901

I've scrambled these instructions a bit to compose a word-search quiz.

Various classic artists are grouped here; You should mark each name by circling it
(including both backward ones and diagonal ones).

Once thoroughly solved, arranging all our remaining letters correctly might reveal
a highly honorable artist (those seeking a template, scroll down).

=

[Adams, Basquiat, Bosch, Botticelli, Caravaggio, Cezanne, Chagall, Cole, Constable, Corot, Dali, Degas, Donatello, DaVinci, ElGreco, Escher, Ernst, Giotto, Goya, Haring, Hirst, Ingres, Kahlo, Magritte, Manet, Matisse, Michelangelo, Miro, Mondrian, Monet, Munch, Nolde, Picasso, Pollock, Poussin, Raphael, Ray, Rembrandt, Renoir, Rodin, Rossetti, Rubens, Seurat, Sisley, Tintoretto, Turner, VanDyck, VanGogh, Vermeer, Warhol, Whistler, Wyeth]

_ _ _ _ _    _ _    _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _    _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The Solution

902

OH, WHAT A BEAUTIFUL MORNING
Words and Music
by
Rodgers and Hammerstein

There's a bright golden haze on the meadow,
There's a bright golden haze on the meadow,
The corn is as high as an elephant's eye,
An' it looks like it's climbin' clear up to the sky.

Oh, what a beautiful mornin',
Oh, what a beautiful day.
I got a beautiful feelin'
Ev'rything's goin' my way.

All the cattle are standin' like statues,
All the cattle are standin' like statues,
They don't turn their heads as they see me ride by,
But a little brown mav'rick is winkin' her eye.

Oh, what a beautiful mornin',
Oh, what a beautiful day.
I got a beautiful feelin'
Ev'rything's goin' my way.

All the sounds of the earth are like music,
All the sounds of the earth are like music,
The breeze is so busy it don't miss a tree,
And a ol' weepin' willer is laughin' at me!

Oh, what a beautiful mornin',
Oh, what a beautiful day,
I got a beautiful feelin'
Ev'rything's goin' my way.
Oh, what a beautiful day.

A MIDDLE-EAST WAR: THE UNEDITED STORY.
G. Bush (All the pictures coloured in, unaided, by him).

There's a bright flashin' bomb in the desert,
There's a bright flashin' bomb in the desert,
Dead martyrs fly high as a camel's right eye,
And it looks like smoke's coiling high up in the sky.

Yo what a beautiful mornin',
Yo what a beautiful war,
I get a beautiful feelin'
We're gonna win it, I'm sure.

Ha! That Tony he acts like a statue,
Ha! That Tony he acts like a statue,
But I've got the balls and I've got the pizazz,
And clearly I've got them like no other has.

Yo what a beautiful mornin',
Yo what a beautiful war,
I get a beautiful feelin'
We're gonna win it, I'm sure.

Oh the enemy's all scared as Hell,
Oh the enemy's all scared as Hell,
Though thousands'll die on an overseas shore
They'd know I don't take any shit any more.

Yo what a beautiful mornin',
Yo what a beautiful war,
I get one beautiful feelin'
I'm winning it, I am damn sure.
Yo what a beautiful war!

903

[Below is a Shakespeare love-sonnet, anagrammed into a Valentine sonnet with a relevant constraint. Can you spot it?
(A hint: I've used this particular font for a reason. Also, javascript should be enabled for the solution to work.)
I planned this anagram for February, of course, but couldn't find the time... Enjoy!]

Cupid laid by his brand, and fell asleep:
A maid of Dian's this advantage found,
And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep
In a cold valley-fountain of that ground;
Which borrow'd from this holy fire of Love
A dateless lively heat, still to endure,
And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove
Against strange maladies a sovereign cure.
But at my mistress' eye Love's brand new-fired,
The boy for trial needs would touch my breast;
I, sick withal, the help of bath desired,
And thither hied, a sad distemper'd guest,
But found no cure: the bath for my help lies
Where Cupid got new fire--my mistress' eyes.

