Believing I couldn’t write anything about the election and its aftermath that hasn’t already been said, I leave the prose to the pros. Instead, I revert to verse.
A Greek Chorus
The guardrails are down, Send in the clown, He’ll pick up his crown. And soon own the town. The guardrails are down.
It’s no use to pout Or mutter or shout, He’ll just tune you out. Of that there’s no doubt. It’s no use to pout.
Some saw from afar With door left ajar His path to be czar Faced no further bar. They followed his star. That’s just who we are.
The Lament of a Weary Mariner
“Can we sail home?” rimed Mariner who strolled along the deck, “I’d love to ditch this albatross that hangs upon my neck.” “Not yet,” his captain cautioned him, “His course is not yet run. “In fact, a further chapter of his tale has just begun.” “But albatross is old,” said M., then further dared to ask, “How long can he continue still his retributive task? “If he jumped ship before his time, could I my burden shed?" “Alas, my friend, another fowl is poised to take his stead.”
High-Coup
He came, he saw, then Inflamed the nation’s worst fears. We’ll all pay the price.
Limerick
There once was a felon abhorrent Who spouted vile things in a torrent. He snookered a mob To give him the job To do as he pleased without warrant.
Iolanthe has suddenly popped back into the news because Chief Justice Rehnquist, who presidied over the last presidential impeachment trial, added some stripes from the lead character’s costume to his own robes. He also quoted one of the operetta’s best lines to explain his role: “I did nothing in particular, and did it very well.” Is Roberts following his lead?
But the 1882 show actually contains a great deal of relevance for us today, from the elite’s arrogant chorus:
“Bow, bow ye lower middle classes, Bow, bow, ye tradesmen, bow ye masses.”
To Private Willis’ oh-so-true observation that
“Every boy and every gal That's born into the world alive Is either a little Liberal Or else a little Conservative.”
And then there is the Lord Chancellor’s creative solution to revising irksome laws by simply adding a negative—Trump’s approach to all unwanted healthcare, environmental, safety, etc., legislation and regulations.
Finally, Iolanthe offers a fantasy which we can readily enjoy today when the entire membership of the upper legislative house are turned into fairies, grow wings and fly away.
But the operetta’s most famous song reflects a much darker side, as the Lord Chancellor relates a night of terror and frightful dreams.
If you’re not familiar with the original, you may wish to listen to Martyn Greene’s exceptional performance before reading the parody. Click here:
Trump’s Nightmare Song, Sung to the Lord Chancellor’s Nightmare Song in Gilbert & Sullivan’s Iolanthe
When you’re lying all day and you can’t get away from the facts the fact-checkers put out there, You feel totally free to hurl verbal debris at those enemies whom you just can’t bear. Not correct political--so hypocritical-- why bother with courtesy common When you can score points, put a nose out of joints, and your crowd just answers with “Amen!”?
The media’s disloyal, brings your blood to a boil, with all the fake news they’re reporting, Makes you hot and real cross as you try to toss out alternative facts for distorting. The courts are no better, they are so unfettered, letting cases against you to fester For breaking state laws, and some phony old clause, and allowing old girlfriends to pester.
Well, you get some relief with messages brief, while night creatures out there are creeping, And soon you’ll be tweeting those messages fleeting while everyone else will be sleeping, For you tweet you are running the country, and gunning for anyone not fully loyal, These losers you feel must be brought to heel, and taught to consider you royal. And you’re giving a treat (with lots of red meat) to thousands of real world escapists, A despicable hoard who all came on board when you said Mexicanos were rapists.
And bound in this effort was Christie, a sissy who started that morning from Jersey. He’s a bit oversized and you’re hardly surprised he’s caught up in the bridge controversy. He’s tossed overboard, and you thank the Lord, you now have a pal on this journey A son of old Dixie, a good old ass licksie, whom you make your gen’ral attorney.
He recuses himself, so he’s put on a shelf, and replaced with Roy Cohn resurrected, A man of the bar, he’s better by far, for ethics he’s firmly rejected.
