Around 1990 with The Nation in mind, the pundit named Trillin determined he was willin' to mine politics' grapevine and write verse on deadline. His first inspiration was the sound of Sununu. From there he lambasted, oh, who knew who: A bachelor named Souter, a court nominee supreme, Ron, George, and "SAD-dam," and gun nuts extreme; Jesse and Mario, Bill, Bob, and Paul, candidates and may-have-beens, one and all; Bush, we're reminded, lost his lunch in Japan-- not nearly as horrifying as Quayle comma Dan. Calvin, he thrills at the Texan Perot, for the rhymingest name on the season's ballot. The new era was Democrat, with Clinton and Gore. One still has Bubba fat; the other's a bore. No one escapes Trillin's sharp, sharp-honed wit, Excepting the reader, for whom the laughs just don't quit.