Turkey Frank

 Seeing as one of the first parodies we posted at the minor premise was regarding the inappropriate use of messaging technology to send lewd messages to subordinates we could not resist the recent to-do over a certain married congressman's twitter correspondence with a young staffer. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Please Don't Tweet a Crotch Shot (to the tune of "Hit Me with Your Best Shot")
by Dminor and Cminor (apologies to Eddie Schwartz (composer) and Pat Benatar (performer))


Well, you're a New York Weiner with a long history
Of keeping New York's 9th for the party D:
Congressmen who are in their forties
Shouldn't send pics of their junk to hawtties.

Please don't tweet a crotch shot!
You shouldn't tweet a girl a crotch shot!
Please don't tweet a crotch shot
Put it away!

You're name is not Adonis; your looks are fair --
Don't want to see underwear.
Got to say that your best side
Is not in a place that clothing would hide.

Please don't tweet a crotch shot!
You shouldn't tweet a girl a crotch shot
Please don't tweet a crotch shot
Put it away!

Well, you're a Congress member; you would think you would know
That tweeting naughty pics means that you should go.
Before you took a risque shot with your camera phone,
You should have thought of your married life at home.

Please don't tweet a crotch shot!
You shouldn't tweet a girl a crotch shot
Please don't tweet a crotch shot
Put it away!

Please don't tweet a crotch shot!
You shouldn't tweet a girl a crotch shot
Please don't tweet a crotch shot
Put it away!

An Occasion for Bartholemew Cubbins

The recent royal wedding was inspirational to some; however I missed it entirely. I did read of the great fuss made over the hats worn (or not worn) by the female attendees. Having not posted in a great while, I decided to give the old parody pen another try.

Headgear Displayed
(to the tune of "Easter Parade;" apologies to Irving Berlin)
by Dminor

At the royal wedding
(They'll not be soon forgetting),
Oh what an odd assortment
of headgear displayed.

Some, "boats" perched on the cranium;
some, words will fail explaining 'em,
Ended up as fodder 
For a critics tirade.

A bizarre review, it's a head-top zoo!
And somewhere off to the side,
I heard that there was
a royal groom and his bride

Oh, they're even hammerin'
on Samantha Cameron
whose tasteful dress but lack of hat
left critics dismayed.

I hope all had a Happy and Blessed Easter, and best wishes to the happy couple.

Feline and Block

Technical Cats
by Dminor (apologies to T. S. Eliot)

Technical Cats come out to-night
Technical Cats come one come all.
My cellular phone's not acting right
It's saying something 'bout a function call

Technical Cats are gray and white
Technical Cats are big and small
Technical cats are rather bright
And pleasant to have fix a firewall

Technical Cats have business clothes
Technical Casts have glasses for eyes
They like to work on the Suns with Windows
They're fond of Apples, but not for pies.

Technical Cats don't crave attentions
Technical Cats can make phones ring
Technical Cats like their search engines
They're tops at Perl scripting and at networking.

Until a Technical Glitch appears
They pass their free time against Warcraft foes
Technicals went to school for years;
Technicals know where a router goes.

Technical Cats are old and young
Technical Cats mind their data pipe size
They know what to do when the printer's hung
Or what to do when the "UPS" fries.

They're quiet enough in the morning hours
They're quiet enough 'till they've had caffeine
It fuels their analytical powers
And brings them in tune with the troubled machine.

Technical Cats are gray and white
Technicals may (as I said) be small
If it happens to be a stormy night
You will hear them cry out "Save your work!" in the hall.
If it happens that the sun is shining bright
They might not know a thing about it at all.
They are inside applying themselves all right,
With a Technical mouse in their Technical paw.

Groping for an Answer

The fuss and bother over the new airline screening machines and techniques have spurred the parody department into action:


Frisk You (to the tune of the Rolling Stones' "Miss You")
By Dminor (apologies to Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, and Billy Preston)

Find more artists like DMinor Music at Myspace Music

I'm on business far from home
Gotta leave for San Antone
But there's issues
The new scanners, what they show
is too private -- I say no!
But then they frisk you

Oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh
Oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh
Oooh oooh oooh

Oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh
Oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh
Oooh oooh oooh oooh

Well, I've been haunted in my sleep
TSA is in my dreams
with a clear view
of my good side and my bad
Doughnuts that I had --
Embarrassing!

