By Anonymous (not verified) on January 11, 2009

An insertable gap in the photo appears between Clinton and Carter, who reportedly get along like teeth and tinfoil. Something having to do with who deserved the title of “Mister Peace Maker” back in the 90s and who deserved “Mr. Grandstander.” Jimmy Carter (and isn’t he getting a bit long in the tooth to still be called Jimmy?) is starting to exude the smug self- righteousness you normally associate with your priggish Aunt Hoogolah. Starting to look like her too.

As lease- holder of the residence where lunch was held, Dubyah was the very soul of genial host, but does appear to be chomping at the bit to get the hell out of public housing. “I want to thank the President- Elect for joining the Ex- Presidents for lunch” forgetting he’s contractually obligated to stick around until January 20th. Complaints arose that Obama upstaged the President by addressing the press. But come on, upstaging George Bush? At this point, a #2 pencil stuck in a ceiling tile could upstage George Bush.

This is only the second time in recent memory anybody’s seen such a congregation of POTUSes and I doubt the fancy word guys have come up with a plural moniker yet. So here’s our chance for linguistic immortality. Labor of moles. An unkindness of ravens. Shiver of sharks. Lamentation of swans. Mutation of thrushes. Nah, none of those work. Gaggle? Giggle? Sludge, flutter, bloat? Jamboree? No. no. no. Wait. I got it. A Port-a-Potty of POTUSes.

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By Wendell Berry

Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front

Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more 
of everything ready made. Be afraid 
to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery 
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card 
and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something 
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know. 
So, friends, every day do something
that won’t compute. Love the Lord. 
Love the world. Work for nothing. 
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it. 
Denounce the government and embrace 
the flag. Hope to live in that free 
republic for which it stands. 
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man 
has not encountered he has not destroyed.
Ask the questions that have no answers. 
Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.


Say that the leaves are harvested 
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.
Put your faith in the two inches of humus 
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.
Listen to carrion—put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come. 
Expect the end of the world. Laugh. 
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts. 
So long as women do not go cheap 
for power, please women more than men.
Ask yourself: Will this satisfy 
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep 
of a woman near to giving birth? 
Go with your love to the fields.
Lie easy in the shade. Rest your head 
in her lap. Swear allegiance 
to what is nighest your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos 
can predict the motions of your mind, 
lose it. Leave it as a sign 
to mark the false trail, the way 
you didn’t go. Be like the fox 
who makes more tracks than necessary, 
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.

Wendell Berry is a poet, farmer, and environmentalist in Kentucky. This poem, first published in 1973, is reprinted by permission of the author and appears in his “New Collected Poems” (Counterpoint).

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