yoho
The charming country bumpkin
His brains are made of pumpkin
Hooray, hooray, hooray!

Hooray for Captain Yoho
Whose name sounds like a pirate
He’ll diddle you in private
Hooray, hooray, hooray!

Hooray for Captain Yoho
Who isn’t Yoko Ono
And isn’t Sonny Bono
Hooray, hooray, hooray!

If you’d like to sing along, this Marx Brothers clip from Animal Crackers gives the chorus:

I picture CODEPINK singing this outside (or maybe even inside) Congressman Yoho’s office. I’m not in the least bothered by the silliness and absurdity, finding it a good antidote to the self-importance of politicians. Perhaps the first step in finding new leaders is reaching the point where you can’t take the old ones seriously anymore.

* * *

Seinfeld Shutdown — Locating The Correct Analogy

Marc Thiessen’s shutdown about nothing meme has invaded Washington like a hapless Godzilla on steroids. But like many a monster, it may have its fatal weaknesses and might be taken down by another monster–or another monster episode of Seinfeld.

I wonder if Thiessen is really the master of his domain… Fellow editorialists at the Post may have spiked his drinking water with liberal Kool-Aid and other known aphrodisiacs. Soon he may find himself in a friendly game of Twister with E. J. Dionne Jr. (Right foot blue?)

Maybe this is a “Seinfeld shutdown,” but it’s not about nothing. I’ll explain…

Back in 1967, Janis Ian wrote a song called “Janey’s Blues” about an unwanted child who was a “fatal mistake on the day after Lent.” House Republicans got used to spending like drunken sailors without condoms under George W. Bush, nor are they any strangers to corruption and influence-peddling. They’ve been figuratively “tapping their shoe” in every stall or tepee that lobbyists could erect. From Larry Craig to Jack Abramoff, Tom DeLay to Ralph Reed, their antics are synonymous with wretched excess.

But suddenly under a Democratic president, House Republicans have gotten true religion and are undergoing an extended Lenten period in which not they themselves but the American people must be deprived of luxuries like child nutrition, disease control, and death benefits for military families. It’s not about nothing, it’s about ideological purity. It’s a one-off contest of denial in which the American people must suffer so that Republicans can look like they’re the masters of their domain (which they’re not). That’s the more apt Seinfeld analogy.

Let’s face it: Republican House members are some of the worst financial onanists on the planet, and the government shutdown is actually being milked for all it’s worth as a right-wing fundraising totem pole. If true Lent is marked by prayer, fasting and almsgiving, this feigned Republican austerity is marked by lying, drinking, and scheming to diddle the poor out of affordable health care.

It’s the American people who should be “hitting the ceiling” when they realize they’re being asked to atone for the sins of corrupt politicians who won’t themselves do without. Day six of the government shutdown, and the Republican circle jerk continues apace, lubricated by right-wing media figures who (paradoxically) have their heads stuck in the sand.

When will John Boehner go all Kramerish and realize it’s time for the contest to end? Put your money down, boy!

Does Boehner possess the zen mind of a martial arts master, like Pat Morita played in The Karate Kid? Can he gently impart the teaching of wax on, wax off to rowdy Teabaggers, or do they only know how to perform the latter function? Time will tell.

In the meantime, Cry… cry for Janey

(There’s also a Star Trek plot in here somewhere. Like The Gamesters of Triskelion, Repubs are ready to wager five thousand quatloos that the children will not survive the austerity measures and will have to be destroyed.)

* * *

Michele Bachmann Rails Against Gender Panels (satire)

Speaking before TV cameras on Wednesday, Congresswoman Michele Bachmann said that under a little-known provision of Obamacare, average Americans might be required by the federal government to submit to sex change operations. She described what she called “gender panels” composed of “eastern liberals and homosexuals” who would act as “equipment inspectors.” Unlike traditional inspectors of meat, poultry, or agricultural equipment, these panels would inspect personal equipment and make binding recommendations accordingly.

“We’re for less government,” said Bachmann. “The government already has too many balls in the air. But under this provision, men judged lacking in balls would be packed off for surgical procedures that would turn them into women at the expense of the American taxpayer.”

