Sunday, September 27, 2015

The Sound of (Presidential) Music

Recently, while commuting to work, I started humming tunes from “The Sound of Music.” (Why? I dunno. It’s a classic movie with catchy songs.) Since my brain is left-handed, I found myself making up new lyrics to commemorate the never-ending presidential campaign season. Here’s one for the Democrat front-runner, sung to the tune of “My Favorite Things”:

Secret computers and shady donations.
Hide from debates, offer lame explanations.
Stall and delay and deny everything.
These are a few of my paranoid things.

Vast right-wing critics and bimbo eruptions.
Classified data and email destructions.
FBI documents in the West Wing.
These are a few of my paranoid things.

Girls in stained dresses, oh please let’s not go there.
Let’s talk about something else, like my dyed hair.
Bill and I soon will become Queen and King.
These are a few of my paranoid things.

When the FOX bites / When the press stings / When I want to sigh.
I simply remember my paranoid things / And spout out another lie.

To be fair, here are lyrics for the Republican front-runner, sung to the tune of “How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria”:

He takes the stage and vents his rage / His fist is in the air.
He barges into studios / And rants and raves in there.
And just above his red face / Is a critter he calls hair.
I’ve even heard him screaming at a baby.

He’s always great for sound bites / But his thoughts aren’t very deep.
His insults are relentless / And to women he’s a creep.
I hate to have to say it / The man will make you weep.
This fellow’s not an asset to the nation.

I cannot say a word in his behalf / The Trumpster has no class.

How do you solve a problem like The Donald?
How do you catch a loon and strap him down?
How do you find a word that means The Donald?
A self-absorbed jerk! A vain narcissist! A clown!

Many a thing you know you’d like to tell him / Many a time he should be in a cage.
But how do you make him hear / His head is inside his rear.
Why is he so consumed with all that rage?

Oh how do you solve a problem like The Donald?
How do you get a blowhard off the stage?

Just in case “Hill” and “Shrill” do not become the nominees, I thought of some lyrics for other candidates.

“So Long, Farewell”
There’s an odd sort of laughing / From the room down the hall.
And the gaffs are relentless, too.
And in the Veep office / An absurd Uncle Joe,
Is showing us that he’s coo-coo (Coo-coo, coo-coo).

“The Lonely Goatherd”
High on a hill was a lonely surgeon / Lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hee hoo.
Soft was the voice of the lonely surgeon / Lay ee odl lay ee odl-oo.
Folks in a town strained to hear him speaking / Lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hee hoo.
But Dr. Ben looked like he was sleeping / Lay ee odl lay ee odl-oo.

“Sixteen Going On Seventeen”
You are eighty, going on eighty-one / Bernie, you’re on the brink.
Keep spouting Marx and Socialist dreams / To people who rarely think.

Jeb, a Bush, another Bush.
Ain’t we done this twice before?
Me, I think I’ve had enough.
Ugh, I can’t take anymore! 

In conclusion, there’s one thing I’d love to say to all the candidates: “So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, shut-up! Don’t let, the door, hit you in the bu-utt!”

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