Last week on The Tattered Coat, I unveiled a new category that asks readers to explore the hidden meanings of dubious public statements.
It’s called Parse This!™, and it’s the hot new craze that’s sweeping the nation!
In our inaugural edition, we explored the selected prose of boxer/philosopher Mike Tyson.
Today, through the good graces of All-Spin Zone, we’re ready for our second examination of the wild and wacky world of public locution.
So, without further ado, put your parsing cap on, and let’s
“I urge members of our press corps to go down to Guantanamo and see how they’re treated.”
– President George W. Bush (6/20/05)
10 Comments on "Parse This: Going to Gitmo"
Daniel Rubin:
Sounds like a good time to me. Fabulous weather. Long necks, conch fritters and baseball on the radio. Great road trip for the White House press corps.
Frank:
Hey, a boondoggle. I wonder when George Bush will don Jack Nicholson’s unform from A Few Good Men and shout YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH at reporters.
Elisa:
This is a good illustration of why it’s a good thing that students are now tested on pronoun agreement on the New SAT.
Suzy Shedd:
“Heh heh — get the reporters drunk on Cuba Libres and keep their plane there for repairs — they won’t complain there and they won’t be complaining HERE.”
publicorgtheory:
Message discipline.
Rod:
Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crecen las palmas
Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crecen las palmas
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma
(I am a truthful man,
From the land of the palm.
Before dying, I want to
share these poems of my soul.)
Guantanamera! Guajira!
Guantanamera!
Guantanamera! Guajira!
Guantanamera!
Mi verso es de un verde claro
Y de un carmin encendido
Mi verso es de un verde claro
Y de un carmin encendido
Mi verso es un ciervo herido
Que busca en el monte amparo
(My verses are light green,
But they are also flaming red.
My verses are like a wounded fawn,
Seeking refuge in the mountain.)
Cultivo la Rosa blanca
En junio como en enero
Cultivo la Rosa blanca
En junio como en enero
Para el amigo sincero
Que me da su mano franca
(I cultivate a white rose
In June and in January
For the sincere friend
Who gives me his hand.)
Y para el cruel que me arranca
El corazon con que vivo
Y para el cruel que me arranca
El corazon con que vivo
Cardo ni ortiga cultivo
Cultivo la rosa blanca
(And for the cruel one who would tear out
This heart with which I live.
I cultivate neither thistles nor nettles
I cultivate a white rose.)
Con los pobres de la tierra
Quiero yo mi suerte echar
Con los pobres de la tierra
Quiero yo mi suerte echar
El arroyo de la sierra
Me complace mas que el mar
(With the poor people of this earth,
I want to share my lot.
The little streams of the mountains
Please me more than the sea.)
Original lyrics and music by Jose Fernandez Diaz (Joseito Fernandez)
Music arranged and adapted by Julian Orbon, Hector Angulo and Pete Seeger
Words (verses) by Jose Marti, lyrics adapted by Julian Orbon (1949)
©1963,1965 (Renewed) Fall River Music, Inc (BMI)
Night Bird:
Nce poem Rod!!
and Matt nice blog!
Matt:
thank you, NB. Walk on in peace
Matt:
lol, everyone. Daniel, I think that the CIA is offering discount fares on way-way tickets.
Rising Sign:
“You guys want to keep bothering me about torture, illegal detainments, and flagrant disregard of international law? Well, I have a reward for you! Come on down to Gitmo for a free, um, vacation. Yeah, that’s the ticket. Oceanfront views, three square meals a day (all-inclusive!), and free massages* for everyone! My friends of the liberal media, this offer isn’t going to last forever. Visit Gitmo now!”
(* - Massages may include the use of metal hooks, electricity, splattering urine/feces, and batons. Don’t worry, it’s completely normal down here.)
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