Larry Craig: The Craivan
by PAT
On the surface, Larry Craig and Edgar Allan Poe don’t have much in common: Poe was a drunken, struggling writer, Craig is a US Senator; Poe married his 13-year-old cousin, Craig is for family values; Poe had an encounter with poet Sarah Ellen Whitman in Maryland, Craig had an encounter with an undercover cop in a public restroom.
But, PAT saw the connection.
He saw the link between the two.
So without further fanfare here is PAT’s rendition of
“The Craiven.”
Once upon a midflight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious newspaper of liberal lore,
While I strained, nearly crapping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my bathroom floor.
`’Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, `tapping at my bathroom floor -
Only this, and nothing more.’
Ah, distinctly I remember it was approaching September,
And I was stuck the St. Paul Airport staring at the bathroom floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; – vainly I had sought to borrow
From from the Star-Tribune, some bit of truth from this liberal bore -
Before anger rattled me to my very core -
Stuck here for evermore.
And the sad uncertain rustling in the adjoining stalls
Chilled me – filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my
heart, I stood repeating
`’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my bathroom door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my bathroom door; -
This it is, and nothing more,’
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,’ said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was crapping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my bathroom floor,
That I scarce was sure I heard you’ – here I opened wide the door; -
And my eyes opened as never before.
Deep into public restroom peering, long I stood there wondering,
fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken were “Pucker up”,
This I is queried in no uncertain words, What the fuck?’
And slamming the door, merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber reeling,
all my soul within me seething,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,’ said I, `surely that is something at my shoe ;
Let me see then what, and remove this asshole at the door -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
‘Tis someone passing wind and nothing more!’
Open here I flung open the door, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Senator, half dressed, his mind in the
gutter .
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched in my bathroom door -
There in my stall was tapping,tapping, stood Larry Craig-
Announcing to the world that hence he would be known as a f*g
by: pat
image: Cox & Forkum
Originally posted at:
Death by 1000 Papercuts.
[...] * Larry Craig: The Craivan [...]