Brain Dead

He walked the path of all brain-dead
And with the morning sun;
The Dhimmi stopped, he thought and said,
My lies will never be outdone.

A podunk teacher now retired
With hair of festering grey;
As lying a man has ever been mired
In the podunker way

But on that morning, through the grass,
And by those Washita hills
He walked alone without much class
Looking for lying thrills.

“My work,” said he, “has just begun,
As I spread more lying lib trash,
They’ll kiss my butt when I am done,
Done with this great Bush bash!

A second time did Dhimmi speak;
As he picked up his writing pen
“The museum was looted,” he did shriek
“All the items were taken by Bush’s own men.”

“It’s the fault of the Bush, we all know,
Saddam’s men are as innocent as we.
Bush is guilty, as are all Americano
Who dared to help the Iraqi to be free.