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| Cartoon by Clay Bennett for the Chattanooga Times Free Press |
How might a lowly hillbilly
Rise up to fame and glory?
Well gather round and listen close
And ye shall hear his story.
His will was such, that early on
This lad would not be thwarted.
True grit the little zygote had—
Thank God he weren’t aborted!
He hunkered down in cozy womb
To think on matters deep:
For birth was child’s play compared
to being born-again as Veep!
A miracle it seemed to some
To others simply weird,
But when JD came into the world
He sported a full beard!
Wiser than his years he was,
This savant wearing diapers.
Alas, his homelife he did ken
A pit of hissing vipers!
“My Ma’s a mess, Stepdad’s a jerk,
I’m really up the junction…
I’ll put this in a book one day,
A dirge to white dysfunction!”
Against this lot he dreamed to have
A stable life, serene:
Come graduation off he shipped
to Iraq as a Marine.
Hard as nails, or cask strength scotch,
He readied for the battle.
But instead of a gun they gave him a pen:
Like a baby with a rattle!
Reporting on the enlistees
He learned to be a man.
But a career in the armed forces was
Not part of the plan.
Who says a little learning is
such a dangerous thing?
For learning little our feisty bro
To Ivy League did bring!
In New Haven he studied law—
the spirit and the letter.
He made queer friends he’d later shun
‘Cause he liked power better.
He changed his name, Hamel to Vance—
You could call it a transition—
And then he up and left the law
To fulfill his sacred mission.
He set out West upon his steed
(a 747),
And made his way to Menlo Park:
Venture capital heaven.
A Wizard strange young Vance did seek;
Weird Wizard he did find.
In awe did he marvel at
Liber-Crypto-Christian Mind.
JD did query subtle Sage,
Asked would he be his mentor,
Instruct him in dark Startup arts
And Partnerships to enter?
From Silicon throne the Wizard rose,
And shook his staff in vigor.
Fittingly he quoth Saint George:
“I’ll be your father figure!”
“Hot Damn!” Spake Vance, “Well don’t you know
I been lookin’ for a daddy!
The last two Pappies that I had
drove off in their Caddy.”
Like learned Alchemists of old
Who now in peace are resting,
Vance commixed averse elements:
Charity and Investing.
As Noah rescued all God’s creatures
He’d save the folks back home;
Raise funds to start a future farm
Built under a great glass dome.
A lifeline to those left behind—
With profits too to capture!—
Jobs for Evangelicals while
They waited for the Rapture.
Alas, the locals they all quit
That Hot House of Disorder;
The only folks who’d do the work
Came from south of the border!
Like Babel Tower did Vertical Farm
Collapse under piles of debt;
But if you suppose that brought Vance low
You ain’t heard nothin’ yet!
For who should appear but Wizard Wise
With a spell to quell defeat:
“It’s time you answered the nation’s call
And ran for a Senate seat!”
Now far and wide his fame had spread
For he’d become an author.
But words can’t buy a Congressional race;
He’d need the Wizard’s coffer…
Spake Wizard, “What cash you can raise
From hicks in Appalachia,
Lookie here at my bank account
Boy, I can surely match ya!”
In tears replied the Wizard’s ward
“I just wanna give something back!”
(What that was he did not say
But he gladly took the check.)
Now around this time an Orangeman
Had risen up to power.
He was full of piss and vinegar
And things even more sour.
At first our hero he demurred:
“T---p’s cultural heroin.”
But when the call went out for Veep
No problem lied therein.
Like Saul of Tarsus transformed to Paul
Changed was his demeaner;
His beard grew thick, beady his eyes,
Just like Donald Junior.
Social collapse he prophesied,
This born-again MAGApostle.
He owned the libs with clever memes;
His homilies weren’t docile.
“Why is it that some old maids love
Their cats more than us men?
And here’s another pet peeve of mine—
The immigrants who eat ‘em!”
The hateful nonsense that he spewed
Ensured that he’d advance.
Quoth T---p, “He’s got to be my Veep,
My mini-me is Vance!”
An Ohioan who was like his kids...
T---p knew it was a sign!
Proposed he to Apprentice Vance,
“Put your tiny hand in mine.”
All hail this Proud Boy of the Folk,
More famous than Hannibal Lecter!
Born to be Veep, and if not, well…
There’s always the private sector.
For whether T---p should win or lose—
Or rather, is robbed once more!—
Of the two running mates, Vance
May end up free, less poor.
Destined to one day top the ticket,
So bigly JD’s gift.
Who could stop his rapid rise...
Apart from Taylor Swift?
Peter Nohrnberg is a poet, cultural critic, and literary scholar, whose poems and articles have appeared in Southwest Review, Notre Dame Review, Public Seminar, and James Joyce Annual, among other publications.
