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Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Bushiolanus

Somehow, imagining the scene last night as Karl Rove informed Bush that he'd lost the House and probably the Senate, I kept picturing his reaction to the American people like this:
You common cry of curs! whose breath I hate
As reek o' the rotten fens, whose loves I prize
As the dead carcasses of unburied men
That do corrupt my air, I banish you;
And here remain with your uncertainty!
Let every feeble rumour shake your hearts!
Your enemies, with nodding of their plumes,
Fan you into despair! Have the power still
To banish your defenders; till at length
Your ignorance, which finds not till it feels,
Making not reservation of yourselves,
Still your own foes, deliver you as most
Abated captives to some nation
That won you without blows! Despising,
For you, the city, thus I turn my back:
There is a world elsewhere.
P.S. As Jonathan Goldberg would no doubt want us to remember, there's an anus in Bushiolanus.


 Scribble some marginalia



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