An orange Blight was tweeting on a plane
in childish rage, his lips pursed lemon-suck
as change of nether wind had drawn in train
that bowel strain like constipated duck
and yet till now he didn't give a fuck
until his sweet Ivanka got the boot
from Nordstrum. Oh, he'd trail them through the muck,
lay low their share price, his power here was moot -
except shares surged. He'd get Spicer to double hoot.
Upon Blight's tonsured head a rodent sat
in full control of all but flatulence.
If Blight seemed petty, long-haired Toupee rat
had a part of that. Not even Pence
was in the know, how vacant, dull of sense
the clod beneath this so-called Toupee was,
lacking reason, void of all inference:
"I'm smart," he'd rasp alone. "I'm smart because...
I cut him short. Hee hee. That idiot from Oz."
Upon a great adventure Blight was bound
that rich white selfish men must have more sway;
and KKK would be as loyal hound.
Toupee them then such dogs would have their day.
Whoever had the nerve to block his way
would get the Tweetment (team of lawyers too).
False press and SNL he'd drive away:
'Tweet-tweet!' that's what the great bald eagles do,
until they have have the minions to hit on you.
....................................
Toupee/Blight already ramping up immigration round-ups and deportations to Mexico as we go to press here.
Spenser's version:
A gentle knight was pricking on the plaine,
Ycladd in mightie armes and silver shielde,
Wherein old dints of deepe woundes did remaine,
The cruell markes of many a bloody fielde;
Yet armes till that time did he never wield:
His angry steede did chide his foaming bitt,
As much disdayning to the curbe to yield:
Full jolly knight he seemed, and faire did sitt,
As one for knightly jousts and fierce encounters fitt.
But on his brest a bloudie Crosse he bore,
The deare remembrance of his dying Lord,
For whose sweete sake that glorious badge he wore,
And dead as liuing euer him ador'd:
Vpon his shield the like was also scor'd,
For soueraine hope, which in his helpe he had:
Right faithfull true he was in deede and word,
But of his cheere did seeme too solemne sad;
Yet nothing did he dread, but euer was ydrad.
Vpon a great aduenture he was bond,
That greatest Gloriana to him gaue,
That greatest Glorious Queene of Faerie lond,
To winne him worship, and her grace to haue,
Which of all earthly things he most did craue;
And euer as he rode, his hart did earne
To proue his puissance in battell braue
Vpon his foe, and his new force to learne;
Vpon his foe, a Dragon horrible and stearne.
