Why does the moron prove a dreadful head of state?
Because when just a tot the fellow's not allowed a mate.
Why does the moron daily briefings fail to study?
Because he's not a clever lad, nor's never had a buddy.
Why does the moron white supremacy defend?
Because when but a child he's reconciled to have no friend.
Why did the moron a misogynist become?
Because when he was young he never got to know his Mum.
Why does the moron fail to discipline his ego?
Because alone he's stayed; he's never played with an amigo.
Why does the moron bully, bluster, boast and bellow?
Because when yet a youth he'd grown uncouth without a fellow.
Why does the moron suffer poisonous grand mal?
Because friends were forbidden to this kid: he had no pal.
And why does the moron go through all of the above?
Because he's told, "Go for the gold! Forget the freakin' love."
PlaysWellWithLetters is a blogorrheal notebook of Nonsense in rhyming metres accompanying often-inconsequential sequencial graphics all issuing from the hands and/or minds of Sgt. N. ("Jim") Smithe-Magee, amateur author/illustrator whose several books are available online from Politics & Prose Bookstore under the nom de charade Ulysses Poe.
Search This Blog
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
If I Were Elite
If granted but a single wish, I'd wish I were elite. Were I elite, I'd float a yacht; indeed, I'd float a fleet. Were I elite, ...
-
PWWL is pleased to acknowledge the participation of friend-of-blog JD in creating this item. Collaboration in name, collaboration in pro...
-
Sphynx's riddle...? Snare for fools: Pyramids at Giza. Pepperoni plopp'd near tools: gear -- amid sat pizza. Moral: T...
No comments:
Post a Comment