I feel a song coming on.
(With apologies to Jerome Kern, Oscar Hammerstein II, P.G. Wodehouse and Helen Morgan)I used to scream that I would uncover
Each spin-fueled shover someday;
But I'd antagonize them if ever
My game found their bray.
Their agitprop was dancing then;
Now, it's more like they think they're gods, not men.
With each drug-fueled brain and each addled head,
You can pick the mold
Off the books they've read --
Always wrong is Shill.
He's not correct, at all.
His mouth just fits his feet:
Few sane folk notice him.
Abnormal space,
Male Nancy Grace,
The kind of lame brat you
Would kick from a frat; you
Who can ascertain,
Falafel in his brain
Has made him ill -
No loofah, for he's a plund'ring fool,
Because he's just a Shill.
Much like poor Sean and Dennis and Limbaugh,
He's a marimba, for Rove.
He isn't just toe-dipping
Through madness -- in that pool, he dove.
He's full of gall and hate and vim.
Only Coulter's a worse crap-spew than him.
And I can't explain why the hypno-box
Still attracts lone souls who believe in FOX.
He's blust'ry Shill, a lonely, awful man,
He hasn't done the things he likes to brag about.
And yet to see
Him on teevee,
So noisy and gloomy,
Seems corporatist to me.
Oh, can't stand the pain,
Not just that he's insane--
Our rights, he'd kill.
No loofah, because he's got to go,
Because he's just a Shill.
Helen Morgan, "Bill"