Let us go then, you and I,
When the healthcare talks are said to die
Like a low-income patient upon a table;
Let us go, past television covered walls,
The on-set calls
The tone-deaf interviews with one-trick Pauls
In a studio run on testosterone and balls:
Segments that flow like a woman’s curse
I hear it’s just the worst
To lead you to compromise…
Oh, do not ask, “Can we kill Medicaid?”
Let us go on air and try to persuade.
On the screens the brotherhood
talk of defunding Planned Parenthood.
My orange friend that rubbed his hands upon the pussies,
My orange friend that rubbed his paws on the pussies,
Jammed his tongue into the corners of their mouth,
Lingered upon the areas covered to the south,
Let loose upon his Twitter the tweets from his id,
Signed Executive Orders denied by the court,
But seeing that I am just like him,
Jumped to my side and lent support.
And indeed there will be time
For my orange friend floundering in glory,
Remembering his hand upon the pussies;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare his take for our “Top Story”;
There will be time for a “Factor Investigation”,
And time for a “Talking Points Memo”
Time for defenses and protestation;
Time for locker talk in the lavatory,
And time yet for a few wisecracks,
And for a hundred or so alternative facts
Before tonight’s segment of “Personal Story”.
On the screens the brotherhood
talk of defunding Planned Parenthood.
And indeed I could just retire
I wonder, “Do they care?” and, “Do they care?”
Is it time to give up and get off air?
With a lumbar support resting on my chair —
(They will say: “How do his eyebrows arch that high?”)
My dark suit, my white shirt pressed around my tie,
My hair silver and gray, my face still mostly spry —
(They will say: “What did he say? Is he fucking high???”)
Do they care
How much I lie?
In a commercial break there is time
To try and claim her panties as mine.
For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known their accusations, it was easy to clear them,
Their lady tears better with no one to hear them;
I know my sponsors as they fall
Despite the culture wars, I do not fear them.
Should I give her some of my “Truth Serum”?
And I have known their cues already, known them all—
The cues that say they like to flirt,
And when I groped, or pinned against a wall,
Who wears a skirt with a butt so pert,
If they don’t want Billy at all?
She clearly wants me despite being curt
Now it is time for my “Truth Serum”?
And I have known their breasts already, known them all—
Breasts that are covered or cleavage bare
(But in the stage lights, hidden by their flowing hair!)
Is it the view down her dress
That makes me so digress?
Breasts for me to brush against, or accidentally paw.
And should I then give her my “Truth Serum”?
Either way, Fox wins.
Shall I say, I have sat with the execs
And seen that nothing much happens when
Men grab women who dare to threaten their jobs …
Sigh. I should have been a lapel mic
Clipped to her crescents, cradled and cushioned.
And will it have been worth it, after all,
After the stories, the charges, the sponsors gone,
After some other host wins the favor of Don,
Would it have been worth my throne,
To ask them to sit on my “No Spin Zone”,
To brush against them in the hall
To beg them on the phone for a little action,
To say: “Please listen, I just want a favor,
Please can I just listen to your vibrator?”—
If one should decide I wanted more later
Should I swear: “That is not what I meant at all;
That is not it, at all.”
Yes! I am no Cronkite, nor was meant to be;
Am but an entertainer, one that will do
An interview, and a segment or two,
Raise the rancor; no doubt, it’s easy to do,
Confrontational, glad to be on air,
Abrasive, cocky, and malicious;
Full of bullshit, but a bit debonair;
At times, indeed, most meticulous—
That ass!, wait, is she new??
She is cute … She is cute …
Fox may need to settle another suit.
Shall I grope her from behind? Do I dare to grab her peach?
I shall herald Trump, and hope they don’t impeach.
I have heard the women talking, each to each.
I do not think that they will sleep with me.
I have seen the lawyers walking down the hall
Deciding whether or not to give me the sack
But, like Ailes, they’ll cut me some slack.
Unless, of course, there are men who complain.
Until then, they will let me continue, round after round
Till the money stops flowing and ratings go down.