Texas Jabberwockery – Cruz Roasted After Fleeing Blizzard

Even worse than backing Trumpster – Glaring “dereliction of duty...”

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Below is the famous, original inspiration, Lewis Carroll’s “Jabberwocky,” a charming, nonsense poem whose whimsy perfectly frames the “epic oops” Cruz family misadventure in Mexico. I borrowed some original diction but only to serve modern political relevance. RB


‘Twas slithy winter in Texas,
    As icebound snow did gyre in heaps;
The brittle pipes gimbled to excess
   And so the Cruz clan got the creeps.

“No heat, no light, in ice we dwell”
    So cashmere blankets all did snatch:
“Escape we must from this mimsy spell,
    If not Frumious Bandersnatch!”

“The only way to generate heat,”
    Burbled Ted, the bogus populist,
“Is leave this off-putting sleet
    And fly away to the Cancún Ritz.

What could possibly go wrong
    A whiffling dash to southern climes?
“Who’d unearth our galumphing throng,
    Or count desertion among my crimes?”

Ah, sun and warmth, and chilled iced tea,
    Four Cruzes arrived, all smiling faces;
No Jabberwocky they must flee,
    Pool-side in this migrant oasis.

To coastal tropics they had to fly,
    Yet papa’s mug was infamous;
Behold the media did geschrei,
    “Is this our “smartest” ignoramus?”

Cable news did bite, its claws did catch,
    Reversing Ted’s common man image,
Besieged, Cruz packs with dispatch,
    Assailed for strutting his privilege.

Even worse than backing Trumpster –
    Glaring “dereliction of duty;”
To flee home as from a dumpster,
    Stamping him a no-class fluky.

Unlike the hero in Carroll’s verse,
    Self-slain Cruz lies about his quest,
Then blamed his kids – what could be worse?
    The endless jokes – the national jest.

No chortling now, just snake-like eyes,
    Reduced by resignation calls;
Is he so dumb to be surprised
    How pride still goeth before such falls?

—————–

Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

    Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogoves,

      And the mome raths outgrabe.

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

      The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

      The frumious Bandersnatch!”

He took his vorpal sword in hand;

      Long time the manxome foe he sought—

So rested he by the Tumtum tree

      And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,

      The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,

Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,

      And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through

      The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!

He left it dead, and with its head

      He went galumphing back.

“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?

      Come to my arms, my beamish boy!

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”

      He chortled in his joy.

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogoves,

      And the mome raths outgrabe.

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Robert S. Becker
For over a decade, Robert S. Becker's independent, rebel-rousing essays on politics and culture analyze overall trends, history, implications, messaging and frameworks. He has been published widely, aside from Nation of Change and RSN, with extensive credits from OpEdNews (as senior editor), Alternet, Salon, Truthdig, Smirking Chimp, Dandelion Salad, Beyond Chron, and the SF Chronicle. Educated at Rutgers College, N.J. (B.A. English) and U.C. Berkeley (Ph.D. English), Becker left university teaching (Northwestern, then U. Chicago) for business, founding SOTA Industries, a top American high end audio company he ran from '80 to '92. From '92-02, he was an anti-gravel mining activist while doing marketing, business and writing consulting. Since then, he seeks out insight, even wit in the shadows, without ideology or righteousness across the current mayhem of American politics.

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