Not just the Olympic Committee, but the People's Republic of China, the Mayor of San Francisco, and anyone else with half a brain in the City (there are enough people already around the Bay Area if not the whole country that think you can sooner find an Eskimo at the Equator than someone with half a brain in San Francisco, but I wouldn't say that).
Somewhere, the old power elite of the City from the 1950s and '60s that never saw a longhaired anti-establishment protester they didn't want to smack right into the Bay are either scratching their heads in confusion or laughing their heads off in bemusement.
And we've often rewound the clock
Since the Puritans got a shock
When they landed on Plymouth Rock.
Any shock they should try to stem,
'Stead of landing on Plymouth Rock,
Plymouth Rock would land on them.
In olden days a glimpse of stocking
Was looked on as something shocking,
But now, God knows,
Good authors too who once knew better words
Now only use four-letter words
If driving fast cars you like,
If low bars you like,
If old hymns you like,
If bare limbs you like,
If Mae West you like,
Or me undressed you like,
Why, nobody will oppose.
When ev'ry night the set that's smart is in--
Truding in nudist parties in
When Missus Ned McLean (God bless her)
Can get Russian Reds to "yes" her,
Then I suppose
When Rockefeller still can hoard en--
Nough money to let Max Gordon
Produce his shows,
The world has gone mad today,
And good's bad today,
And black's white today,
And day's night today,
And that gent today,
You gave a cent today,
Once had several chateaux.
When folks who still can ride in jitneys
Find out Vanderbilt and Whitneys
Lack baby clo'es,
If Samuel Goldwyn can with great conviction
Instruct Anna Sten in diction,
Then Anna shows
When you hear that Lady Mendel standing up
Now turns a handspring landing up--
On her toes,
Just think of those shocks you've got
And all those knocks you've got
And those blues you've got
From that news you've got
And those pains you've got
(If any brains you've got)
From those little radios.
So Missus R., with all her trimmin's,
Can broadcast a bed from Simmons
'Cause Franklin knows
(I don't know why Cole Porter suddenly seemed appropriate here with all that very serious shouting and all along the Olympic torch route, but I didn't know any 'Please don't kill the nuns in Tibet' songs)