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Hello, my name is Ted Turner. I present to you the present-day Trojan Horse birthday present. With cameras as the planks of wood siding my stead the army inside is telecasted infidelity. I spent a fair-share of my dollars so even if you holler you won’t see an end to my CNN. But you never holler, and are never bothered, and as far as your concerned the burnt truth I’m spewing has never been better. My name is Ted Turner and you pay me to run your life for you. Why do you ask such a task of me and certainly not free, no, I get no fee, Ha! You pay me. I guess you might be lazy but my spin-doctors and truth-twisters will give you the benefit of a doubt that maybe you’re too busy in fact. To busy to pack any thinking—y’all be rather drinking in back—than making a self-owned judgment on the war in Iraq. I understand and stand before you in your living rooms and in your bars on TV stools and in well-equipped cars to deliver my thoughts and you’ll take them for yours as though thoughts were a chore. My name is Ted Turner and you pay me to run your life for you.

Hello, my name is George Walker Bush. My salutations and congratulations and, here, get some hand shakes as my sign of glad thanks for reelecting my presidency, well, selectively electing my first presidency but clandestinely, effectively presenting my candidacy a chance for me to whirl the world my way Four More Years! My name is George Walker Bush and you pay me to run your life for you. You’ve seen my C’s in college math but take a bath in the fact that only I could salvage the stats that the populists’ popular percentage votes of my 47.8 could dominate 48.3 of Gore’s. If Gore was yours and Gore had more than my election needs correction. But a victory of Al leaves pals of mine 47.8 strong. A victory in any history of less than one percent and the best believe the rest will surely not ferment. I did not win, but the asses’ victory was thin. That was then and now again though still not so professionally but just as much is my destiny to win the presidency. You did your part against me? One vote in a predetermined state of ineptitude to elected a dude with an attitude of platform that warms the one unelectable obvious plan that John Kerry was not George Walker Bush. My name is George Walker Bush and in 2004 you decided to pay me to run your life for you.

Hello, my name is Fiddy Cent. My sixth-grade vernacular sounds so spectacular above the moaning and groaning of mindless bass drum. My loud crew matches my clown shoes, I hear scrutiny of my rhyming routine but if pays the bills, and it certainly most flirtingly plays my thrills, then who’s laughing at whom. And the scaffolding your loyal viewing and spoiled mewing of MTV’s TRL makes an empty me sleep real well. My name is Fiddy Cent and you pay me to run your life for you. If you buy my CD then you’ll be just like me, my gats on TV and the cats on my street will appear in your yard and without trying hard you’ll have bling on you chest with a ring that says West, Side! I’ve got my words in your mouf; my hit on your Ipod, my tattoos on your wall, my thoughts in your head. But me, I got your cash in my bank. Your generosity and your leniency and your lack of curiosity mean more G’s for me. My name is Fiddy Cent and you pay me to run your life for you.

Hello, my name is Rupert Murdach, Snoop Dog, Rush Limbah, unionization
And you pay me to run your life for you.
My name is systemized education, Barbra Walters, Bill Gates, Steve Jobs
And you pay me to run your life for you.
My name is Maroon Five, Al Franken, organized religion, Kurt Loader
And you pay me to run your life for you.
My name is high school superintendent, Alex Rodriguez, Michael Bloomberg
And you pay me to run your life for you.