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Tuesday, February 21, 2006

Late Nite FDL: Dickfest Finals

After six grueling nights of battle the Iron Chefs of irreverant lefty poetry have been boiled down to these, the finalists in Dickfest. The winner will be honored with Bill Maher's latest book New Rules: Polite Musings from a Timid Observer and signed poster courtesy of his series on HBO. And, of course, the title Poet Laureate of Dickfest 2006.

In the end we had over 500 entries. Winners all. On behalf of everyone here at FDL, our families, babies, and dogs we thank you for your participation and the honor of hosting this prestigious event. We hope the Vice President is aware of the honor bestowed upon him as the subject of all these splendid poetic musings, though he's probably just happy to be out of the headlines and grateful to Junior for fucking the ports in such a timely fashion.

Please vote by number and vote only once. It is a solemn task before you but I'm certain you will execute it with all the gravity and serious deliberation it demands. Without further ado, the finalists are:
The lovely landscape of Texas wealth,
The relaxed stalk of priveleged stealth,
Much time to quaff, no time to aim,
But eons to spin about who I maim (23)

Harry, Harry, Dignitary
Tell us your huntin' woes
'Bout farm-bred quails and frosty ales
And Dick's buckshot up your nose. (47)

The sun was low
The ground was red
The spin exploded
The facts all fled (83)

An accident it must have been,
And not a planned attack
Because Dick shot him in the face
Instead of in the back. (114)

When William Clinton was the president
To get a blow job was a big disgrace.
But times have changed, now it's OK
To shoot a load in some old geezer's face! (163)

The Loaded Shotgun shoots; and, having shot,
Moves on: nor all thy silence nor spin shall lure it back to cancel half a Wound,
Nor all thy lies undo the crime of it. (192)

They came from Wyoming and Texas, addicted to power and drink;
They bullied and lied, they tortured and spied till most folks were too scared to blink;
But when Scowl shot a hunter he thought was a bird and Swag let New Orleans drown,
Folks finally saw what these guys really were: a crusty old coot and a clown. (238)

There once was a Veep from Halliburton
Who knew that his poll numbers were hurtin
As he turned on the shooter,he thought he saw Scooter
And prayed Plamegate was buried for certain. (254)

The lawyer, though peppered, has the finest of care
The rich shooter's safe in his rarified air
A poor circus for fools who watch and ignore
The lives being lost in a cruel unjust war. (277)

If epitaphs were polygraphs,
This, terse and edifying,
Would crown the veep in final sleep:
Here lies Big Time--still lying. (334)

Two red faces: one bloody, peppered with shot,
The other just flushed due to drinking a lot.
"How best to fake sorrow? Wait! I know just the trick!
I'll go on Fox News and have Brit Hume suck my dick!" (365)

I'm Big Dick Cheney who the fuck are you
Satan wears a bracelet What Would Cheny Do (353)

To hunt with a man
whose gun and hubris know no
bounds is to lose face. (421)

Dick's friend? Shot in the head.
Iraqis? Around 100,000 dead.
Congress? Power's been bled.
Demoracy? She's been put to bed. (433)
Thanks to all the poets as well as those who took the time to read over all the entries and give them your thoughtful deliberation. Tomorrow night join us when we crown the winner and honor a few poems I managed to mangle in the cut & paste process.

(graphic by Dark Black)