=

The Perfect Gift

I viewed that field quite affably in spring:
The budding color, odor fresh and pure;
I uttered "No" to oh-so many rings,
Where precious stones, or silver, hid, secure;
I eyed a frosted stack of hand-made candy:
Huge, gracious wealths of truffles, standing tall;
I harked a songbird, so alive and dandy...
But, fie! I wouldn't offer these at all:
My darling's voice tops any bluebird's tweet;
Her breasts - no flower livelier than them.
What lure has chocolate? She's divinely sweet;
Why buy that diamond? She's my valid gem.
I'd make this bid, this humble valentine,
And happily I'd plead: My dear, be mine.

All of the poem's O's are carefully arranged into a fitting shape. To make this visible, it's displayed in a 'monospace' font, which means that all letters have the same width.

904

[Shakespeare's sonnet 144 about the battle between 'good' and 'evil' love is anagrammed into 2 eignt-line poems, one discussing Evil and the other, Good. However, when combined, they also contain a word-acrostic: reading down each 5th word results in a quote from Shakespeare's Julius Caesar (though each of the anagram's poems approaches each half of it in a critical fashion):

"The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones".]

Two loves I have of comfort and despair,
Which like two spirits do suggest me still:
The better angel is a man right fair,
The worser spirit a woman colour'd ill.
To win me soon to hell, my female evil
Tempteth my better angel from my side,
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,
Wooing his purity with her foul pride.
And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend
Suspect I may, but not directly tell;
But being both from me, both to each friend,
I guess one angel in another's hell:
Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt,
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.

How futile to recall the Vile
That practiced guile and evil scorn:
Some former pains incite that bile,
And Evil lives in men, reborn.
I'll say old brutes do not appall
My world, where dignity lives on;
They're now but phantoms, after all.
It's time to rate them stopped and gone.

Good God, why are the gifted few
Who boldly fight for good, unsung?
I think my claim is trite but true:
Among us, best men oft die young.
But, though they are interred in tombs,
We may still meet with them afresh:
In years to come, their spark will bloom;
It will imbue our bones and flesh.

905

Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.

But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.

Especially, do not feign affection.

Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.

But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.

Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.

And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful.

Strive to be happy.

Max Ehrmann

The Serenity Prayer

God Grant Me...

One: The serenity to accept the things I cannot change.

By nature or nurture,
I am who I am.
A perfect example,
Of imperfect man.

I can't change who I am,
Yet why do I try,
To be someone I'm not,
And live out a lie?

If I try to change history,
To annul these regrets,
I find time's eternal,
It never forgets.

I can't change other people,
It's unfair, when I try,
Everyone shuns me,
They say that I lie.

I can't alter the planet,
Or bring back the dead.
So I really should stop now,
And focus instead

On picking my battles,
And doing my best,
To be a good person,
Despite all the rest.

Two: The courage to change the things I can.

So, life can't be changed,
Pray, what should I do?
To stay fair to myself,
Respectful and true.

Should I air harsh opinions,
Or flatly refuse,
To express selfish values,
And annul sinful views.

I endeavour to change,
Only every day,
An infuriating fear,
Carries virtues away.

With weary neurosis,
In anxious despair,
I yearn for a reason,
It sure is unfair.

Now, is everyone nervous
Of change in their lives?
Or wary of ruin
When burden arrives?

Hurray, I can change,
And free my dismay.
And all I may ask,
Is assured bravery

Three: The Wisdom to know the difference

Should I yearn to be older?
Should I try to be meek?
Should I yearn to be bolder,
Whenever I speak?

Should I be less resentful?
Would I be less like me?
Should I be less distrustful.
Of those that I see?

Should I try to be joyful?
Should I try to be droll?
Should I yearn to be playful,
And refrain from control?

Should I be less obsessive?
Would I be less in love?
Should I be less submissive?
Would my partner approve?

