There was a song we used to sing when we were little tykes in elementary school (and always at Junior Girl Scout campouts). It was a sing-song little number about a cannibal king courting his sweetheart. I am kind of tickled to see that, even decades and decades later, it’s not considered so politically incorrect that it can’t be listed on a YMCA camp’s songlist. The melody is so bouncy, and the lyrics are so idiotically simple that everyone learns them in a trice.
They then spend the rest of the evening going BAH-DOOMP, rather than straightforward answering questions or when you’re doomed to lose the belching contest, as, alas, I always did.
I never once thought that the little ditty of my childhood would spring to mind thanks to a president and vice-president of the United States.
But here we are, or at least I am.
BAH-DOOMP
For four years, this great…
