DC Trawler

Roses are red, violets are not, but one thing’s for sure: Harry Reid is a clot

Fiscal responsibility is fine, but you have to draw the line somewhere. Luckily for all of us, Harry Reid is standing up against the Scroogelike Republicans who are trying to kill… a cowboy poetry festival?

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As Guy Benson at Townhall.com puts it, “If Democrats are unwilling to abide belt-tightening on federal subsidies for regional cowboy poetry festivals, that tells you everything you need to know about their seriousness on spending.”

This is, of course, wrong. Allow me to explain:

The wind through the sagebrush
As night is descendin’
Can’t be put into words
Without government spendin’

The jingle of spurs
And the creak of old leather
Without your tax dollars
They’ll be gone forever

A saddle, a rope
Stetson cocked at a slant
One man rides alone
With his government grant

He’s tough and he’s rugged
Never needing assistance
Now you evil teabaggers
Want to end his existence

Let you varmints remember
That old cowboy creed:
“From each per his ability
And to each per his need”

So don’t tighten those purse-strings
As you ‘baggers are prone
‘Cause without your tax money
He can’t ride alone

P.S. Dagnabbit! I reckon Mark Steyn beat me by 24 hours.

  • wygy

    Baxter Black would be proud of your efforts!

  • jackw3526

    There once was a man from Nantucket
    Whose yacht tax was so big, he couldn’t duck it…

  • didacticrogue

    … had that program not been around, the tens of thousands of people who come there every year would not exist.

    Who would have guessed that these people owe their very existence to federally-funded cowboy poets (who must be a very … er … prolific bunch).

  • svjim

    knee, not knww

  • svjim

    The medical care paid for from the royalties from the hit that we’ll have on our hands will, of course, be for the hit that Treacher had on his knww (boy, do I wish that I’d thought of that line before I hit Enter).

  • svjim

    I like the poem better than Steyn’s. I think that I’ll set it to music; I envision (enhearing?) it as sort of a cowboy waltz, with maybe one or two of the verses set with a harmony that would make each a bridge. We’ll have a hit on our hands, and Treacher can use the royalties to pay for his medical care.

  • mojo

    Yippie-ki-yi-ay, get along little poet
    It’s your misfortune, and none of my own…