Cast Blog: John Stillwaggon (Cheney)

YOU DON’T KNOW DICK - ENTRY #2
Hey, y’all! As No. 2 so eloquenty instructed Dr. Evil in the original (and only great) Austin Powers: “There is no world anymore; it’s just corporations.” A reminder that, as powerful as Dubya and Co. are, they are merely the extremely well-groomed pawns of the corporate elite. Here’s a joint I wrote as an “ode” to these CEO’S, COO’S, Chairmen of Boards, and other captains of industry, as a polite reminder of what cometh after pride…
The joint is sort of open-ended. Feel free to add another odious corporation to the list, accompanied by a rhyme of your own : )
Til Next Time,
Dick : )

ODE TO THE MAN
- a St. Ill-Waggon Joint

Sittin’ in your office, thinkin’ “What could go wrong?”
30 mil in the bank, and an intern on your schlong
No one can pop your bubble, you
Know if you land in trouble, you
Say “What the hell?” and grab your cell and phone your boy W.

But suddenly you feel it in your spine like a knife
And you know it ain’t just guilt from you cheating on your wife
You’ve been playing this game too long to feel sympathy pains
But suddenly a fear shoots like lightning in your veins
Saliva can’t be swallowed
In worry you have wallowed
And there’s no doubt you feel yourself being followed
So you look out the window of your suite at the Marriot
And you find yourself surrounded by a pissed proletariat
You see the common hacks on whose backs you’ve grown very fat
And you’ve rewarded with minimum wage, and some with nary that
You’ve lived by the sword, so you look for one to parry that
But it’s no use, you’ve hung your noose, you’ve spun your own lariat
So you yell “God, spare me that!
Save me from this scary frat!
I go to church each Sunday; where the fuck the Virgin Mary at!?”

But the crowd says “Chill! To Mary you’ve been a stranger
You’ve shown your workforce no remorse and put them all in danger
You’ve let power change ya
And though you pretend your a sage, ya
Got nothing in common with the boy in the manger”

“The time has come,” the people said, “to talk of other things
Of slaughterers of dignity, the savageness of kings
And now our rage is boiling hot
And whether pigs have wings or not
They can’t fly fast enough to stop this crowd led by this young Marat
Whose bustin’ your Bastille with a revolution verbal
Every SUV-drivin-SOB livin in a suburb’ll
Be shakin all up in their boots
Cause me and my peeps are in cahoots
To make them wish they never fished in capitalist pursuits
It’s time to blow the whistle
In your side I’ll be a thistle
I’ll vaporize your enterprise with my verbal scud missle
Your goin’ down fo-shizzle
You sack of bull’s pizzle!
A group so morally bankrupt must economically fizzle

Coca-Cola, you ain’t no holy roller
Infectin’ foreign markets like a corporate ebola
You clearly sold ya soul, ya
Won’t let no boundaries hold ya,
And you’re killing union leaders who are bold enough to scold ya
You ain’t the Real Thing, your treasure’s Fool’s Gold, ya
Don’t realize your enterprise is simply doomed to fold, ya
Leave workers in the cold, ya
Won’t do what we told ya
So in the School of Hard Knox I’ll be glad to enroll ya

Hey Adidas, you faulty-ass elitists
All Day I Dream About Sweatshops is your credus
Like cheetahs you breed us
My seed is just a fetus
But he’ll grow up weak and weary ’cause your wages won’t feed us
My party’s always hearty, you won’t be glad to meet us
With our rough and ready, red rabble-rouser to lead us
You won’t beat us, bleed us, delete us, defeat us
So please heed us
And pay the piper pronto, or you’ll pay him at Saint Peter’s