Fraters Libertas

The Wreck of the New Media Herald

[Sung to the tune of "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald"]

The legend lives on from the Generalissimo on down
Of the big flake they call Hughie Hewitt
The flake, it is said, doesn't know how to drive a sled
And a tree in Colorado can prove it

With Dockers already on, his boots he next donned
And the New Media Herald seemed ready
His jacket warm and blue, held Snickers to be chewed
When the pangs of hunger came early

The host was the pride of the Salem Network side
Coming out from some town in Ohio
As the big talkers go he was smarter than most
With his ideas and thoughts well reasoned.

Concluding some deals with a couple of free meals
He was now a long way from Cleveland
And later that day when the fat lady sang
It was tree branches that he'd be a feelin'.

The wind in the trees was barely a breeze
Snow conditions were at their peak rating
And the whole group knew, as ol' Hughie did, too,
That the hills of Colorado were waiting.

Hugh's sled was great but the key to his fate
Was keeping it straight on the trail way
A pretty simple task, not too much to ask
Except from this clumsy ol' Buckeye

When starting time came the young guide turned his head
Saying Hugh you're too old to teach ya
Not liking his sass ol' Hugh hit the gas
The guide said, Dude it's been good to know ya

The guide shouted out as he lost sight of the lout
And the snowmobile trip was in peril
And just round the bend it did indeed end
With the wreck of the New Media Herald

Does anyone know where Hugh's common sense goes
When he embarks on a natural outing
The rescuers all say he'd have made the whole way
If had any coordination to speak of.

That tree that he hit has been memorialized
A wreath marks the site of the crashing
And all that remains are the scars on the trunk
Another victim of Hugh's nature bashing

Dennis Prager drolls, Savage stings
In the midst of his lunatic rantings
Laura Ingraham streams into young men's dreams,
As she lights up the mid-morning ratings.

And farther ahead Michael Medved
Takes all calls that lefties can send him
But it's Hugh that we love, as we pray to above
That his crash of December be remembered.

In a rustic sweat lodge in Denver they prayed
In the Great Spirit's Buffalo Teepee
The tom-tom was drummed, 'til a hundred and one
For each branch lost to the New Media Herald

The legend lives on from the Generalissimo on down
Of the big flake they call Hughie Hewitt
The flake, it is said, doesn't know how to drive a sled
And a tree in Colorado can prove it.