I can just imagine they say
"Hey, what's the matter man
You're never passing up buffets,
Don't stop at just one plate, no! when you can manage to eat two.
I bet he needs a case of wine
to wash down all the fancy foods
it looks like he's used to"

Oh, and you know the wait's so long
Ooh maybe they might find one bomb?
Even one bomb! one bomb!

I've been singing those trav'lers blues
Taking off my shoes
Security's crazy.
Now the scanner's raised up the bars
Sees through underdrawers
Want to ask them, tsk tsk tsk,
"What's the matter with you boy?"

Somethings I want to keep to myself
But then they frisk:

Oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh
Oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh
Oooh oooh oooh

Oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh
Oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh
Please don't frisk me, child!

I guess I'm lying to myself
to think I can skip this hell
Lord, they'll just frisk your child.
To keep bra bombs off the plane
Bombshell's can't refrain
Or, they will frisk you, gropingly

Oh, they'll frisk you, child

Aaah aaah aaah aaah aaah aaah aaah
Aaah aaah aaah aaah aaah aaah aaah
Aaah aaah aaah aaah

Lord, you'll feel defiled

Aaah aaah aaah aaah aaah aaah aaah
Aaah aaah aaah aaah aaah aaah aaah
Aaah aaah aaah aaah

I detect a smile!

Aaah aaah aaah aaah aaah aaah aaah
Aaah aaah aaah aaah aaah aaah aaah
Aaah aaah aaah aaah

Hot Correspondence for Hallow's Eve

For a long time now, I have marveled at the meteoric rise and, at least for now, fall of our current president. How could someone gain such a high office so quickly and with seemingly so few credentials? The letter below may shed some light on subject, but, given its origin, I doubt it has any real value to inform.

I have no intention of explaining how the correspondence I now offer to the public fell into my hands, but I offer it anyway.

My Dear Holeywood,

Initially I have been delighted with your success so far with your patient, but I must say that he has been aiding you almost every step of the way. You must guard against complacency, lest the Enemy steal your triumph from your outstretched fingers. I must say that crafting an early success, built on promises and the hopes of the downtrodden but on no real accomplishment was almost a stroke of genius. Stroking his ego every step of the way, surrounding him with people reinforcing his faults rather than challenging him was all very well played. Little did he know that the bargain he struck would be intended for his eventual eternal undoing and Our Father's delight. His unquestioning acceptance of all that the world would give him; power, fine things, celebrity, even adulation and worship, serve only to bring him closer to Our Father's House. The use of an international "peace" prize was a particularly elegant touch, even if some in our Realm thought it a bit overdone.

Perhaps by happy accident, you have helped your fellow toilers by sowing despair among so many of the 300 million souls in our region. For that I am sure you will win the grudging approval of your peers. They bought into hope and change, and it distracted many of them from that disgusting Hope that doesn't change.

Is it possible, however, that you are closing the trap too quickly. So soon after reaching his goal, was it wise to let his admirers desert him and his detractors gain in strength? Would he not suspect some wonderfully Diabolical motive to the rug of popularity flying so soon from beneath his feet? Wouldn't he suspect who it was that was behind such an unlikely rise if it were not sustained? Will he not sense that our promises were as fleeting as his, but with a more deliberate purpose? Our Father will not be pleased at all to have this victory snatched from his jaws. Even if your patient has not called upon Him before for help, or has ignored His invitations, it is the Enemy's way to turn deep adversity to His gain at the worst possible moment. The patient's adversity will pale in comparison to yours if this comes to pass.

Your affectionate uncle,
        Gaptape

If They Come for Juan, They Can Come For Others; or National Public Restrainers

Growing up in an area where the Washington Post was becoming the major newspaper, I learned to appreciate reasoned media viewpoints different than my own. Frankly, the shouting and name-calling that masquerades as debate really gets on my nerves, such that I usually can't watch/listen to very much of it. While I am more partial  to commentators coming from the right side of the spectrum, there are a few who come from the left side that I can enjoy reading/listening to/watching and respect, without necessarily agreeing with their points.  Retired columnist William Raspberry was one; Nat Hentoff was another. In electronic media, Juan Williams was always a favorite of mine from the left.

