You Too Can Be Jesse Jackson: The Oil Spill, Immigration, and Fuzzy Wuzzy

BP plans to try a static kill
which they hope will end the summer of the spill
and lower their liability bill.
Meanwhile the oil
that continues to spoil
the Gulf Coast’s soil
and Cajun tempers to boil
will have us embroiled
in a clean-up that will last
long past
this fall.
Later on they plan to put on a permanent cap
and give the company name of BP a dirt nap.
They must think we are saps
feeding us this crap.
It took three months. Do you want us to clap?

The President announced his plans to end The War in Iraq
and bring the troops there back.
The troop’s new role will now be Iraqi support
while they hold down the fort
awaiting a stateside report.
After seven years we’re bringing home our patriotic volunteers
hopefully to Canyon of Heroes cheers,
a couple of beers,
some barbecued steers,
and a grateful nation’s heartfelt tears.

The government has given Gulf fishermen a new request.
They said, “Sell your product if it passes the smell test.”
That’s no way to assess
this potentially toxic mess.
What’s next?
Spin the wheel, take a guess, or magic 8-ball? Surely they jest.
It’s criminal and it’s rude
 trying to convince people to sell and eat food
filled with crude.
Dude?
You’ll eat it and end up screwed.
I’m no wimp
and I like shrimp
but you won’t be treating me like some laboratory chimp.
I don’t care what they say in the lab
I’m not eating your crab.
There’s no need to run a tab.
In fact call me a cab.
You won’t see me in front of no oyster dressing
saying the blessing,
making a wish,
that it smells and tastes like fish.

Fuzzy Wuzzy wuz a bear.
Fuzzy Wuzzy got quite a scare
when Arizona Senator Jon Kyl spoke about the 14th amendment and went wild.
He said a child could be exiled
if his parent’s papers were not on file
and that the amendment was out of style.
What a pile.
Fuzzy was riled.
He was made in China and had no papers
he wasn’t losing his stuffed kids to this wacky caper
He put on his bandana and combed his fleece.
He was going to protest. No justice no peace!

Charles Rangel, Man of Action: Air Charlie

I was convinced that Lebron James was coming to the Apple. I had worked behind the scenes to help sweeten the pot. I arranged for a lifetime of free meals at Sylvia’s restaurant in Harlem, and movie passes at the Magic Johnson Theaters. I always thought that Magic Johnson would’ve been a greatest name ever for a porno star, but considering the way we got screwed by Lebron, I guess I was wrong.

It was disgraceful what he did. He teased us, led us on, and then not even a kiss goodnight. So I decided to pay the King a little visit to get my goodnight kiss.

I flew down to Miami and crashed the Heat’s little celebration party. I get there as the balloons dropped. I walked up to “Bron Bron” like Michael Corleone did to Fredo in Godfather II, and grabbed him by his cheeks and kissed him full on the lips. I looked him in the eye and said, “You broke my heart Lebron. You broke my heart.”

Then I ripped off my tear away suit pants, revealing my vintage belted basketball short shorts and, and my hi- top Chuck Taylor sneakers. I hate to brag, but those shorts make me look like I’m smuggling kielbasa.

I challenge him to a game of HO. That’s horse in two shots. He doesn’t want to play so I start bouncing the ball off of his head like Robert Duvall in the Great Santini. “C’mon squirt a few.” He agrees. Wrong move.

As you know Imus, I’m a baaaad man. I can sneeze with my eyes open. When I was born the only person crying was the doctor. Nobody slaps Charlie Rangel. Nobody! I take the ball behind the three- point line and scissor kick it. Nothing but cotton. H!  I then drive to the hole, 360, and tomahawk slam it through with my feet. Game over. Silly hoopster. Rucker Park is in Harlem, bitch.


Charles Rangel, Man of Action: Hammer Time

While touring with MC Hammer, I was offered a chance to perform for the President and the new chairman of BP, Carl-Henric Svanberg. The President was trying to get assurances that BP would pay for all of the damage they caused, and thought a private performance with M.C. Hammer would go a long way to break the ice.

