We think you know the trouble you’ve begot, Scott. So don’t expect from us a thanks-a-lot, Scott. If you were here, we’d give you such a swat, Scott. You knew that loyalty is all we’ve got, Scott. (It’s obvious that Camelot it’s not, Scott. The chief’s as popular as, say, Pol Pot, Scott.) And yet you chose this time to send a shot, Scott, Toward him, who’s paid you since you were a tot, Scott, Confirming that our neocon-ish plot, Scott, Hyped weapons just ’cause we were hot to trot, Scott. And Condi thinks you’re such a little snot, Scott. Your book has got her knickers in a knot, Scott. That “mushroom cloud” was something folks forgot, Scott, Until your talk of propaganda’s spot, Scott, In launching what’s become our biggest blot, Scott. You’re hoping that this book will buy a yacht, Scott? Well, may you sail it down to hell and rot, Scott.