Or do my eyes misrepresent? Can this be he?
That heroic, that renowned,
Irresistible Santorum whom, unfunded,
No strength of man, or fiercest pundit, could withstand;
Who tore the Mitt as the Mitt tears the Newt;
Ran on embattled PACs flush with cash,
And, cashless himself,
Made donations ineffective, useless the gesture
Of brazen jabs and negative ads, all deflected
By Hannityean tempered prose and vest of wool,
Yet stay; let me not rashly call in doubt
Poll predictions. What if all foretold
Had been fulfilled but through mine own default?
Whom have I to complain of but myself,
Who this high gift of delegates committed to me,
In what part lodged, how easily bereft me,
Under the seal of bloggers could not keep,
He speaks: let us draw nigh. Matchless in might,
The glory late of Senate seat now the grief!
We come, thy friends and neighbours not unknown.
David Limbaugh, Michelle Malkin and Phyllis Schlafly,
To visit or bewail thee; or, if better,
Counsel or consolation we may bring,
Salve to thy sores: apt words have power to spin
The tumours of a troubled mind,
And are as balm to festered egos,
Your coming, friends, revives me; for I learn
Now of my own experience, not by talk radio,
How counterfeit a coin they are who “supporters”
Bear in their contributions (of the most
I would be understood). In prosperous primaries
They swarm, but in adverse withdraw their purse,
Not to be found, though sought. Ye see, O friends,
How many evils have enclosed me round;
Yet that which was the worst now least afflicts me,
Tax not divine disposal. Wisest politicians
Have erred, and by bad moderators been deceived;
And shall again, pretend they ne’er so wise.
Deject not, then, so overmuch thyself,
Who hast of sorrow thy full load besides.
Yet, truth to say, you still have a great career at Fox.
Don’t understand this? We don’t understand Milton either…
Illustration by Kim Harris
Story by Don Rudisuhle