For Posterity

Don't worry my darling SA, I anonymized it ... just didn't want to lose it to the Internet ether, and wanted to share so that others know how brilliant you are!

If you are reading this for the first time, imagine that it's the week before Inauguration (20th January) and you get an Evite with these charming verses:

Twas the day after the Inauguration and all through
the city
Not a liberal was sober, not even P. Diddy.
The vodka bottles were empty, thrown around
without hesitation,
In hopes that John Kerry would magically refund
our donations.

The inconsolable were nestled all snug on the tile
floor,
With visions of tequila shots making them snore.
And what-was-his-name in his underwear, and I in
a bit less,
Had just settled down amongst all of this mess.

When out of my window there arose such a clatter,
I stumbled from my Ikea bed to see what was the
matter.
Away to the window I crawled past a champagne
glass,
Pushed open the window and lit my spare hash.

The sun shined off the dumpster six floors below,
And gave me a glimpse of rats eating leftover snow.
When, what to my eyes should appear after last
nights bender,
But a lost motorcade and eight presidential
contenders.

With a little old driver, so blitzed and looking quite
sick,
I knew in a moment it must be Senator Kennedys
sidekick.
As wrecked as a California hillside they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by
name;

"Now, Clealand! Now, Dorgan! Now Harkin, and
Wyden!
On, Boxer! On Clinton On, Obama and Byden!
To the top of the building! Near the satellite dish!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away tout suite!

As I rubbed my eyes to understand this event,
I thought how this might discount my rent.
So up to the roof somehow they flew,
With a trunk full of booze, and John Kerry too.

And then, I heard their chatter up above,
And I feared that someone might give Hillary a
shove.
As I took another drag, I managed to turn around,
And through my front door, John Kerry came in
with a bound.

He was doused with French cologne, I could tell
from the start,
And his couture was all tarnished and stained by
Pizza Mart.
A handle of vodka he hid in his Dior knapsack,
Made him look like a mendicant savoring a six-
pack.

His eyes -- how frazzled! But his wrinkles were
disappearing,
Which made me want to ask if he might be
botoxing?
The cigarette hanging out of his mouth was all
aglow,
And the stubble on his chin was as dark as old,
grey snow.

He looked exhausted; I worried about his health,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of my drunk
self;
As he opened the Grey Goose with the twist of his
hand,
I knew Id soon be drunkenly returned to dreamland;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And after filling all the empty glasses; he turned
with a jerk,
And what can only be deemed quid pro quo,
John Kerry took the last of Dubya's leftover blow.

He sprang to his limo, to his posse gave a whistle,
And away they all drove as quick as an Iraqi
insurgents missile.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
"Come to SA's birthday and start the next four
years right!!

(I think that "Dash Away Tout Suite!" might be our generation's rallying cry ... especially whent he draft starts).