Emboldened frat boys, in denial mode,

Egg on flat-earth freaks shinning up the walls;

With whoops and yells, they’re praying for a slip,

The raw meat on the pavement just the job

For tech-thin specimens who spout the lies

Each time that someone undeserving dies.

 

Outside, the times are hard in snow and ice,

But no one gives a monkey’s in the warm;

The big boys’ moon machine will hog the news

And photos of dictators turn them on.

To hell with the poor, well and truly stuffed,

As long as flaccid egos aren’t rebuffed.

 

One year or more has passed, and who now cares

That queues of the vindictive shine their wares?