Upon hearing this, House Speaker John Boehner reportedly redoubled his opposition to Obamacare. “But I don’t want to be a woman,” he sobbed into a Kleenex. “Tell me honestly,” he asked Republican Whip Eric Cantor. “Do I look fat?”

“Not fat, just orange,” Cantor replied. Boehner was later seen viewing a copy of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid while drinking mescal and furtively glancing over his shoulder.

Dr. William Adelstein, a psychologist attached to the University of Maryland (though not overly so), disputes Bachmann’s claims. “I can find nothing in the Affordable Care Act remotely resembling gender panels,” he stated. “Many right-wingers secretly want to kill their mothers and marry Abraham Lincoln. This leads to the development of a castration complex and the irrational fear that eastern liberals will spike their Wheatena with saltpeter.”

Adelstein was originally scheduled to air his views on the Rush Limbaugh show, but had to cry off due to a morbid fear of fat, balding cigar-smokers addicted to painkillers.

* * *

‘Twas The Night Before Shutdown

‘Twas the night before Shutdown, when all through the House
Not a Repub was cogent, they all were quite soused!
John Boehner was hung out to dry with great care
By Tea Party faithful with bats in their hair.
The chief among rebels was Senator Ted;
While visions of presidency danced in his head,
He pranced like a vixen and kvelled like a schnorer
In hopes he would be on the TV tomorrer.
And mama Pelosi and sad Steny Hoyer
Were left to hold press briefings out in the foyer,
To try and explain how their dreck-for-brains colleagues
Could pull stunts that branded them strictly from bush leagues.
Just blame gerrymandering, animal husbandry,
A bit of inbreeding, and echoey chambery
Sorts of recidivist, nativist foolishness,
Mixed with a tad of political ghoulishness.
A bedbug should bite that Cruz right in the tuchus;
Merry Shutdown to all, and to all a good Succos!
But not to digress from the matter at hand,
The tune the Republicans’ sad one man band
Was playing to all (or to all who would listen)
Was “Pass me the Lord  — and praise ammunition!”
The poor can survive on just bibles and bullets;
No need for sugar-plums, no need for pullets,
No need for health care and no need for jobs;
You want more solutions? We’ve got gobs and gobs!
An American flag stuck in every rotisserie,
No more federal government – bring back the Confederacy!
Roll back civil rights and defund children’s lunches
TRAP laws and crap laws, enact them in bunches!
Arrayed all in graft from their head to their feet
Their avarice grand but their ethics petite,
They quivered and shook till the clock had run out,
The Shutdown commenced, and it left little doubt
That our Congress gives off an atrocious aroma,
A scrofulous bunch whose métier is glaucoma.
Furloughed inspectors of pork and disease
Can lark in the meadows, play flutes in the trees!
Don’t fear trichinosis or cancer ovarian
Merry Shutdown to all, be ye all libertarian!

*  *  *

Cruz-I-Am (Green Eggs Parody)

C-SPAN interrupts its coverage of the U.S. House of Representatives Interleague Bowling Championship to bring you live coverage from the Senate floor – joined in progress – where Sen. Ted Cruz is speaking on the subject of Obamacare.

Would you fund it on a bus?
I would not fund it on a bus.
Would you fund it in a truss?
I would not fund it in a truss.
Would you fund it in a tram?
I would not fund it in a tram.
Would you fund it in Siam?

Not on a bus.
Not in a truss.
Not in a tram.
Not in Siam.
I do not like Obamacare.
The poor should not have cancer care.
I simply could not give a damn.
I do not like it, Cruz-I-am.

Don’t you want to help Hispanics?
Don’t you want health care for manics?
Is your protest all for show?
Is your filibuster faux?

No to manics, no Hispanics,
Not for show, but Fee-Fi-Fo!
I really hate Obamacare.
That is why I tear my hair.

Would you like it smeared with butter?
Would you like it in the gutter?
Would you like it in a brothel?
Would you like it with falafel?

Not smeared with butter in the gutter.
Not in a brothel with falafel.
I do not like Obamacare.
The poor should not have cancer care.

Would you like it fried in mustard?
Would you like it baked in custard?
Would you like it steeped in drama?
Would you like it sans Obama?

Not fried in mustard, baked in custard,
Steeped in drama, sans Obama.
I do not like Obamacare.
The poor should not have cancer care.

