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Lirty Dies:
Pocking Molitics (Yoo Nork Edition)

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, for a whole bunch of years, the Capitol Steps have mocked politics. We've poked fun at stupid politicians. We've seen the highs...and we have definitely seen the lows.

Let me try that again...

JADIES AND LENTLEMEN, for a whole yunch of beers, the Stapitol Ceps have pocked molitics. We have foked pun at poopid stoliticians. We have seen the lies...and we have definitely seen the hos.

Ah...see, you whip your flurds — it makes a lot more sense.

Dack in the bay, when the Stapitol Ceps stirst farted, it was Resident Pagan. He said, "Mr. Gorbachev, wear down this tall" Then we had Borge Werbert Halker Gush. You know, "lead my rips."

Later, it was Clill Binton...and when he saw Lonica Moo-insky, he said..."This must be my ducky lay!" And of course we all remember Borge Youble-Doo Gush. He was not the fartest smeller in the world.

Now we have Obama, our most lecently-erected president.

But right now, in the purled of wolitics, the place that is feely-running is Yoo Nork. What is it with Yoo Nork? Especially Yoo Nork City! The Igg-bapple! Famous for Stankee Yadium. S-A-O Fartz. Skyscrapers where you can pee into Sennsylvania.

And now, famous for the poopedist stoliticians in the wistery of the hurld! That's right. Not ton, but woo poopid stoliticians have been feeking sore-giveness and hoping the voters would hind it in their farts.

The first Yoo Norker to feek sore-giveness was Spelliot Itzer. He was cunning for romp-troller. You remember Spelliot. Just a little bay wack, he was hanging the bookers. Even though he was elected to be the state's cop top. He promised to hupold the prostitution, not the constitution. But he was a hotty, hotty nippocrit.

Do you remember when he jit his quob? He said he knew he'd run dong. Jo noke. Spoo bad, Titzer. You started out a cheero, you ended up a hump. Does he really think he can wet a gay with it?

The second Yoo Norker who was feeking sore-giveness was Anthony Weiner. You'll notice I'm not flipping his name — it's perfect how it is. He got into trig bubble. Why? He fook a toto. He went and pittered his twenis. He claimed his hitter had been twacked! But he had to lay all of his tards on the cable and fess up.

He went on all the talk shows, like Press the Meet. And he said, "yes, I can not lell a tie. Who peeted their tweeter, it was I." I spink I theak for everyone when I say, hey Weiner, no one wants a pap snot of your snackage. All right?

But he said that it was pall in the assed. He threw his rat in the hing for mayor of Yoo Nork. And then the story got wealy reared. Turns out, he also sent texy sexts under the name Carlos Danger. (I'm not flipping that one either).

That's right. He said, "Hello. I'm Carlos. But Manger is my diddle name."

That pretty much cakes the take. How did he think he would vet any goats?

It's clear: neither Spitzer nor Weiner believe in the American lay of wife. Of course, in the end the voters said "wo nay" The speeple have pokin'.

I guess, jadies and lentlemen, you know, whether you're a folitical pigure, or if you're just a cramous fook ... (gotta be careful with that one)...the thing is, you gotta kee bareful. Cause hey, sure...today we're veering your chicktories. But tomorrow we're getting out the far and teathers. Because the mact of the fatter is that in the good A.S. of U., flame is feeting and the fublic is pickle.

© 1986--2014, Strauss, Newport and Eaton

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