And with this new crew, your sky has turned blue, you can focus on money you’re making, You’re telling your heirs all the particulairs of emoluments ripe for the taking. It’s a scheme of devices to get at low prices great deals on hotels and high towers. Which tickled your spawn, giving them as they fawn a lesson in abuse of powers.
In hotels next door, the foreigners snore, then gather in your office oval, In exchange for the rights to numerous sites for which you need building approval. The deals are so many, they don’t cost a penny, you’re trading decisions for favors. But as you reach closure, you’ve sudden exposure, in a call with Russia’s near neighbor.
And now in from the cold, the Democrats bold, impeach your good name, so it’s never the same, in a process unfair, you don’t stand a prayer, just for a quid pro quo that most would just say, “So?”, hearing deep-blue-state traitors, just swamp alligators, in sworn testimony that’s really so phony, you must now rely that Mitch will defy the role he’s sworn to endeavor.
But the darkness has passed and you no longer fast, The tweeting now ends, time for Fox and his Friends, And thank goodness they’ll praise you for-ever.
The Evolving Laments of the Republican Establishment
In the beginning, there was the campaign. The GOP establishment didn’t know what to make of Trump, how to stall him, control him, or ultimately channel his success to their benefit. He just kept ploughing forward, pushing aside all the tried-and-true candidates whose credentials were impeccable.
Their initial lament might have sounded a bit like “How do you Solve a Problem Like Maria?” from The Sound of Music. (Feel free to sing it out loud; you already know the tune.)
How do you solve a problem like The Donald?
He meets a girl and grabs her knee, Her dress has got a tear. He rides the elevator down, Emerging from his lair. He calls immigrant men rapists as he preens beneath his hair. We never hear him belting out our tune.
He lashes out at everyone, What he says is never real. He trashes conserv’tive doctrine (Except our right to steal). I hate to have to say it, But I very firmly feel Trump is not an asset, but a buffoon. (But I think there’s something we must face: Trump controls his base.)
How do you solve a problem like the Donald? How do you catch a lie and pin it down? How do you find a word that means the Donald? A birther. An egotist! A clown! Many a thing we know we’d like to tell him, Many a thing he ought to understand. But how do you make him stay on message for a day? He just wants to build his pers’nal brand. Oh, how do you solve a problem like the Donald? We don’t have that kind of magic wand.
As Trump assumes the Presidency, the hope that he will transform himself into something “presidential” proves elusive. He just doesn’t follow the advice of all the wise leaders, generals, and other adults who seek his educate him, guide his behavior, and shape his policy.
The establishment’s new lament might have sounded even more exasperated, as sung to the tune of “What’s the Matter with Kids Today” from Bye Bye Birdie:
What’s the Matter with Trump Today?
Trump! I don’t know what’s wrong with Trump today! Trump! You better get right out of his way. Trump! He’s a crude racist misogynistic boor When he speaks he takes us down the sewer. (While we’re on the subject:) Trump! You can talk and talk till your face is blue! Trump! But he still just does what he wants to do! Why can’t he be like we are, Perfect in every way? What’s the matter with Trump today?
Three years on, the GOP Establishment no longer despairs of his follies, but rather has faithfully descended to his primal level, gleefully throwing the mud in which they lie at all and sundry who challenge his reign. As they revel in their debasement, they might be heard singing the chorus from Flanders & Swann’s “Hippopotamus Love Song.”
The New GOP Chorus: Mud, Mud,Glorious Mud
Mud, mud, glorious mud, Nothing quite like it for cooling the blood. So follow me follow, Down to the hollow, And there let us wallow, In glorious mud!
(If you want to hear the original, including a verse sung in Russian (how appropriate), and even join in the chorus, follow this link (the music starts at 1:12. The first chorus at 1:41; the final sing-along chorus at 3:16.): https://youtu.be/G5M4tw_82PM)
What’s next? Trump’s own nightmare song, unabashedly lifted from Gilbert & Sullivan’s Iolanthe, coming soon.
