To the tune of “Away In A Manger”
Beware! There’s great danger! The threat is intense!
It’s huge and it’s growing! We’ll beef up defense
By hiring more jerks who will make life a pain
For anyone who tries to get on a plane.
I promise to not let the bad guys hurt you,
But don’t ask just how, ‘cause I haven’t a clue.
There’s car bombs and shoe bombs...and bombs in a sleigh?
If Santa looks fishy, we’ll blow him away.
OSAMA BIN LADEN
To the tune of “The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting)”
Christians roasting on an open fire!
Jews and Hindus dead in heaps!
(Thus do I rave in the dark in my cave--
I even give Hamas guys the creeps.)
Death to every infidel on earth!
Every Buddhist, Jane and Druid!
(I’m no kill-crazed troll; the truth is, I control
Over half the world’s embalming fluid.)
I don’t look like I love holidays,
But deep down I really do.
So I wish--no put on--for a great Ramadan
(And of course, death) for you.
To the tune of “Oh Come All Ye Faithful”
They came, all the faithful
Viewed my Bible story!
I’d made it so gory--
Kind of “Braveheart” meets God.
“No English? Crazy!”
Some said; didn’t faze me.
And to each carping critic
Who cried “Anti-semitic”:
Don’t be so analytic!
(Jews do that so well.)
But how do I follow
That flick? How to top it?
“The Wars of Mohamet”?
“Lethal Buddha”? No way.
No, someone bigger,
A brave, heroic figure!
No “peace and love” hand-wringer.
Instead, a far-right winger
Who gave filmtown the finger:
“The Passion of Mel!”
To the tune of “What Child Is This”
What child is this who makes me cry
By coming forward to testify?
The first of many, it seems. Oh my.
And my chimp’s on the phone to his lawyers
Please, bring me some Christmas joy!
(Unless you’re underage and a boy.
The court’s order is clear, not coy:
I don’t dare let you in past the foyer.)
To the tune of “Oh Little Town of Bethlehem”
Oh town of old Manhattan, I’m
Your prime celebrity.
I’ve bought up half your buildings and
Named each one after me.
I’m sleek and rich and famous--
It makes most people sick.
They hate The Donald! (I’m just glad
Mom didn’t name me Dick.)
No gifts for me this Christmas, thanks;
I’ve all I need in life:
A ton of dough, a TV show,
A brand new trophy wife.
And if you “want it all” too,
Take my advice, young lad.
Just do like I did: Be set up
In business by your dad.
To the tune of “The Little Drummer Boy”
That concept’s Greek to me,
I trusted Chalabi
How stupid could I be?
I knew it all smelled,
Should have rebelled,
What a huge mistake,
But we can’t bend or break,
We dare not pull up stakes,
For Halliburton’s sake,
Our foes must be felled,
Killed or dispelled,
So says Rums-feld.
Until then I wish you joyous Noel,
And Powell, go to hell.
To the tune of “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus”
I shot Bonny like I’d planned because
No one else would kill the bitch for me.
That’s what the cops contend,
But I’m innocent, my friend.
(I’d say she had it coming, but
I don’t want to offend.)
Hope your Christmas joy’s as great as mine,
Even though the state wants me to fry.
Just because you do the crime,
Don’t mean you’ll do the time.
Hell, if O.J. walked then so can I.
We are a fantasy baseball league whose draft is scheduled for April 14. Ten men enter (or nine or eight), and one man leaves.
- ► 2007 (41)
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- BP on the Angels
- BP on Twins
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- diving in
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