alas, poor bert

alas, poor alberto! i knew him, karl:
a fellow of dim wit, of most poor memory:
he hath borne me on his back a thousand times;
and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is!
my gorge rims at it. here hung those lips that i have kissed
i know not how oft. where be your gaffes now?
your warrantless surveillance? your torture memos?
your flashes of deceit, that were wont to set the senate on a roar?
not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen?
now get you to guantanamo, and tell her,
let her paint an inch thick, to this habeas she must come;
make her laugh at that.