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   Tuesday, September 07, 2004


I knew they were out there! In my email the evening of September 6th I received 3 poems written…and signed by:

Russ Vaughn
2d Bn, 327th Parachute Infantry Regiment
101st Airborne Division
Vietnam 65-66

Mr. Vaughn expresses his take on John Kerry’s shenanigans with wit, conviction, and a wonderful command of rhyme and scan. They are proudly presented here, as he wrote them. The third one, Veteran’s Day is especially good and, I believe, an original.

The Night Before Christmas - Cambodian Version
(after Major Henry Livingston Jr.)

'Twas the night before Christmas and we were afloat
Somewhere in Cambodia in our little boat.
While the river was lightened by rockets red glare
No one but the President knew we were there.

The crew was all nestled deep down in their bunks,
While the Spook and I watched the sampans and junks.
Our mission was secret, so secret in fact,
No one else would remember it when we got back.

When out on the water there arose such a clatter
I leaped down from the bridge to see what was the matter.
The incoming friendly was starting to flash
And I knew that the ARVN’s were having a bash.

The snap of friendly fire on the warm tropic air
Convinced me for sure no one knew we were there,
On a clandestine mission so secret it’s true
That I’m still convinced only Tricky Dick knew.

While I huddled for safety in the tub on the bow,
I thought of a title, "Apocalypse Now."
To give to the films I was I making each day
To show all the voters when I made my big play.

As I sat there sweating in my lucky flight jacket,
Spook said, "Merry Christmas!" and tossed me a packet.
And what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a new lucky cap, which I still have right here.

I keep it tucked here, in this leather brief case,
Just sharing with the press its secretive place
As I regale them again with my senate refrain,
That Christmas in Cambodia is seared into my brain.

Don’t bother to quibble with history my friend,
By pointing out Johnson was President then.
Don’t listen to Swiftees who try to explain,
For I tell you that night is seared into my brain.

Down Hibbard, down Lonsdale, and you too O'Neill,
So you don’t remember? Well it's something I feel.
I don't need all you Swiftvets to support my campaign,
Cause Christmas in Cambodia is seared into my brain,

Into my brain, into my brain, into my brain...

(With apologies to Mr. Kipling and the British Army)

Johnny went public with 'is boasts, an' 'ero without fear,
'Til sudden like the Swifties say, "We got a turncoat 'ere."
The Libs they just ignored ‘em, sayin' "Ah, it’s all a lie!"
Then Johnny's outted by their ads an' to myself says I:

Oh it’s Johnny this an’ Johnny that, 'e's the 'ero of the day.
But it’s wait now, Mr. Kerry, what’s that record really say?
The horns are loudly blowin' boys as our band begins to play,
An' it's goodbye, Mr. Kerry, as they blow your arse away.

Johnny goes to Cincinnati sober as a man can be,
An' they give ol' George a "Bravo Lad!" but John no sympathy.
They give 'im plain their message, sittin’ silent in the 'alls,
That when it comes to fightin' men, they know oo's got the balls.

For it’s Johnny this an' Johnny that, but wait, he might 'a lied
From the platform of his campaign train an' on the Boston tide.
His ship is on the tide, my boys, his ship is on the tide,
An' it's plain as day she’s sinkin' boys, because the turncoat lied.

Yes Johnny mocked our uniforms that guard you while you sleep.
He cheapened all our medals throwing his upon that heap;
An' rustlin’ up his phony troops, he led them for a bit,
Until his aspirations and theirs no longer fit.

Now it's Johnny this an' Johnny that, an' Johnny how's yer soul,
In that brave front rank of 'eroes as our drums begin their roll?
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
An' they’ll keep right on a rollin' boys, 'til we chuck 'im in the hole.

We make no claim as 'eroes, nor we aren’t no blackguards too,
But 'onorable men an' warriors fightin’ once agin for you.
An' if your 'ero's record, our charges soundly taint,
That's what we're tryin' to tell you blokes, your 'ero ain't no saint.

For it’s Johnny this an' Johnny that, an' "Check him out, the Loot!"
Was 'e the "Savior of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot?
Now it's Johnny’s turn to prove us wrong, an' make us all out liars,
By signin' that one eighty form an' puttin out the fires.

Oh it’s Johnny this an' Johnny that, 'e's the 'ero of the day,
But it's hold on, Mr. Kerry, what's that record really say?
The horns are loudly blowin' boys, as our band begins to play,
"Cheerio, Old Man," to Johnny and blows his arse away.


How liberals do defy the mind
For nothing in theirs' can we find,
That willingly will look with reason
At how their man committed treason,
Skulked off to Paris this effete
To grovel at the Madame's feet,
Betraying his sworn officer’s oath
To become the turncoat we so loathe.

Our law is clear you shall not treat
With America's foes nor their cadres meet;
Give aid nor comfort to enemy forces
Nor espouse a view from hostile sources.
Without a mandate from the state
Wherefrom your right to negotiate?
Was treason, John, and is treason still
To this very day your unpaid bill.

Don’t try to hide behind your youth.
You knew the law you knew the truth.
You knew your faux negotiation
Would further tear our war-torn nation
And all for what, John, your career
So you can shameless brazen here,
And claim now that you’re fit to lead
The very nation you made bleed?

And yet before us there you stand
With medals blazing you demand
Such treachery we must ignore
Your treason that lost us our war.
But hold on, John, we veterans say,
You had your turn, now comes our day.
You thought we slept, forgot your crime?
Oh no, John boy, it’s come our time.

Some say let you apologize
But that won’t do it in our eyes.
A man astride of each position
Could we believe your true contrition?
The vindication we’ll accept
In settling up this long-held debt,
Is each of us will do his best
To deny you, John, your lifelong quest.

Listen carefully John to what we say, November 2nd is Veterans' Day.

Written by Russ Vaughn

   posted by Stephen at 11:08 AM | Plink

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