Today’s crap verse for all Copelandia
details an odd development of the summer;
more bizarre perhaps than the tour itself:
yes, it’s the Flag of that thar drummer.
This great green menace is a wonder,
if I do say so myself
(and if that damn wonder survives the tour,
one day it can live upon Stewart’s shelf).
Able to rally around their standard
(plus excitement more than a smidgeon),
the Tube Sock Army of Sacred Copelandia
have founded Flag Religion.
They’ve got t-shirts; they’ve got pledges;
they’ve got masses and concerts by the score.
As if the Three Blonde Heads weren’t godhead enough,
Stewart is no longer simply folklore;
he has become his very own savior.
(Seriously hardcore.)
Generosity, dedication, and passion
have all arisen for this Flag,
as have mania, frenzy, and psychosis,
and (I’d bet) stock prices for plastic bags.
Some folks physically shake to meet the Flag
because they are so devout.
Just knowing that Stewart has seen it,
many a Copelander has kinda freaked-out.
That Zeus Himself speaks to the flag
by pointing is quite insane.
Stewart, what kind of rock star are you
not to treat your minions with disdain?
(Were you absent that day in Celebrity School
when aesthetic distance was explained?)
When the tour began in Vancouver,
it was little more than cloth,
but today the Flag’s a phenomenon,
a veritable Thing, by my troth.
Though I do fear our little tribute
may at times turn Stingo wroth
as on more than one occasion,
he’s looked a wee pissed-off.
Stewart, please explain to Sting and Andy,
if you would at my behest:
the Flag shows not lack of love for them,
but that we love you best.
<*ducks quickly beneath the desk*>
Okay, okay -- I jest.
No need to make feel bad the rest.
So please explain that “favoritism”
per se is not what we suggest;
we are simply showing our support
with a pinch of fervor, a dash of zest,
for all the work you’ve done within
and without the Police songfest.
Besides, we’ll be showing Andy love
at the Garden at Challoween,
and Sting’s got a couple of castles
while all we’ve got is the Flag o’ Green.
Although the Flag does come backed by an army,
perhaps the loudest ever seen;
indeed a global network of Crusaders
fueled by fervor and caffeine,
marching to pounding polyrhythms,
rallied by slews of words obscene.
I may just be thinking aloud here, Stewart,
but say the word and your wife’s a queen;
the Magic Stingdom ain’t seen nothing
til it’s met Phaty the Machine.
As per always, Stewart, thank you.
And as per always, please don’t smite.
Just remember all this snark is
what gets the Flag to you each night.
Soon it will be flying ‘round new continents,
this One Flag for many nations;
I truly hope it remains a game to you
and never feels like obligation.
For we appreciate your work,
and we appreciate your eye
as it searches through the crowds
and at the Flag smiles a “hi.”
Greeting one person in the audience,
you greet all Copelanders thereby.
But of course, the first law of the Flag
is for the bloody thing to survive;
now that Soylent Green has cleared customs,
it will see you in Stockholm IN ONLY FIVE!!!