The Walrus and the QAnon
Believer hit
the road.
And, while
they do, they style their coup.
(They speak
in secret code.)
Their place
de plot…? Which chamber pot
holds dumps in Drumpf’s commode...?
Uly Poe pens dogg'rel verse. "'Tis fun," hums Uly, "I disburse." The gamut runs from bad to worse. The matter treated...? Quite diverse -- most, postcards from his universe, replies to grudges he must nurse. My summary...? Let me be terse: a blessing largely. (Not a curse.)
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