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.)
The Vice-President's son. (He's just one of the guys): R. Hunter Biden Lord Peter's valet, the man's donn'd a disguise: Our Bunter, hidin.' Moral: Crime may not pay.