Should I yearn to be thankful,
For this life here on earth?
Or try to be hopeful,
That there is life after death?

Should I answer these questions,
That cause everyone strife?
Or ignore these frustrations,
And get on with life?

906

[A sonnet by Dante Gabriel Rossetti, anagrammed into a sonnet spoofing its title.]

A Superscription

Look in my face; my name is Might-have-been;
I am also call'd No-more, Too-late, Farewell;
Unto thine ear I hold the dead-sea shell
Cast up thy Life's foam-fretted feet between;
Unto thine eyes the glass where that is seen
Which had Life's form and Love's, but by my spell
Is now a shaken shadow intolerable,
Of ultimate things unutter'd the frail screen.
Mark me, how still I am! But should there dart
One moment through thy soul the soft surprise
Of that wing'd Peace which lulls the breath of sighs,
Then shalt thou see me smile, and turn apart
Thy visage to mine ambush at thy heart
Sleepless with cold commemorative eyes.

A Superstition

1.  Hey, note these horseshoes, hung there on that wall!
2.  My life is fraught with curious beliefs...
3.  Hold no umbrellas open in my halls,
4.  Nor hum one haunting tune, however brief;
5.  Alert me, please, if some black cat will pass
6.  The pathway when we take those midnight strolls;
7.  Don't let me glimpse that shattered looking glass -
8.  I seldom find these acts remotely droll.
9.  In fact, this poem's scheme may pose a hitch
10. That may yet leave me somewhat unamused -
11. I reached the ode's oasis, after which
12. That loathed and fateful number must be used!
13. I'll bate my breath... 'til the thirteenth... is over...
14. Then run away, to find some four-leaf clovers!

907

Inauguration Speech by George Bush

This peaceful transfer of authority is rare in history, yet common in our country. With a simple oath, we affirm old traditions, and make new beginnings. As I begin, I thank President Clinton for his service to our nation. And I thank Vice President Gore for a contest conducted with spirit, and ended with grace.

I am honored and humbled to stand here, where so many of America's leaders have come before me, and so many will follow.

We have a place, all of us, in a long story; a story we continue, but whose end we will not see. It is the story of a new world that became a friend and liberator of the old. The story of a slave-holding society that became a servant of freedom. The story of a power that went into world to protect but not possess, to defend but not to conquer. It is the American story; a story of flawed and fallible people, united across the generations by grand and enduring ideals.

The grandest of these ideals is an unfolding American promise: that everyone belongs, that everyone deserves a chance, that no insignificant person was ever born. Americans are called to enact this promise in our lives and in our laws. And though our nation has sometimes halted, and sometimes delayed, we must follow no other course.

Through much of the last century, America's faith in freedom and democracy was a rock in a raging sea. Now it is a seed upon the wind, taking root in many nations. Our democratic faith is more than the creed of our country, it is the inborn hope of our humanity; an ideal we carry but do not own, a trust we bear and pass along. And even after nearly 225 years, we have a long way yet to travel.

While many of our citizens prosper, others doubt the
promise -- even the justice -- of our own country. The ambitions of some Americans are limited by failing schools, and hidden prejudice, and the circumstances of their birth. And sometimes our differences run so deep, it seems we share a continent, but not a country.

We do not accept this, and will not allow it. Our unity, our union, is the serious work of leaders and citizens in every generation. And this is my solemn pledge: I will work to build a single nation of justice and opportunity.
I know this is within our reach, because we are guided by a power larger than ourselves, Who creates us equal in His image.

And we are confident in principles that unite and lead us onward.

America has never been united by blood or birth or soil. We are bound by ideals that move us beyond our backgrounds, lift us above our interests, and teach us what it means to be citizens. Every child must be taught these principles. Every citizen must uphold them. And every immigrant, by embracing these ideals, makes our country more, not less, American.

Today we affirm a new commitment to live out our nation's promise through civility, courage, compassion and character.