I enter the Oval Office and the President introduces me to Svanberg and one of his most trusted lieutenants.  I lock the door and as Svanberg’s guy extends his hand to shake mine, I grab it and introduce him to M.C.  Hammer; My titanium, custom made, Ways& Means Chairman’s gavel.  I find that it’s a very useful tool when you’re trying to appropriate funds. The M.C. stands for money changer. I put the lackey’s hand on the President’s desk. The President gives me a nod and says, “Hammertime.” I start pounding on the exec’s hand. My right arm was a blur, like a thirteen-year old’s watching a Jenna Jameson movie.

The President yells, “Stop! Hammertime.” Obama asks Svanberg if he’d like to drop a few bucks into the hat for the entertainment, and assures him that I have an encore left in me. Svanberg looks at me and sees me smiling and covered in blood like I’m Carrie on prom night. Bastard says he only has $5 billion. I said, “Oil rigger please” and then grabbed his hand. As you know Imus, I’m a baaad man. All of my calendars go from March 31st to April 2nd. Do you know why? Because nobody fools Charlie Rangel. I’m the reason you can’t find Waldo. I raise the gavel and then Svanberg says, “I meant $5 billion in four installments.” Silly Swede, forgetting to bring his wallet to a Charlie Rangel fundraiser.

Charles Rangel, Man of Action: Reelection Bid

On Sunday I kicked off my campaign for re-election. There are some members of my party who don’t want me to run, and will do anything to stop me.

I will find them and kill them in their sleep.

Anyway, before a new campaign starts I always like to have a light breakfast at a little diner in the West Village. They named a breakfast after me, The Charlie Rangel platter: 6 raw eggs, 4 fried chickens, and a half a loaf of toast.

I like chicken, Imus.

I heard you buried yours. Bitten by a rattlesnake huh? A rattler bit me once. After five excruciating days the little bastard finally died. I didn’t bury it. I ate it. You know what it tasted like? Chicken.

So I’m buttering my toast when I notice a waiter dressed as a samurai tossing a salad in the corner. Ordinarily a waiter tossing a salad in a West Village diner wouldn’t stand out at all, even one dressed as a samurai. But this guy seemed familiar.

He says, “The party wants you to retire and they sent me, Yoshi Yamaguchi ” I knew it.  Yamaguchi, “The Gay Blade." They called him that because he’d happily sing while he killed you. It’s a horrible death; dying to the sound of "Oooooklahoma," sung out of tune.

He draws his samurai sword. He shouldn’t have done that. He just signed his death warrant. As you know Imus, I’m a baaaad man. I iron my shirts while I’m wearing them. I’m a one -man army. There’s no “I” in Rangel but there is a rage. I scissor kicked my butter knife into Yamaguchi’s forehead.

The diner has a new menu item; Samurai on a stick.

Silly Dems, sending a Samurai to a Charlie Rangel fight.


You Too Can Be Jesse Jackson: A News Update

Bp put on a containment cap
The plan is to stop the crap
that continues to lap
on the shores as a result of their oil rig mishap.
But if you look at a map
their failure to trap
the oil in a jiffy, in a snap,
has sapped the life of the coast.
Its way of life will soon be a ghost.
Truthfully, right now it’s toast.
Birds covered in oily turds
is just absurd.
This never should’ve occurred.
Word!

These terrorists from the Garden State
were two young men who became irate .
They’re losers who couldn’t get a date,
couldn’t find a mate.
Procreate?
That wasn’t their fate.
So they went to Newark International
with thoughts that weren’t rational.
So they tried for Somalia
and new plans for their genitalia.
That was their hope
but these stupid dopes
who should be hung from a rope
are going where they better not drop the soap.

We lost John Wooden, The Wizard Of Westwood.
I’m not a fan of any wizard; but he was great, not good.
The Hall of Fame
seems almost lame
for what he bought to the game.
A true genius is not a boastful claim.
His loss is truly a shame.
He coached great players, many became stars
like Wicks, Walton, and Abdul-Jabbar.
But Wooden was the biggest by far.
So goodbye coach
Your life’s work is beyond reproach.
It’s up to us to strive
to keep your legacy alive.

Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear.
A Bruin, that description is fair.
He watched UCLA play from the comfort of his easy chair.
Last weekend he was sitting there
when he heard the news on the air
that Wooden was gone, he just sat and stared.
He was the greatest coach beyond compare.
Fuzzy bowed his head and said a little prayer.