By G.D. Maxwell
Everyone down in Whistler liked Winter a lot.
But the Bush living south of the border, did not!
Young Bush hated winter! The whole Winter season!
Now please don’t ask why. To question him’s treason!
It could be his heart wasn’t in the right place.
It could be, perhaps, the cold wrinkled his face.
But I think that the most likely reason of all,
May have been that his brain was two sizes too small.
Whatever the reason, I’m sure I don’t know,
He sat in the Oval Office, dreading the snow.
Staring out squinting hard with a stunned, normal look,
He feared that the answer might lie in a book.
For he knew every Shredder in all Mountain Towns,
Was praying for snow, for a chance to slide down.
"They’re waxing their boards and preparing their gear."
"For Winter is coming, it’s practically here."
Then he scowled, furrowed his brow, and said, frantically humming,
"I MUST find some way to stop Winter from coming!"
For soon, very soon, he knew it would start snowing
If not he was sure the snow guns would start blowing.
And then! Oh, the COLD! Oh, the COLD! COLD! COLD! COLD!
That was one thing he hated! The COLD! COLD! COLD! COLD!
Then the Shredders, the Skiers, would all jump for joy
They’d leave their warm houses, they’d ride their best toy.
They’d WHOOP and they’d HOLLER, like some ancient beast,
Which was something the Bush couldn’t stand in the least.
And then they’d do something he liked least of all!
Every Shredder and Skier, they’d have quite a ball.
They’d relive the day, they’d remember it clear,
They’d bask in the glory, all feeling no fear.
They’d drink and tell lies and they might start to sing.
They’d stay until closing and Sing! Sing! Sing! Sing!
And the more the Bush thought of this whole Winter fling,
The more he just knew he must stop this bad thing.
"Why, for all of my life I’ve hated the snow!"
"I’ve got to stop winter! It’s all got to go!"
Then he got an idea. An awful idea.
The Bush got a wonderful, awful idea.
"I know what I’ll do!" Georgie laughed right out loud.
And called his advisors, convened quite a crowd.
"We’ll get rid of Winter! It’s a terrorist foe!"
"We’ll turn up the heat! We’ll melt all the snow!"
"All I need is a ruse. A manageable panic!"
"An evil arch-villain to make people frantic!"
"A little recession! Nothing too drastic!"
"Encourage the people to whip out their plastic."
"They’ll buy SUVs and burn oil like crazy."
"They’ll drive everywhere! They’ll be extra lazy!"
"If that doesn’t do it, we’ll fire up a war!"
"Go back and whip Saddam. I’ll settle Dad’s score!"
"You know he’s pure Evil. You know he’s insane!"
"Besides, he’d got oil! Sure seems like fair game!"
"We’ll call on our allies. Bet Tony will come."
"We can’t trust the frogs though, the French are so dumb!"
It seemed like a good plan, a sure-fire hit.
Bush liked the idea, he smiled just a bit.
But then Al-jazeera reported at five,
"Osama’s not dead yet! He’s still much alive."
"We’ve got him on tape! He’s still ranting and raving."
"Says Canada’s next! He’s still got a craving."
"So what!" Said the Bush. "That man’s yesterday’s story!"
"We’ve moved well beyond him. We’re bound for more glory."
"Saddam’s the real problem. ‘Cuz I know he’s got"
"Bi-a-logical weapons. A LOT! LOT! LOT! LOT!"
"Mass destruction’s his game. He’s one bad-ass man!"
"Inspectors will find them. It’s part of my plan."
"I know that he’s got them. I know what we’ll find!"
"Even Nuculer warheads! Good God, I’m not blind!"
"We’ll crank up our factories, get ready for war."
"We’ll burn lots of oil to settle the score."
"We’ll de-plete the ozone if that’s what it takes,"
"If things start to warm up, well, those are the breaks."
The plan was a good one, the plan wouldn’t fail.
Bush thought to himself, feeling hearty and hale.
"But what of Korea?" A minion piped up.
"They don’t got no oil! Not even a cup!"
"But we don’t do first strikes," the same minion cried.
"We do now that I’m Pres!" This Bush wasn’t shy.
But up in the mountains, the Whistlerites moaned,
"No snow in November, it’s dry as a bone!"
"November, December, and still not a flake,"
"El Niño, El Schmiño, Jeez, give us a break."
"Are we still a ski town? Or Mountain Resort?"
"If it doesn’t snow soon, abandon the fort!"
But Bush wasn’t worried, Bush didn’t care,
He didn’t like Winter, or snow in his hair.
"This plan will take time!" He said it with mirth.
"I’ll keep them distracted and warm up the Earth."
"Oh think how they’ll blubber, think how they’ll cry."
"No Winter! No snow! Boy, will they wonder why."
"It’ll all be like Texas. So hot and so bare."
"Hell, man I don’t ski. So what do I care?"
But Shredders and Skiers had faith and good cheer.
We kept all our gear waxed and ordered more beer.
We knew snow would fall soon. We knew it would come.
You can’t stifle Winter. So don’t be so dumb.
And then it just happened. First one flake, two, three.
And soon we were ripping and shouting with glee.
The tourists will come soon, the season will start.
The Bush won’t beat Winter, the crusty old fart.
But maybe next year or the year after that.
Consumption will catch us, our season’ll be flat.
We’ll moan and we’ll cry and great tears we will shed.
We’ll pull up our covers and stay in our bed.
We’ll go further north and we’ll make it our home.
We’ll ski in Alaska, Kamchatka or Nome.
‘Cuz Shredders and Skiers are optimists all.
We know the best season’ll follow the Fall.
We’ll ski and we’ll board and we’ll fall on our tush.
And sooner or later we’ll get rid of Bush!
Sincere apologies to Dr. Seuss and Merry Christmas to all.