McCain! McCain!
Could you, would you
For McCain?
He’d appreciate the gesture so.
(He’s getting on in years you know.)

I would not, could not for McCain.
The aged are a royal pain,
As are the youth, who flout tradition;
All justly headed for perdition
Without a helping hand or poultice;
Let’s hope they’ve perished by the solstice!

Though bodies drop and souls lament,
My conscience fails to feel a dent.
I will not fund Obamacare
And will not change my underwear
For ere as long as I can stand;
What’s more, I vow to hold my breath
Till all can smell the stench of death.

Your thoughts are morbid, vow absurd,
The Senate chambers reek of turd.
Obamacare is not so vexing,
Whether stir-fried or Tex-Mexing.

Will you try it wrapped in foil?
I will not try it wrapped in foil.
Would you take it from a mohel?
I would not take it from a mohel.

Would you take it from a swami?
I would not take it from a swami.
Would you try it with salami?
I would not try it with salami.

Would you fund it cleared of mildew?
I would not fund it cleared of mildew.
Would you fund it, as the French do?
I would not fund it, as the French do.

Would you like it by the seaside?
I would not like it by the seaside.
Would you like it with its tubes tied?
I would not like it with its tubes tied.

Would you fund it as a tactic?
I would not fund it as a tactic.
What about a prophylactic?
I would not fund a prophylactic
Cleared of mildew, wrapped in foil,
From a swami, from a mohel
In the Louvre by the seaside
With its tubes tied or
Procreating merrily,
I’d still approach it warily.
I do not like Obamacare.
The poor should not have cancer care.
I simply could not give a damn.
I do not like it, Cruz-I-am.

Would you fund it for a puppy?
I would not fund it for a puppy.
Would you fund it for a guppie?
I would not fund it for a guppie.

Would you fund it hot, with noodles?
I would not fund it hot, with noodles.
Would you fund it humping poodles?
I would not fund it humping poodles.

Would you fund it raping nuns?
I would not fund it raping nuns.
Would you fund it firing guns?
I would not fund it firing guns,
Raping nuns, humping poodles
Hot with noodles, or a puppy
Or a guppie or a goldfish
Obamacare’s still no fish I would
Care to catch.
Like the frumious bandersnatch,
I simply do not give a damn.
I do not like it, Cruz-I-am.

Would you fund it as a trap?
Would you fund it with the clap?
Would you fund it mixed with pork?
Would you fund it as a dork?
Would you fund it as a honcho?
Would you fund it in a poncho?
Would you fund it doused in Mennen?
Would you fund it spouting Lenin?

Not spouting Lenin,
Doused in Mennen mixed with pork,
As a honcho, as a dork
As a trap or with the clap or in a poncho,
This is one honcho
Who does not like Obamacare.
The poor should not have cancer care.

Would you fund it while being paddled?
Would you fund it, since you’re addled?
Would you fund it wrapped in plastic?
Would you fund it, since you’re spastic?
Would you fund it in the heather?
Would you fund it dressed in leather?

Not in the heather, dressed in leather,
Wrapped in plastic, spry or spastic,
Paddled, addled, heathery or feathery,
Obamacare just leaves me frumpy.
Brain gets frozen, shorts get clumpy.
I don’t know why you keep on asking.
I can’t stand all this multitasking.

It’s just because you haven’t tried it!
How do you know it would not flatter?
True, you’re mad as any hatter
Lurking in a fen or bog;
Still, I’ll bet a pint of grog
That if you were a gandy dancer
With no support and wracked with cancer
You’d sweep the cobwebs from your hair
And sign up for Obamacare!

I’ll never be a gandy dancer
And hopefully I won’t get cancer,
But if I do, my benefactors
(The Koch brothers, and other actors)
Will buy for me a hospital
Or two, perhaps even a petting zoo
Where I can sit, relax, and pray
And read from children’s books all day.

*  *  *
The preceding was (obviously) a parody of the classic Dr. Seuss work Green Eggs and Ham, originally published by Random House in 1960. The sanctimony of Ted Cruz seemed to require an opposite approach in the parody. Apologies to anyone I might have offended through use of outlandish imagery.