Head Honcho

It took a year, but the White House was refurbished.

The president now led the first tour through.

The final stop was in the Oval Office.

“And here, from Teddy Roosevelt, I took my cue,”

 

He grandly said and threw the doors wide open

(with such big hands it was an easy grasp).

“This is so yuge—so tell me that you love it.”

But, in reply, there was a sudden gasp.

 

“Those can’t be real,” said CNN’s reporter.

“They’re lifelike, though,” said one from PBS.

“It’s almost like they’re only really sleeping,”

Said NBC, “but how? I just can’t guess!”

 

“They’re real, all right,” the president retorted,

“And stuffed and mounted on the wall, as you can see.

It’s just my way of showing my supporters

Of what I’ll do to those who fuck with me.

 

Ben Carson, first, the least of my collection—

A head without a brain—but still I choose

To put him there to show I’m not a bigot—

I love diversity—in those who lose!

 

Next, look, there’s little Marco, now much littler,

And can you guess that next fake-smiling head?

The taxidermist glued his lips together,

So you might not recognize our lyin’ Ted.

 

But there’s so many—Bernie, Christie, Jeb Bush—

Talk now about a lack of energy!

But then the man from Fox said, “Mr. Trump, sir,

I notice one blank spot—whose can that be?”

 

“I’m glad you asked me that, Sean, I’ve reserved that—

It’s just like you to want to know the facts!

You notice that I’ve had them put the names up

Below the heads on little golden plaques?

 

Look closely and you’ll see there’s an inscription

Already there: the writing’s too big to ignore—

Remember when I called some old bitch ‘Nasty’

And you’ll know right away whom that spot’s for.”

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