Apparently, he was not a favorite of his erstwhile employer National Public Radio. NPR's management bristled at his appearances at Fox News, a network which has drawn open enmity from the current administration.  NPR fired Williams after his appearance on the Fox News' show "The O'Reilly Factor," where he expressed his fear of traveling with individuals in Muslim clothing. While NPR was and is within its rights to have a staff of its choosing, the firing smacked of enforcement of politically correct thought. So, rather than write a serious piece on Williams, his career, and the dangers of penalizing honesty, I decided to write a parody.

Juan (to the tune of "One," most recognizably recorded by Three Dog Night)
by DMinor, with apologies to Harry Nilsson

UPDATE: Audio now available

Find more artists like DMinor Music at Myspace Music

Juan was an NPR talker analyzing news.
Now the brass is mad at Juan
'Cause he honestly answered O'Reilly's question.

Oh, what he said was intolerant and he should know;
Yes, to fear Muslim-garbed terrorists is a "no-no."
'Cause Juan was an NPR talker, they know more than you;
Juan was an NPR talker, now he's through.

They just can't have anyone have an honest say.
Now he'll spend his time on Fox News' dime, and with great pay!

Juan's now their liberal, Yes now Juan is their liberal,
Good old Juan is their liberal talker analyzing news.
Juan's through with NPR, Juan's through with NPR,
Juan's through with NPR, honesty has won through.
It's just no good NPR, drive dissent away?

(Fox News) Juan's now their liberal,
(Fox News) Juan's now their liberal,
(Fox News) Juan's now their liberal thinker balancing  their news.

(Fox News) Juan's now their liberal,
(Fox News) Juan's now their liberal,
(Fox News) Juan's now their liberal thinker balancing  their news.

Poll Reddy

Something that always raises my blood pressure is the attitude that a majority in a poll equals truth. It is usually leveled against a moral position by someone who perceives benefit from that position going away. Since those on folks are very often on the left, I note with some amusement the alarm with which the the left received the Pew research poll indicating that 18% of respondents believed President Obama was a Muslim.

To be honest, the President does not help himself in this regard with what appears to be partiality toward Islam, but what must be judged at attempts at even-handedness (or, if you like, relativism). Add to that the President's childhood in Indonesia (the most populous Muslim country in the world), some difficulty with aspects of American culture, and a little imagination, and you have a nice, tidy stealth Muslim conspiracy theory.

So, in light of the poll, the reaction, and the President's own difficulty with parts of the American culture, the parody department presents:

I'm Not Muslim
(to the tune of I Am Woman)
by DMinor, with apologies to Helen Reddy and Ray Burton

I'm not Muslim, and I'm sore;
Poll numbers to big to ignore
Say I pray five times a day while facing East.
But I've heard it all before
I've got no prayer rug on the floor,
And at Christmas time I light the tree, at least.

Oh ask Rev'rend Wright
'Bout my listening to his flames
At Iftar tonight
I'll take time to explain.
If they bring up
my Muslim middle name,
they are wrong.
I am the President
I'm not Muslim.

I can bow to Saudi rulers
And to Israel I'm cooler.
I'm determined to placate the Muslim world.
Meet Iran with no condition,
Even change up NASA's mission;
now it's outreach to the Muslim boys and girls.

Oh why do they fight?
Must I answer it again?
I can say my life
should make it more than plain.
Don't you bring up
That I'm Barack Hussein.
You are wrong.
I am the President.
I'm not Muslim.

I'm not Muslim, don't you know
When you see my baseball throw
I'm as Yankee as a winning soccer goal.
Cut my teeth on Malcom X
Had Bill Ayers write my book text.
A patriot down in my very soul.

Just ask Rev'rend Wright,
He can verify my claim.
I can say my life
could not make it more plain.
Not my call,
my Muslim middle name.
Is it wrong,
to favor basketball?
I'm not Muslim.

Oh, I'm not Muslim.
To be one is okay.
It's not wrong
To be Muslim
And an American.
Don't be wrong.
I'm not Muslim!