America, at its best, matches a commitment to principle with a concern for civility. A civil society demands from each of us good will and respect, fair dealing and forgiveness.

Some seem to believe that our politics can afford to be petty because, in a time of peace, the stakes of our debates appear small. But the stakes, for America, are never small. If our country does not lead the cause of freedom, it will not be led. If we do not turn the hearts of children toward knowledge and character, we will lose their gifts and undermine their idealism. If we permit our economy to drift and decline, the vulnerable will suffer most.

We must live up to the calling we share. Civility is not a tactic or a sentiment. It is the determined choice of trust over cynicism, of community over chaos. And this commitment, if we keep it, is a way to shared accomplishment.

America, at its best, is also courageous.

Our national courage has been clear in times of depression and war, when defeating common dangers defined our common good. Now we must choose if the example of our fathers and mothers will inspire us or condemn us. We must show courage in a time of blessing, by confronting problems instead of passing them on to future generations.
Together we will reclaim America's schools, before ignorance and apathy claim more young lives. We will reform Social Security and Medicare, sparing our children from struggles we have the power to prevent. We will reduce taxes, to recover the momentum of our economy and reward the effort and enterprise of working Americans. We will build our defenses beyond challenge, lest weakness invite challenge. We will confront weapons of mass destruction, so that a new century is spared new horrors.
The enemies of liberty and our country should make no mistake. America remains engaged in the world, by history and by choice, shaping a balance of power that favors freedom. We will defend our allies and our interests. We will show purpose without arrogance. We will meet aggression and bad faith with resolve and strength. And to all nations, we will speak for the values that gave our nation birth.

America, at its best, is compassionate.

In the quiet of American conscience, we know that deep, persistent poverty is unworthy of our nation's promise. And whatever our views of its cause, we can agree that children at risk are not at fault. Abandonment and abuse are not acts of God, they are failures of love. And the proliferation of prisons, however necessary, is no substitute for hope and order in our souls.

Where there is suffering, there is duty. Americans in need are not strangers, they are citizens; not problems, but priorities; and all of us are diminished when any are hopeless.

Government has great responsibilities, for public safety and public health, for civil rights and common schools. Yet compassion is the work of a nation, not just a government. And some needs and hurts are so deep they will only respond to a mentor's touch or a pastor's prayer. Church and charity, synagogue and mosque, lend our communities their humanity, and they will have an honored place in our plans and laws.

Many in our country do not know the pain of poverty. But we can listen to those who do. And I can pledge our nation to a goal: When we see that wounded traveler on the road to Jericho, we will not pass to the other side.

America, at its best, is a place where personal
responsibility is valued and expected.

Encouraging responsibility is not a search for scapegoats, it is a call to conscience. And though it requires sacrifice, it brings a deeper fulfillment. We find the fullness of life, not only in options, but in commitments. And we find that children and community are the
commitments that set us free.

Our public interest depends on private character; on civic duty and family bonds and basic fairness; on uncounted, unhonored acts of decency which give direction to our freedom.

Sometimes in life we are called to do great things. But as a saint of our times has said, every day we are called to do small things with great love. The most important tasks of a democracy are done by everyone.

I will live and lead by these principles: to advance my convictions with civility; to pursue the public interest with courage; to speak for greater justice and compassion; to call for reponsibility, and try to live it as well. In all these ways, I will bring the values of our history to the care of our times.

What you do is as important as anything government does. I ask you to seek a common good beyond your comfort; to defend needed reforms against easy attacks; to serve your nation, beginning with your neighbor. I ask you to be citizens. Citizens, not spectators. Citizens, not subjects. Responsible citizens, building communities of service and a nation of character.

Americans are generous and strong and decent, not because we believe in ourselves, but because we hold beliefs beyond ourselves. When this spirit of citizenship is missing, no government program can replace it. When this spirit is present, no wrong can stand against it.

