The Chief Defect of W - A Cautionary Verse

The Chief Defect of W
Was thinking that he thought he knew
The World without much Studying,
Or reading Stuff. Or asking Things.

Instead of Curiosity,
He banked on Wall Street Pedigree.
At Yale he was heard to boast:
Hell, I'm a Bush. We Bushies coast!

As long as he remained a loser,
Baseball punk and Drug Abuser,
That was only Yale's lament...
Then he became Our President!

Since he could barely squeeze a C
From studies of Economy,
He buried us in Frightful Debt
With no Remorse and less Regret.

So confident was his defiance
Of the Claims of Modern Science
That our melting Polar Caps
Barely crimped his Daily Naps.

He even claimed - 'tis odd but true -
To be a Texan through and through.
Although his Birth Certificate
Says: "Rich Kid From Connecticut."

That should have been a clue right there,
But most of us just didn't care.
In Terror's wake we cut him Slack.
Then...whoops...we woke up in Iraq.

Iraqis, though a Mystery,
Do tend to know their History,
And don't throw Flowers at Invaders
Who remind them of Crusaders.

W - who had not heard -
Let slip the dread 'Crusader' word,
And roadside bombs began to fall.
But George was not disturbed at all.

He strode, he swaggered, smirked and swished,
He boasted: Mission? Accomplished!
He tempted Fate to prove him Wrong.
He cried: Osama, Bring It On!

Osama's friends, with Devilish Glee,
Were more than happy to agree.
Some worried pundits whispered "...oops,
We think, perchance, we need more Troops!"

But to acknowledge Georgie blew it
Would require Georgie knew it.
Knuckle down, not be a Dummy
Sucking up to Dick and Rummy.

Such, alas, was not his Style.
'Twas more fun to Pose and Smile.
Stubborn Facts made not a Dent
Upon our Privileged President.

So when Katrina came to call
Did Georgie notice? Not at all.
The one Great Plan he did supply
Was selling Jersey to Dubai.

At last, the sorry Truth sank in,
The Public grew immune to Spin.
Disillusioned, they Defected...
Too late, since he was Reelected.

Physicians of the Utmost Fame
Were finally called, but when they came,
They answered, as they took their Fees,
"There is no Cure for this Disease.

The State will have to Groan and Wait
At least until Two Thousand Eight."
His mother Babs, (with grain of salt),
Lamented: "This is all my Fault!

I should have spanked him when he drank,
I should have soaped him when he stank.
And as to being President,
Hell, neither son is Competent!"

But heedless of our Desperate Nation
George took another Long Vacation.
To all concerned he answered: Shush!
Don't bug me, Dude! I'm clearing Brush!

So my advice is simple: That's
To save us from such Spoiled Brats
And Lazy Rats, and Drunken Frats...
You'd better vote for Democrats!

(with apologies to Hilaire Belloc)