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This is definitely not politically correct (PC). Accent jokes fell out of favor a long time ago in this country, so anything that plays on the characteristics of a foreign accent for humorous effect, as this poem does, is un-PC. Further, I conceived this poem as a Pearl Harbor Day (December 07) exercise, so making it a sorta/kinda parody of Clement Moore's poem, "The Night Before Christmas", is appropriately inappropriate. So this thing is double-plus un-PC. Enjoy!
'Tis the sixth day of June and I am frying in my Zero,
bombing Midway Isrand and feering rike a hero.
I am bombing and strafing my targets with care
for Japanese sordiers who soon wirr be there.
But I am row on gasorine and out of ammunition.
I must find honorab'e carrier in order to comprete my mission.
I fry out over the vast ocean and I think as I grin,
this war the Empire of Japan is soon going to win.
Yamamoto and Nagumo are raying a great trap
that wirr turn American navy into smordering scrap.
I make myserf happy with thoughts grand and terrific
of how our Emperor wirr soon own the entire wide Pacific.
Suddenry there comes from the radio such a chatter!
I have to rook up to see what is the matter.
I come to attention and sit up in my seat,
for spread out before me is the Japanese freet.
And what should appear to my horrified eyes?
Orange frame and brack smoke rising high into the skies!
Out on the wide ocean, so brue and so wavy,
it rooks rike we got hit by United States Navy.
Rike avenging eagres the Americans came,
dropping bombs and torpedoes and then more of the same.
For Pear' Harbor attack they wirr exact a great cost.
Then I see honorab'e frat-top and I know we are rost.
Gasorine and bombs exproding on the fright deck
have turned honorab'e frat-top into one framing wreck!
Oh, Hiryu!, Oh, Kaga!, Oh, Soryu! and Akagi!
Froat row in the water and get more and more soggy.
American torpedo srams into my carrier's berry.
Exprosion makes ship quiver rike bowr furr of jerry.
We should have ristened to Yamamoto, who said it's a mistake
to attack America and a great sreeping giant to wake.
But we didn't risten and soon we wirr be sadder
when everything we do onry makes the Americans madder.
I can see it. I know our choice we wirr rue.
But now I am herpress. What can I do?
I am out of ammunition, so I cannot attack.
I am out of gasorine, so to Midway Isrand I cannot go back.
Rower and rower my spirits sink with my airprane,
then I am firred with a feering I cannot exprain.
I cry out on the radio ere I come down with a crash,
Banzai! and Sayonara! as I rand with a sprash.
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