After the Declaration of Independence was signed, Virginia statesman John Page wrote to Thomas Jefferson: "We know the Race is not to the swift nor the Battle to the Strong. Do you not think an Angel rides in the Whirlwind and directs this Storm?"

Much time has passed since Jefferson arrived for his inaugural. The years and changes accumulate. But the themes of this day he would know: our nation's grand story of courage, and its simple dream of dignity.

We are not this story's Author, Who fills time and eternity with His purpose. Yet His purpose is achieved in our duty; and duty is fulfilled in service to one another.
Never tiring, never yielding, never finishing, we renew that purpose today: to make our country more just and generous; to affirm the dignity of our lives and every life.

This work continues. This story goes on. And an angel still rides in the whirlwind and directs this storm.
God bless you, and God bless our country.

What I Meant - President Dubya

Well, 'owdy do sinners. 'ow are ya's doing? It's me, Dubya. Verdict's in! Christ, I'm the new leader of this confounded, civilised western world I call Greater Texas! What a classic! I can't grasp how you mindless, indecisive ninnies were convinced to vote me in irrespective of everyfin' on me dad's scorecard when 'e was in power. What were the concerned crunchers 'n' proper scrutinizin' correctors doing? Our iconic forbearer's would cry! D'ya believe I'm gonna do somefin' different? Nup!

Laura and I are lookin' forward to bringin' our princesses up to DC to live in the Whitehouse. I'm gonna be a bit puzzled in a closed round room. I've been counseled not to try 'n' count corners. How many can there be - four, five? It's got to be near to the Pentagon doesn't it?

Laura said I couldn't have interns workin' under me but it's alright cause I like 'em on top! Ow, crap! Sorry Laura, that was just a bit of clean presidential fun.

Our princesses are gonna be ecstatic when they git to DC. They said they crave ecstasy anywhere they can get it. I'm cheerful for 'em. But I don't understand why the princesses couldn't find ecstasy in our fine state.

Anyhow, enough of our anti-dotal stories. Let's rave on 'bout how I can make our country even better.

First and foremost, as successor, I'm gonna reverse those stupid blunders that good for nuffin', intern rootin', hippy lovin' Clinton put in place. I mean, I don't need current oil prices at all time lows. Let's put prices up! Lemesee, 'ow am I gonna do that? I need a good plan...and to have a plan, I need someone with a brain - that colored Colin Powell. He's inventive for an Afro-American tosser. I believe he'll be able to sort somefin' there.

I discovered I can increase the drug tradin' with our forren neighbours. If I can git drugs into our country, our worse off Americans of nigger, I mean Afro American, 'n' Taco, oops, Latino decent, can afford to feed their children. Cheaper drugs equals more cash for food.

Let's see, what else can I do? I git carried away wit' destruction. I hate those criss-crossin', over-reproducin', sinnin' terrorist Mooslem piccaninnies from over the ocean. I hope that I get the chance to blow up some of their religious finginnybobs. Where do those deprived, murdering heretics live? Sowderabia? And who's that insecure, crazy rajah who proved me dad was stoopid? 'e comes from the near East. You know the corrupt camel straddler I'm spoutin' about. Sudan Who's Insane. Revenge is sweet! I've gotta git that corrupt ol' bastard. I'm gonna find me some of that oil eatin' wretch's petrol bowsers and persecute some silly fanatic Iraqi religious fundamentalist terrorists. This is gonna be terrific.

And what's that dry place where them girls gotta wear long dresses and can't sing good USA music? I don't trust 'em sinnin' forreners one sliver. They might as well come from California. Them and their wierdo religions. Ooh, Mohammed's coming to git me. Ooh, I'm so scared. Cringe 'n' surrender, ya scurryin' cowards. I'm gonna come and cripple ya with some merciless crewcut little 'American Life in the Summertime' officers.

