He’s a poet…and he didn’t even know it.

So the muse came to visit my friend Mike, but he was too drunk to answer the door. Instead he drank some more and wrote the following. No wisdom here... just drunken silliness.

One after one the screen sees their fall.
There's Daschle, there's Dan even Kofi Annan.
(He's not tipped quite yet, but he's snared in the net.)
With bribes and with lies and with doublespeak smiles,
they each threw all in,
they shot for the moon,
and now having failed, must sing the sad tune.
So sad for you, I'll miss y'all so much,
So On Dashle, on Rather,
and Theresa you vixen,
please take it to Europe,
where well you'll all fit in.
And there you can join all your movie star friends,
and discourse on the merits of Botox for rear ends.