Bush & Company

Newt lives in the moment. What he said yesterday is irrelevant.

The latest anti-Romney frontrunner is a bogus intellectual who puts forth scattered, inflated and unworkable ideas; a professional scam artist who hawks his former speakership to make millions for access to his influence and celebrity, though reprimanded , then forced out of the House, for lying. Fundraising for his "foundations" and his "campaign" makes possible the purchase of a pair of Jean Schlumberger earrings at $22,000, a Victorian graduated diamond necklace at $45,000 for his third wife Callista, with other valuables, as well as lavish vacations and more.

He explains he was paid by the Freddie Mac mortgage company up to $1.8 million in strategic consulting fees as an "historian," yet what he did was what lobbyists do. "I never lobbied," he insists.

One might ask, when will his wild ride be over?

The Newtster's an erratic man,
Disorderly, without a plan;
He should be as surprised as we
He's suddenly taken seriously

By voters fickle as can be,
Forgetful, too, don't they recall
His previous ignominious fall?
Puffed up with self, wealth is his aim;

For every mess he blames the press,
Though self-imposed, his fall from grace;
Pretending that he's in the race,
His flipflops, meantime, don't grow less.

As president, he's more unfit
Than is his fellow waffler Mitt.
He'll self-destruct, he'll never last;
His half-remembered face and name,

But relics of a shoddy past.

Mitt Romney, all but confirmed frontrunner for the presidency, staunchly claims to be a man of "steadiness and constancy," despite his flipflops on virtually every issue put before the Republican field.

Perhaps his consistency in remaining near or at the top of the totem pole is the rationale for his belief, if indeed, he actually believes it.

Oh, how I wish that I could put
Into that handsome form and face,
That handsome hand, that handsome foot---
A man of character in their place

To fill the gaping vacant space
With one who's real to replace
A man who would be president,
Whose words are words he never meant,

For that man is, we know so well,
A man who's but an empty shell.

Plastic politicians, whose oaths mean nothing, surrender any semblance of self-respect to gain millions of dollars to feather their personal nests and to win office. In defeat, their mendacious efforts are still more meaningless.

In the Great Beyond, replete with defunct self-promoters, there are no prospects for reform, only a vast eternity for regret.

No matter if you win or lose,
The quest for mean success will end---
All that you spend, all you pretend,
The spiteful messages you send. . .

It's not too late to change, my friend---
So mindful be that it may end
Where you get all that is your due---
A place with time and space to rue

That better way that one can choose
Until it's, sadly, overdue. . .