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I suppose it is kind of preposterous that one imagines himself important enough to write down his opinions for others to read. Chattering superciliousness is one of the most infuriating things about academics and so-called intellectuals, generally, who feel compelled to share their thoughts. But here it goes, anyway.

Remember 2000? A Reminiscence in Verse

The Shrub
by Michael Berumen (and lots of help from E. A. Poe) 12-04-00

Once upon a Tuesday dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over a butterfly ballot with chads marked for either Bush or Gore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my voting booth door.
"Tis some visitor," I muttered, tapping at my voting booth door--
Only this, and nothing more." Ah, distinctly I remember, it was a bleak November,
and each expelled chad wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished for the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow
From his last debate a kernel of wisdom from that total bore,
The mediocre and hyperbolic candidate known as Gore--
The uncertain punching of each ballot for these middling men
Thrilled me,--yes, filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"Tis some voter entreating entrance at my voting booth door-
Some impatient voter entreating entrance at my voting booth door;
This it is, and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is, I was considering for whom to vote, and so gently you> came rapping,> And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my voting booth door.
That I scarce was sure I heard you" here I opened wide the swinging
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting dreaming dreams no sane voter ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only words there spoken was the whispered phrase "don't vote for... Gore."
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the words "no, definitely not for Gore! "
Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the booth turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping, somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely there is something outside this infernal booth: Let me see, then, what threat this is and then this mystery explore-
Let my heart be still a moment, and then this mystery explore;-
Tis the wind and nothing more."
Open here I flung the door, when, with a jaunty prep-school strut,
In there stepped a man faintly resembling another from days of yore;
He sniffed, he blinked, and then he smirked, but not a word did he say,
But he snorted a powdery substance, standing before my voting booth door-
Standing and snorting and smirking before my voting booth door-
These things he did, and nothing more.
Then his vaguely familiar visage beguiled me into smiling
By the rather silly countenance that he wore.
"Though thy smirk causes me to laugh," I said, " thou art certainly a very ordinary person
Silly me, I now see, he is the favorite son Texas, the governor 'imself, a Bush in miniature
Wandering in from the Florida shore.
"Tell me what you are doing here, blocking my voting booth door!"
Quoth the Shrub, "NeverGore!"
He then said something about federal programs, and how social security
wasn't one, not really,
And how he wasn't that drunk when he drove that evening long before,
Then I said something about being 'absent without leave' in the National
Air Guard,
"Ah," he muttered, "certainly not while I defending the dangerous Texas shore,"
A post arranged by Daddy's old 'pard', and never mind, please, that many others did much more,
Quoth the Shrub, "NeverGore."
Startled at the stillness broken by these words, even without a teleprompter, and so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what he utters is his only stock and store,
Taught by some unhappy English master
Required to instruct this syntactical disaster
For so little else could he much say, cogently, anyway,
Beyond Never-----that's right "NeverGore."
But the Shrub was still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
So I walked inches in front of the smirking and sniffing man blocking my voting booth door; Then I realized, with my heart sinking, he could be the one, and now he was winking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this dim progeny of a Bush of yore-
What this smirking, snorting, sniffing, under-the-influence-driving, AWOL
preppy spawn of a Bush of yore,
Meant in croaking, "NeverGore."
I knew my dimwitted booth-mate could state no syllable expressing,
Much beyond this phrase burned into my bosom's core;
His purpose, and more, I stood divining, with my stylus ready for punching
Through the chad, and the lamplight gloated o'er,
Soon to be hanging, dimpled or ignored, with the lamplight gloating o'er, I shall press now, ah, alas, is it Bush or Gore?
Then methought the air grew denser, scented from a malodorous censer
Swung by his stooges Harris and Baker
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee, by these Republican lackeys he hath sent thee Respite---respite and nepenthe, from my memories of Gore!
Quaff oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this Internet-inventing,
show-off and bore!"
Quoth the Shrub, "NeverGore"
"Idiot! said I, "dimwit you are, whether likable or not!
By that court that stands supremely above us...and that Constitution you
pretend to adore-
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, that in the distant new year,
We shall at last be finished with you, my smirking, sniveling friend,
And though maybe an evil still, should we not have the lesser one, whom we
all know as a total bore,
Something worse you say, maybe even a money-raising whore?
I'll take him still, over you, an even more insidious prevaricator about your Lone Star record are you,
Oh personable party boy, with much too modest an IQ.
Quoth the Shrub, "NeverGore."
"Be that word our sign in parting, foolish little man, " I shrieked, upstarting--
"Get thee back to Texas, oh adenoidal, Bob Jones hugging, Confederate flag waiving, son of a Bush!
Leave no foul chad nor indentation as a token of the lies which thy soul hath spoken!
Leave me alone and quit my voting booth!
Take thy awful smirk away from me, and thy racist and anti-Semitic form
from my booth! "
Quoth the Shrub, "NeverGore."
And the Shrub, sniffing and always smirking, still is standing
Blocking the way in front of my voting booth door;
And his eyes are as vacuous as his reasoning is specious,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his spindly, effete, prepster shadow on the floor; And my ballot that gives my vote to Gore Shall be counted------Nevermore!