Come on Moms 'n' Dads, len' me ya sons, len' me ya dawters. Some of 'em will return to ya. I can't ask me crap senators 'n' crawlin' congressmen to give their kiddies. They're all scared. But you stupid, I mean, brave mums 'n' dads'll give us ya chillen won't ya. I promise I won't start a real massive war. I just wanna go 'n' assassinate a few million forren collectives. Imagine 'ow good that'll make me, I mean, us appear to those red commies out there. Especially that short little fierce bastard in South, or is it, North Korea. Stuff it, it's in the Pacific Ocean. We'll just scare every one of 'em!

I'm so damned chuffed to be 'ere today that I'm gonna sing some national anthem hymn for y'all.

Oh, say can't ya see, by da da sunlight,
What so proudly we nailed at the dooby whatzit beamin'?
Whose broad stars 'n' bright stripes, through the pereluss fight,
Over the somefins we watched, were so gallantly streaming?

Now, I may have got some of the words wrong, but I won't get any more wrong cos this is the part I really like!!!

And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
I say, does that star-dazzled banner yet wave
Over the land of the free and the home of the brave?

How cool is that? Our country's song yaps on about blowin' up stuff. There is nuffin' that I like doin' more than blowin up things. I asked Daddy, 'n' he said that now I'm the boss, I'm licensed to blow up everythin' I want to. I'll start with crucifyin' Taleebans and just keep criss-crossin' west. Surrender, Mister Sudan cos I'll get ya.

Anyway, enuff about blowin' up stuff. I'll return to that later. Y'all probably wanna know what I'm gonna do 'bout money 'n' stuff in our country. Well, first thing I'm gonna do is blow up stuff. Just foolin'! Finance is a very important thing to yap about. Ya see, if we don't have currency, we can't buy guns 'n' if we can't buy guns, we can't protect our country. So I'm gonna rediscover more taxes and retrench all of ya careers. I'm gonna cancel a heap of schools. This is a real clever idea cos it'll mean that I might stay smarter than at least some of you ruddy uneducated people out there. And we know that readin' and writin' isn't important. It didn't 'elp me get to where I am today. I can't write for crap! Ya surprised?

Besides that, I'm also gonna steal more cash out of medical fund reserves to make sure all geriatric fogies who can't afford private medical cover die. That way, I won't have to pay ya pensions. More finance for guns!!

I've also made a pact with some maniac Sowderabian radical called Bin Laden. He's gonna offer us more oil than the rest of those Iraqi bastards. I'm not gonna lower our price. This means you idiots will be sacrificing even more funds to git even more guns. Perfect! I get richer redirectin' all your dollars and you receive nuffin' in return. If there's one fing Dad tort me, it's that you can always fleece the American people cos they're all stoopid. But he did tell me not to tell so.....whoops.

Anyway, 'bout this snazzy Prince Bin Laden coconut - a real nice civilised puppet. He says that if I can secure access to some airspace, he can guarantee me that I won't have to worry about repairin' some of our buildings. I don't see any reason to suspect him. He's done nuffin' wrong in the past. And if he hates some of the other Sowdees then, how does that saying go? An enemy of my enemy is my enemy..wait a second...correction...a friend of my enemy is my friend...no...aw, who cares?

Cheers to you people down in Florida who voted in me brother too. You'll find Jeb is a real nice operator who will do good by y'all. He's promised to ensure that in future votes, ya won't have to panic about those difficult to read votin' cards. You just put your hole wherever you fink is a good place. Dad's proud of him too but not as proud as he is of me! You lose, Jeb.

I s'pose ya wanna know about me Vietnam days. Well, there weren't none!! See, even tho' I love guns, I is scared to crap of 'em. I don't wanna die and you just voted me in so you don't wanna see me die. I want other people to die. As long as more people are squished on the other side, I win. And cos there's more of us than them, I always win. We lost in Vietnam cos those confounded Viet Congo murderers were clever at hidin' (or so I've been told.)

