I can't help it. The cartoon muse is upon me. The synapses are too close to each other in my brain. Politics and cartoons. And since I'm on a GREAT cartoon tear, I might as well continue with things near and dear to me and my family.
How the Grinch Stole Christmas, the original, not the recent film. It is a part of our Christmas Eve ritual. We watch it. It's ordained. We all know it verbatim. We sing and recite. We watch the Grinch's facial expressions. And then we open our presents.
I had the "great" good fortune to sit with Seuss's co-collaborator on the music and lyrics for the song a few years ago. Albert Hague... award winning composer and lyricist who died a couple of years ago. He talked about meeting with Theodore Geisel (Dr. Seuss), and about "the" song.
So I've taken some liberties with the future-seeing Dr. Seuss, and give you now the 2004 lyrics to the perennially favorite song...
You're a mean one, Mr. Bush.Of course, the real Seussian Grinch earns redemption at the end of the film. I'm not imagining this happening with our own Mr. Blinky. And the case could be made that the analogy applies more to the Cheney-Grinch than to the Bush sock puppet, but it doesn't rhyme as well, and you'll have to decide for yourselves. I can't help it. We're each on our own for the "great" hard work of making connections and thinking. ;-)
You really are a heel.
You're as cuddly as a cactus,
You're as charming as an eel.
Mr. Bush.
You're a bad banana
With a greasy black peel.
You're a monster, Mr. Bush.
Your heart's an empty hole.
Your brain is full of spiders,
You've got garlic in your soul.
Mr. Bush.
I wouldn't touch you, with a
thirty-nine-and-a-half foot pole.
You're a vile one, Mr. Bush.
You have termites in your smile.
You have all the tender sweetness
Of a seasick crocodile.
Mr. Bush.
Given the choice between the two of you
I'd take the seasick crocodile.
You're a foul one, Mr. Bush.
You're a nasty, wasty skunk.
Your heart is full of unwashed socks
Your soul is full of gunk.
Mr. Bush.
The three words that best describe you,
are as follows, and I quote: "Stink. Stank. Stunk."
You're a rotter, Mr. Bush.
You're the king of sinful sots.
Your heart's a dead tomato splotched
With moldy purple spots,
Mr.Bush.
Your soul is an apalling dump heap, overflowing
with the most disgraceful assortment of deplorable
rubbish imaginable,
Mangled up in tangled up knots.
You nauseate me, Mr. Bush.
With a nauseaus super-naus.
You're a crooked jerky jockey
And you drive a crooked "hoss".
Mr. Bush.
You're a three decker sauerkraut and toadstool sandwich
With arsenic sauce.
("Original" Copyright © 1957, Dr. Seuss)
If I can I'll later post you a link to an MP3 of Thurl Ravenscroft singing the original song, but I'm not sure I can yet. I have it on my computer. Just need a place to park it, and defy the crooked law. I'll do it if Richard says yes. If not e-mail me, and I'll send it to you. It's 2.8MB.
Your bonus for getting this far is a link to the newest trailer for the Pixar film to be released in theaters November 5th. The Incredibles. My daughter and I will have our butts in the theater seats on November 5th. I might even get Mr. Keys to go with us.
Mr. Incredible: "No matter how many times you save the world, it always manages to get back in jeopardy again. I feel like the maid. Could we keep it clean for ten minutes?"