Railroad Revisited

Donald McClarey on The American Catholic recounted his encounter with one of those ubiquitous spam emails attempting to garner ill-gotten revenue from an unsuspecting victim trying to garner ill-gotten revenue: A Nigerian Scam. Back in 2008 we wrote a parody on the subject, and actually made an attempt at a recording. Here it is for your listening pleasure:

Mossgathering, or Why Doesn't That Darn Muse Ever Call Before Dropping In?

The minor premise professes no little perplexity regarding the circumstances of General S.McChrystal's recent departure from the Afghan theater. Was it poor P.R. management? Rank insubordination? A sacrifice bunt? Ya got us.

Doubly perplexing was the odd effect of the news on people in the 40-55 age demographic. Since news of the incriminatory Rolling Stone article that set in motion that shotgun change-of-command sequence hit the stands (there's an idiom that puts me squarely in the 40+ demog) both D and I found our personal mental soundtracks immovably stuck on Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show's 1972 hit The Cover of the Rolling Stone. I'm talking all day long without interruption. (The honorable daughters attempted to exorcise me after lunch yesterday with a Flight of the Conchords tune, but, alas, relief was only temporary.) What was truly eerie about this potentially maddening situation was D's discovery at work yesterday that quite a few of his colleagues in that age group were experiencing the same phenomenon (some were irritated to find that they couldn't remember all the lyrics and thus were plagued constantly by just the chorus.) So we're astonished to find that, thirty-eight years after its release, the song seems to be a deeply imbedded cultural meme. Heaven help me should this phenomenon ever trigger similar effects with anything in the Human League discography.

As we've found in the past that earworm removal can sometimes be accomplished through parody , we decided to give it a try. Though we're not quite finished, (to remain true to the original we'll need a third verse) I figured we ought to go ahead and post what we've got now, adding the rest once we've worked it out (which won't be before we have some time to kill later tonight.) I don't want any other fortysomething frustrated lyricists accusing us of intellectual property theft just because some of us around here have to put in a day's work.

Update: Okay, the whole shebang is posted. Now to get off this machine before the absolutely bodacious lightning we're getting fries me at the keyboard.

Covered By the Rolling Stone
by DMinor and CMinor,
Sung to the tune of Cover of the Rolling Stone
with profuse apologies to the memory of Shel Silverstein and to the various members, living and deceased, of Dr. Hook and the Medicine Show. Sorry, guys, there was no other recourse!

Well, I’m a pro at wars,
I’ve got four gold stars:
They salute everywhere I go.
I order divisions and I order brigades—
I pretty much run the show.
I have at my command
A coalition so grand
That you wouldn’t think I’d be thrown—
So you might not figger
That my trouble’d get bigger
Bein’ covered by the Rolling Stone.

(Rolling Stone…)
Didn’t think my boss had too much gumption;
(Rolling Stone…)
Now that thought is out there for consumption
(Rolling Stone…)
Since I went and made my case
‘Tween the covers of the Rolling Stone.

I’ve got a top-notch battle plan;
Karzai thinks I’m the man;
By my troops I am admired.
But when I have to haggle some admin hack
I wish I were retired.
They muck up my job—
That incoherent mob—
And they’re useless when I phone,
So it takes no explainin’
How my bitter complainin’
Wound up covered by the Rolling Stone.

(Rolling Stone…)
How’d a music rag get on this beat, now?
(Rolling Stone…)
Back to D. C., gonna take some heat, now.
(Rolling Stone…)
‘Cause the White House I disgraced
'Tween the covers of the Rolling Stone.

Now, there’s a lot of petty, loudmouthed
Talk show pundits
Who’ll twist everything I say,
And some genu-wine network anchors
Who’ll love that I’ve got Hell to pay.
But my staff and I
Spoke our minds; that’s why
I’m losing the command I own.
My career, they detached it
With a lefty stooge’s hatchet
Who was writing for the Rolling Stone.

(Rolling Stone…)
Now I’m done with military service
(Rolling Stone…)
They can’t hush me; that’ll make ‘em nervous.
(Rolling Stone…)
If Petraeus ain’t embraced
He can always call the Rolling Stone.

[Repeat chorus and fade]