Irony Bites President Bush in the Ass

ew were surprised when statements made by President Bush last week invited the bite of irony. The president, frequently less observant of irony in his statements than Alanis Morissette in hers, was attacking Zimbabwe president Robert Mugabe for stealing the recent election in his country.

Mugabe's method of election fraud was with open threats to members of the opposing party, Zimbabwe's Movement for Democratic Change party, and discouraging voters from turning out to cast their vote for the opposition. Violence and blatant electioneering were observed around the country, though no evidence of fixing votes themselves has been brought to light.

The situation echoed the 2000 U.S. presidential election so clearly the irony was apparently visible from the outer space, though President Bush completely missed the irony once again.

"Mugabe has clearly interfered with the will of the people," said President Bush, who failed to clearly win the popular vote in his own country in 2000. "I ask him to graciously stand aside and allow the election process to be carried out without his interference."

No other method of reaction other than verbal scorning is likely to come from the United States or other western superpowers. Any pressure placed on Zimbabwe by the U.S., in the form of sanctions or other political or economical pressures, would surely invite more intense irony.

"President Mugabe has created an uneven playing field for the opposition," said Bush, whose brother Jeb is the governor of Florida, the state whose electoral college cast the deciding votes in favor of Bush. "He ought to be ashamed of himself," said Bush, hip-deep in red-hot irony.

Mugabe has run his campaign on platform of turning over white-owned land to native black residents and anti-imperialism. Bush, in contrast, campaigned on the platform his dad had been president.

"Surely President Bush must understand that when an election grows heated a nominee must welcome natural advantages to his campaign," said Mugabe.

"Unh-uh, don't follow ya," said Bush upon hearing Mugabe's statement.

Since Bush's "election" in 2000, irony has been an ever-present character in the Bush White House, appearing more frequently with the president than Vice-President Dick Cheney.

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When I was young, we only had nine days of Christmas. That was years before capitalism went nuts and we started tacking on Christmas days like they were candy, to give people more time to buy fruitcakes, hunting rifles and salad forks. There was a real ugly period there where America was doing everything to excess; we even added a half-dozen states just for the hell of it. Nevada? Give me a break. Two hookers and a bag full of dirt does not a state make. Same thing for Hawaii. And those Hawaiian assholes even paid us back by getting us into WWII. If that's a Hawaiian's idea of gratitude, they can keep their pineapples and fat chicks, thank you very much.

But thanks to this haphazard propagation of Christmas days, many people have forgotten what the original nine days stood for. Some people think they know, but that's just like them. The true meaning of the nine days of Christmas has been all but lost from the modern world, a knowledge maintained only by myself and Chester D. Arthur of Whitebridge, Illinois. And that big sack of wrong thinks the eighth day is for purple horseshoes, so you might be experiencing your last shot at the real scoop right here.

Nine Ladies Dancing. The ninth day was always for stoning people who couldn't be properly shamed into following society's rules about things like women not dancing or Welch people trying to vote.

Eight Maids A-Milking. Again, the past was not kind to the fairer sex. The eighth day before Christmas used to be all about telling your wife to get back in the kitchen and a-milk you something, pronto. I'll let you be the judge of what results our society has reaped from letting that one slip.

Seven Swans A-Swimming. The seventh day was about remembering the seven steps of proper car maintenance: gas it, wash it, wax it, oil it, vacuum it, put out all fires, and park it inside when it's hailing. Anyone who ignored those steps would get a visit from the Swan of Poor Performance, who has largely been forgotten as a harbinger of doom ever since his children's cartoon was cancelled in the 1970's.

Six Geese A-Laying. The sixth day was traditionally a reminder for everyone to take a good big shit before the holidays to make room for the copious feasting that was to ensue. This may sound silly to ears attuned to the hectic pace of modern life, but back in the day people only shat once a month, and every year people would die from forgetting how. The accelerating pace of modern life, and diets containing more than just meat, have made those days merely a happy memory.

Five Gold Rings. This one is pretty self-explanatory, a simple reminder to get yourself paid. Visa wanted to change this to "Five Gold Cards" in 1970, but the government shot them down because nobody should have five gold cards. That counts as serious wallet abuse and you can hurt your brain coming up with so many fake names.

