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"This is YOUR fault!" said some of the Reds to the Blues.
"You and your snork-snackered bar-bufaloos,
"Your fancy-dress gowns and your jewel-covered glasses
"Have left nothing left for the Red Spendit masses!
"Why, none of us Reds would have cause for complaint
"If you greedy Blues had just shown some restraint!"
"Oh, it IS?" said the Blues, as they drew themselves up.
"What about your wumbulus flupper-de-flup?
"Your mingulous gomers and two-decker kleetches?
"Your hair bows and bracelets and lace-covered breeches?
"Your Ooze Day Parades and your cakings and ices?
"You Reds are the Spendits to blame for this crisis!"
So there they all stood, pointing fingers and yelling
While below them the black hole kept growing and swelling.
And then at the moment of greatest confusion
The panel announced it had reached a conclusion:
The Kingdom of Whatsis was bound for disaster.
The Spendits all nodded, then Spent even faster.
The last that was heard, from fifteen miles below ground
Was a very faint, kind of a grubulous sound.
The Spendits had all fallen in, don't you see,
In the hole they had made of their glorious tree —
And many years later they're bickering yet
Over who is to blame for their national debt.
But nobody else cares — no one even remembers
The kingdom of Whatsis or its big-Spending members,
Who could have been spared a horrible fate
If someone had only stood up to relate —
In the midst of their jubjub consumption and gigging —
The First Rule of Holes: When you're in one, quit digging.
A. Barton Hinkle is a columnist at the Richmond Times-Dispatch. This article originally appeared at the Richmond Times-Dispatch.