Alright, what else can I yap 'bout? Dad told me not to chat 'bout the eccentric Donald Rumsfeld, so I won't say nuffin 'bout Don. I dunno why, 'e's the smartest man on the planet. 'e knows 'bout guns. 'im 'n' Charlie Heston are best of mates - always chattin' about rifles, guns, aircraft carriers 'n' sonic cruise missiles. I wish I knew as much as they knew about guns. Geez, Louise those guys are so S.M.R.T smart. But I won't mention Don cos Dad told me not to.

I don't think I should've mentioned Jeb either, come to think of it.

One princess I'm not sure of is Condescender Rice. I mean, that elegant bitch is brighter'n me and, I'm not sure if anyone else has realised this - she's discolored; dresses quite nice too. To stay on the safe side, I might send 'er overseas 'eaps of times. Then she might not get into trouble 'ere at 'ome. Rice can get an epicure and curry in places like Israel and Palestine. If I'm successful, she won't ever survive over there - you know, being a snivellin' Negress.

I also suspect if we increase the amount of carbonated fluids we put into the environment, our kids are gonna be friskier 'n' our work force will be better off. The pups'll be drinking Coca Cola rain and'll be hyperactive. This means they can work harder and faster.

In finishing up today, I'd like to thank divine God, resurrected Christ and particularly Dad for inspirin' me to rise to chief. Without 'em, I wouldn't 'ave 'ad a 'ope of gettin' elected. I'd also like to praise that infatuated, vacant Monica for leaving a stain on her blouse and also, conceited, undiscernin' Bill for not being able to stop thrustin'.

And here's to blowing up the Near East, Mid East and Far East.

Don't misunderestimate me.

Winners are grinners!

Long live Texas.

See ya, wouldn't wanna be ya!

908

[The first poem below laments, in a somewhat Shakespearean style, a lover's betrayal; the second is about a country under the thrall of an unjust ruler. Besides being anagrams of each other, the poems have another unusual feature, which is revealed below. ]

[Answer: every line in both poems is an unaltered line from one of Shakespeare's plays. The origin of each line is shown in the right column below. All lines were taken from the same edition of Shakespeare, the one that's online at Project Gutenberg here.]

909

From a translation of Dante's Divine Comedy

Through me you pass into the city of woe:
Through me you pass into eternal pain:
Through me among the people lost for aye.

Justice the founder of my fabric mov'd:
To rear me was the task of power divine,
Supremest wisdom, and primeval love.

Before me things create were none, save things
Eternal, and eternal I endure.
All hope abandon ye who enter here.

Such characters in colour dim I mark'd
Over a portal's lofty arch inscrib'd:
Whereat I thus: Master, these words import.

Words that strike fear into the heart

Ever seen a message
located over a door
convincing those who enter
our mortality is sure?

Misery's the watchword
each day's a day of pain
to suffer it a given
once more and once again.

Help is not forthcoming.
Each thought must be of death;
Life perhaps has slipped away
Left you, as has breath.

Our memory will not be dimm'd
Nor allowed to die;
Every proper person knows
Arbeit Macht Frei

Reject a murderous movement
Thus nurture an improvement;
Hitler fell on open minds.

910

911

LUCY IN THE SKY WITH DIAMONDS
by
The Beatles

Picture yourself in a boat on a river,
With tangerine trees and marmalade skies
Somebody calls you, you answer quite slowly,
A girl with kaleidoscope eyes.

Cellophane flowers of yellow and green,
Towering over your head.
Look for the girl with the sun in her eyes,
And she's gone.

{REFRAIN}
Lucy in the sky with diamonds
Lucy in the sky with diamonds
Lucy in the sky with diamonds
Ah... Ah...

Follow her down to a bridge by a fountain
Where rocking horse people eat marshmallow pies,
Everyone smiles as you drift past the flowers,
That grow so incredibly high.
Newspaper taxis appear on the shore,
Waiting to take you away.
Climb in the back with your head in the clouds,
And you're gone.

{REFRAIN}
Lucy in the sky with diamonds ...
Ah ... Ah ...