Four Calling Birds. Again, a failed attempt by AT&T in 1987 to have this changed to "Four Calling Cards" served to fog over the verse's original meaning: a reminder for men to ring up some tail for a booty call or four before the long deep freeze of family time gripped them through the holidays.

Three French Hens. Should a Christmas reveler fail in finding enough birds for a satisfactory pre-Christmas orgy, European prostitutes were always a handy fall-back option.

Two Turtle Doves. This nonsensical verse served as a reminder to generations about the folly of making decisions while extremely inebriated, a state in which many spent the entire month of December. Urban legend had it that the song's composer was himself hammered by the time he got to this point in the song, thanks to his habit of taking a celebratory shot after every successfully completed verse.

And a Partridge in a Pear Tree. And finally, the Big Kahuna. A stark reminder to all that anyone who becomes too drunk and belligerent throughout the holidays is likely to end up locked outside, staring confusedly at a bird in a tree. So try to keep your shit within reason.

That's all fine and good, you're likely saying, but what are the 10th, 11th and 12th days for? For shit, is the truest answer. But rather than set off a national epidemic of insomnia with that riddle, I'll delve a bit deeper to explain. In 1945, Sears paid the government $10 million to have the tenth day added. So the tenth day is for Sears, as is explained in the popular Peter, Paul and Mary song, which mentions the ten lords o' leaping on the tenth day. As was common knowledge in that day, gaylords often hung out at Sears.

Similarly, the eleventh and twelfth days were bought by Macy's and Wanamakers, with the twelfth day passing on to the May Company after Wanamakers bit the silver bullet in 1960. Macy's is represented in the song by the eleven pipers piping, since in those days the ripe stench of pipe smoke was the surest sign that there was a Macy's nearby. Wanamakers only got stuck with the twelve drummers drumming because all the other good counting stuff had been taken already.

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In the recent time of crisis Americans stepped forward in probably record numbers to donate blood and anything else that was needed. Except for time, money, and military service, of course, but the point of my argument is that Americans answered the call.

Who wouldn't be outraged to hear the truth about how their contribution was exploited and wasted by the corporations involved?

Some news organizations have brought you work about the mis-management of monetary funds supposedly going to victims of the Sept. 11th terrorist attacks. Ghastly doings there. And word has reached us about the loss of blood following the nation-wide response, blood going to waste or lost through a lack of resources to test or keep it. But what of the sperm?

That's right, people. Our childlike national media isn't grown up enough to mention that while Americans lined up around the country to donate blood and plasma, men from every great state also stepped forward, dirty magazine in one hand and the other full of their unmentionables, ready to give sperm as needed.

Was it needed? Perhaps not. The amount of sperm in the national reserve was satisfactory to cover the needs, whatever they could be, of the victims of Sept. 11. But the point is that people donated out of the goodness of their heart, from the bottom of their vas deffrens. They didn't ask for money, nor for recognition—some even refused to let their pictures be taken or used their real name. But these unsung heroes certainly didn't count on their gift going to line the pockets of corporate fatasses.

The record surplus of sperm was seen as a silver lining in this grisly cloud of terrorist attacks. It was a way to recoup lost profits from already failing businesses and to scrape together money to cover other failing businesses such as airlines or sickly travel businesses. These corporate scumbags have made spare sperm the extra hidden ingredient in everything on the market in the past few months. While we're none the wiser.

This sperm, donated for free and now in excess of proper freezing storage capacity, has been used as filler to replace costlier ingredients in standard everyday products. The rubber in erasers, kitchenware, shoes, yes, even rubbers—all cut with free sperm. Donated sperm.

Elmer's Glue in particular is over 85% sperm in the wake of all this. Classrooms across the country are covered in it, formerly innocent macaroni construction paper drawings given from child to parent now smell like a teen-age boy's sweatpants. Even the milk in breakfast cereals! Filled with the cheap substitute sperm given freely by kind-hearted donors. It makes me sick to think about.

We cannot allow them to get away with this one, someone must call them on it. I suggest calling your congressman (or woman-person) and very loudly and brazenly demand he personally remove the sperm from your breakfast cereal. If he hangs up, call back repeatedly and threaten him with bodily harm. Tell him you have a weapon. It is the only way to see results. Sooner or later, if enough of us stand proud and act as one, we can reduce the amount of sperm in our products dramatically.

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