This Newsverse originally appeared in 2009, but seems relevant again today.  It also appears in the Archives, along with “Banker, Banker, Burning Bright.:

It is an ancient stockbroker

He’s drinking Coke and Jacks.

“Hey, I know you,” the banker said.

“You worked at Goldman Sachs.

“You swung a big one, so I heard

Way back in the day.

But here I came to watch the game

And now you’re in my way.”

The stockbroker held up a hand

And ordered J&B

He fixed the banker with a stare

“There was a bond,” quoth he.

“Something called a CDO

A total sack of doody

But anyway, a Triple-A

From S&P and Moody.”

“I fear you, ancient stockbroker!

I fear you’ll get me fired!

You’re in the tank with Barney Frank.

I think you might be wired.”

“We flogged it up and down the Street

And lots of other places

And no one thought that what they’d bought

Might blow up in their faces.”

“Chill out, ancient stockbroker!

Get up off the floor!

Why look’st thou so?” “That CDO—

I sold to my brother-in-law!

“And when the housing boom went bust

I had nowhere to hide.

Instead of a bow, the CDO

Around my neck was tied.

“Houses, houses everywhere

And the market sure did stink

Houses, houses everywhere

I had to see a shrink.

“And now I go from bar to bar

From Greenwich to Penn Station

And I try to steer, for the price of a beer

Young bankers from temptation.”

The banker stared into his glass

“I hope you get some takers,”

He slowly said, then shook his head.

“Now, let me watch the Lakers.”

“I am learning to say y’all and I like grits and things. Strange things are happening to me.”–Mitt Romney in Pascagoula, Mississippi

*(The Newsverse Pledge: All couplets guaranteed to rhyme.)

I always love the corned beef that you get here in New York

I like it even better since I gave up eating pork

And I love Nova Scotia, it reminds me, as a kid,

I learned to sail there with my friends, Murray, Hy and Sid.

It makes a lovely canape, with capers and a shmear

Of cottage cheese on crackers with a cold glass of root beer.

I still remember back in school I’d come here and get juiced on

Lemonade and egg creams from a store right here on Houston*

Street, and Anne bought shmattas here, from Bergdorf-Goodman’s racks.

She’d have them shipped to Boston so we didn’t pay the tax.

And F.A.O. Schwarz! Oh, my word! We bought the boys stuffed Babars!

And stopped off for chopped liver and knishes up at Zabars!*

So hello all my landsmen, my favorite New York folk!

My buddy Woody Allen and my good friend Mayor Koch!*

Next year in Jerusalem! Shalom to Midge and Norman!

I love you guys, and when you’re dead, we’ll make you both a Mormon!

Yes New York has a very special place here in my heart

And I could live forever on those hot dogs from a cart.

And if I had my way someday I’d go and screw the poochy

To the station wagon roof, and drive to Saks or Gucci

Where real New Yorkers congregate, they tummel and they shmooze.

Yes, you’re my kind of people here, the one percent of Jews.

(apologies to Chubby Checker)

Every Limbaugh ditto-head

Won’t be fooled by some co-ed

Let Obama go tut-tut

‘Cause he called that girl a slut.

Rush be vicious, Rush be sick.

Rush took down that sex-mad chick

All around the Limbaugh clock

Hey let’s do the Limbaugh shock.

Limbaugh lower now

Still he won’t kowtow.

Almost to the ground

Slap that girl around.

How low can he go?

Limbaugh knows the score

That girl’s just a whore

If she wants the pill

Don’t hand Rush the bill.

Rush be vicious, Rush be sick

Rush be thinking with his dick.

All around the Limbaughverse

Things just can’t get any worse.

Never desecrate a Bible,

Keep the Torah off the floor.

Burn the Koran and you’re liable

To set off a civil war.

They are all the words of God. He’ll

Crush you like a loathsome bug.

Even if you think they’re twaddle

Never let them touch the rug.

Every word and every comma

Of every sacred text is true.

Don’t cross out the words of Brahma

Or doodle on the Popol Vuh.

Do not fold or bend or spindle

Anybody’s holy book.

Hold it sacred on your Kindle

Don’t delete it from your Nook.

The words of God fill us with wonder–

Awesome, righteous, deep and loud–

Roll down on us like summer thunder

From Heaven in the Google Cloud.

From the moment He first spoke them

Men and women of good will

Find it handy to evoke them

When they arm themselves to kill.

“You can’t put a gun rack in a Volt,”–Newt Gingrich, explaining the importance of lower gasoline prices.  

Oh, you can keep a rifle in the backseat of your truck

To grab it when you’re driving and take down a six-point buck.

And the cop who pulls you over, well, he’d better learn to duck.

But you can’t put a gun rack in a Volt.

Oh you can stash a Luger in the glovebox of your Ford

An M-16 beside you, and some schmuck in an Accord

Who cuts you off had better be prepared to meet the Lord.

But you can’t put a gun rack in a Volt.

Oh you can drink a latte while you’re tuned to NPR

As you bring in your recycling, each newspaper  and jar,

And drive your kids to soccer in your little hybrid car.

But you can’t put a gun rack in a Volt.

It was God and guns and horsepower that made this country great.

The Founding Fathers wanted us to drive a big V-8.

And charging stations line the road to Communism’s fate.

But you can’t put a gun rack in a Volt.

Obama now reveals himself, he starts to morph and molt:

Islamic eco-socialist who treats us like a dolt.

And takes away our pickup truck, our Bible and our Colt.

‘cause you can’t put a gun rack in a Volt.

SANCTIMONIUM

He strides through each debate and forum

Beating on his culture-war drum

Pledged to shield each human spore from

Condom-bearing thugs.

It’s your moment, Rick Santorum!

Every fetus must adore him.

Why did we so long ignore him?

Give him props, not shrugs!

If you don’t want some slutty bimbo

Adding to the souls in limbo

Then it’s time to turn to him, Bo-

dacious womb defender!

As decreed from Up Above

He’ll assure each act of love

Is a sacred moment of

Procreative splendor.

And when black helicopters fly

Darkening the midwest sky

And those UN soldiers try

To force us on the pill.

Who’ll wield the flag of Fetus Nation?

Fight the war for implantation?

Carry it to full gestation?

Rick Santorum will.