Picture yourself on a train in a station,
With plasticine porters with looking glass ties,
Suddenly someone is there at the turnstile,
The girl with kaleidoscope eyes.

{REFRAIN}
Lucy in the sky with diamonds
Lucy in the sky with diamonds
Ah... Ah...

BROKEN GLASSES

Picture yourself there outside the Dakota,
With Yoko, in west-side Manhattan, N.Y,
Suddenly someone appears from the shadows,
The man with the far-away eyes.

In this weird moment, the world stands quite still,
Everything's drifting away,
I look at the man who's extending his hand ...
With a gun.

{REFRAIN}
Is this really how I will die?
Is this really how I will die?
Is this really how I will die?

Follows behind you, cries out, "Mr Lennon!"
You look back, his gun kicks, you feel burning pain,
Somebody screams as you drop to the sidewalk;
You pray he won't shoot you again.
Cop-car with siren arrives on the scene,
Waiting to take you away,
Lie in the back while your life drips away,
Then you're gone...

{REFRAIN}
Is this truly how I shall die? ...

Picture yourself looking down on a sidewalk,
At shattered, red spectacles lying close by,
Yoko prays, clasping your head to her breast while
The man reads The Catcher In The Rye.

+ + +

ON DECEMBER EIGHTH, NINETEEN EIGHTY, SOLITARY PSYCHOPATH MARK DAVID CHAPMAN SNUFFED OUT 'MR. LENNON'.

912

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."

A Soldier's Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas,
The man lived all alone,
In a one bedroom house
Made of worn plaster and busted stone.

I had come down the unswept chimney
With my sparkling presents to give,
And to see just who it was
That in this shabby house did live.

I searched all about,
What a harsh sight I did see,
No tinsel and no wrapped presents,
Not even a wretched tree.

No stocking by the worn mantle,
Just unwashed boots filled with sand,
And in the hallway hung worthless pictures
Of exiled, offshore lands.

With medals and badges,
Between awards and wreaths of kinds,
Then, an awakening thought
Came into my mind.

For this house was all different,
When I could see in the dark,
I had found the home of a soldier,
It was withdrawn and stark.

The unabashed hero lay sleeping,
He was hushed, he was alone,
Curled up on the floor
In this bleak, one bedroom home.

The face was so gentle,
The room in such disorder,
Not at all how I pictured
A twentieth-century soldier.

Was this the mighty national hero
Of whom I had just read,
Nestled up in a cheap shawl,
With the harsh floor as his bed?

Then I thought of the wealthy families
That I saw this harsh, white night,
Who owed their lives to those fallen soldiers
Who were so willing to fight.

Soon all around the whole world,
The chubby children would awaken and play,
And the grownups would worship in church
On an enchanted, white Christmas day.

They all enjoy the benefits
Each month of the year,
Because of all the majestic soldiers,
Like the exhausted one sleeping here.

I couldn't help but just think
How many lay sleeping alone,
On a hallowed Christmas night
In a hellish Afghan township far from home?

That weighted, painful thought
Brought a tear to my eye,
I fell to my haunches
And ashamed, started to cry.

Then the weathered soldier awakened
And I heard a husky, hushed voice,
Saying "Hush, Santa. Please don't weep,
Herein is my life of choice;

I fight for freedom,
Hell, I won't ask for more,
My life is my god,
and my country is my corps."

The soldier then eased weakly over
And went back to sleep,
I couldn't hold it in
And continued to weep.

I kept watch there for a while,
That lengthy night - bleak and still
And we both shivered weakly
From the hazy winter night's chill.

I didn't want to leave
On that bleak and dark night,
This quietly spoken keeper of honor
Who was so willing to fight.

Then the man awakened and rolled back over,
And with a voice unshaken and pure,
Whispered peacefully, "Keep going now, Santa,
It's Christmas, all is secure."

One look at the watch,
And I knew he was right.
I said, "Happy Christmas, my honest hero,
And to all a good night."