[source]
Spread it around:
- Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)
- Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)
- Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)
- More
- Click to share on Reddit (Opens in new window)
- Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)
- Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window)
- Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window)
- Click to share on Pocket (Opens in new window)
- Click to share on Telegram (Opens in new window)
- Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)
- Click to share on Skype (Opens in new window)
- Click to print (Opens in new window)
Heh. Or change it to “Cane.”
CiabattaWalkie
’Twas chilling, how the blithe e-voters
Gyrated and gamboled in her wake:
All rosy were the news emoters
And the queen’s wrath thus spake:
“Beware the Job-Lock, my land! !!!
The jobs that bite, employment’s cage! !!!
Beware the merit pay, demand
The maximum minimum wage! !!!”
He took his verbal sword in hand;
Long time the Marxist foe he sought—
So expressed it he to the polity
That it stood awhile in thought.
And, as in oafish thought it stood,
The Media, with eyes aflame,
Stopped waffling about Tyrone Woods
And Barbra’d as it came!
Juan, too! Juan, too! And through and through
His verbal blade hurled cynical smack —
The Left’s not dead, but now its head
Wants its harrumphing back.
“And hast thou stopped the jibber-jab?
Come, bear your arms, my bearish boys!
Oh frack this day! Cali! Calais!”
They reveled in their choice.
’Twas shilling, who in email troves,
Conspired but gambled on the wrong horse:
All leaked, not authored, by the Sov’s;
But that meme’s crap, of course.
The Red Queen is not amused.
ooooh, that is good, very good.
The Red Queen is not amused.
The time has come, walruskkkch said,
To talk of all this mess;
Of shoes at curbs, and feeling faint,
Of Crabby Old Bats and Les.
How doth the little Oppodile
Improve his biting tale,
And gore the plotters of denial
On their own words impaled!
There was candidate called Hillary C
who always seemed to get off Scott-Free
for, no matter the mess
she has her tame Press
to convince the People there was nothing to see.
[Hey I’m still waking up, poetry don’t come easy.]