Giant poetry hour, a MSV exclusive
Twas the eve of the Hoboken election
‘Twas the eve of the election and all through out Hoboken,
Many kleptocrats were stirring, with hearts about to be broken,
The VBMs were all gathered by bearer with criminal flare,
In effort to unseat the mayor from her City Hall chair.
The Callichio’s were fighting for each and every bought vote, (allegedly)
They were on opposite teams but both for government bloat,
Mamma Russo in her Red Wings sweat pants, and Mike with gums ready to flap,
Were pitching their political message which was just full of crap.
When over at the HHA there arose such a clatter,
Carmelo sprang from his throne after emptying his bladder,
Away to his window he shouted out so shamelessly brash,
“Watch us, we can, we will, we got developer ca$$$sh!”
The moon on the eve of a crisp fall night,
Was calming before chaos of a big election fight,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
“Bathtub Brian” Murray selling out Hoboken to a chorus of jeers.
With a little VBM courier so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be Prison Guard Nick,
More rapid his brooding thug brother of WWE sexting fame,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
“Now Ruben! now, Mindak! now, Miani and Gonzalez!
On Branco, On Chadwick! on Liebler and fellow hangers on,
It’s all about Vision 20/20 and NJ Transit skyscrapers
Now develop away! Develop away! Develop away all!”
And don’t forget there was another campaign that quite couldn’t fly,
The head of the ticket was a puppet and unemployed IT tech guy,
With lots and money from Pupie and defamatory Beth Mason and their motley crew,
They gave out bags full of flier tagged candy and lots of lies too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each cloven hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turned askew,
Down the chimney Frank Pupie Raia came down the flue.
He was dressed in a leather trench coat with a mouth full of mutz,
And his Robin-like sidekick Biacamano who is a BOE putz,
A bundle of alleged VBMs he had flung on his back,
And 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 he exclaimed at the top of his lungs “Zimmer, err I mean Ramos just has to go”!
The wads of cash in his wallet made him think he can’t be beat,
What did not go to alleged VBMs would go to high bidder on the street,
He had a broad face and vendetta against Ramos,
And tons of money from Mason whose scorched earth politics made her quite famous.
He was big and and sturdy, an intimidating man,
He tossed his weight for as many alleged VBMs as he can,
and a then a political poll indicated his campaign was dead,
Soon left me assured I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Filling out all the ballot boxes then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, off to the VBM shuttle bus he goes.
Post Election Day Beth Mason sprang from her limo,
And blew out of town in defeat away like a hot pot of gristle,
But I heard her exclaim as the limo drove the Queen of Mean out of sight,
“Damn all you to hell with Ricky’s money, I’m not done with this fight.”
By Reformus Gianticus
lightly edited by a Horse
courtesy of Operation Bounty