Thinking of recent developments in Loomer country . . .
The Lady Idiott
Alfred, Lord Helpus
PART I
On either side the highway rise
Long billboard signs that advertise
Belief in God and penis size,
And down the road the traffic flies
To many-trailer’d MAGAlot;
And up and down the people go,
Praising the defeat of Roe
And worshiping their favorite ho—
The Lady Idiott.
Pickups pull, rust-buckets splutter,
Little trucks jerk, bounce, and judder
Down the highway, through the litter,
Drivers fed on vape and Xitter,
Steering down to MAGAlot.
Dented walls and board-patched floors
Accompany the screenless doors,
And all the trailer park adores
Its Lady Idiott.
At the curbside, double-park’d,
Sit Rams and Silverados mark’d
By gun decals; they had embark’d
From towns both known and unremark’d
To converge on MAGAlot,
For all hath seen her take a stand
And flap her lips and sell her brand;
She lives in their own wonderland,
The Lady Idiott.
And some preachers, preaching early
To the bearded and the burly,
Bless their guns and ammo cheerly,
Curse all science, very clearly,
Through the grubby MAGAlot.
And in the night the crowd gets beery,
Cheering when their trailer dearie
Spouts her latest harebrained theory—
She’s their Idiott.
PART II
Here she weaves by night and day
A web of lies to gain airplay.
She has heard the rumours say,
A curse is on her if she stay
At home in MAGAlot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she goes out frequently.
All watch on line or on TV,
The Lady Idiott.
She lieth on her channel clear
To rake in funding through the year;
Distortions of the world appear
In the febrile atmosphere
Pervading MAGAlot.
The little folk who emulate
Her no one doth remunerate,
And yet they highly venerate
Their Lady Idiott.
So now her crowd of redneck fans
Shout for border-crossing bans,
And keep their phones glued to their hands,
To hear the latest campaign plans
From heaving, grunting MAGAlot,
Tho’ sometimes thro’ the boob-tube blue
Comes gossip of a pas-de-deux,
Menage à trois, or what have you—
The Lady thinks she’s hot.
While on the web and on Faux News,
She casts aspersions on the Jews,
For any poison that she spews
Still wins admiring aahs and oohs
In thrusting, pulling MAGAlot.
Once when the moon was overhead,
She and a lover lay in bed;
‘I’m more in love with power,’ said
The Lady Idiott.
PART III
Outside, but near this tender scene,
He tottered from a limousine.
The rain came dancing on the green
And wet th’ orange comb’d-over bean
Of old Sir Liverspot,
The businessman who ever seal’d
A deal for filthy profit yield,
But had the ears of all low-heel’d
In greedy MAGAlot.
The leader of the GQP,
He was no common wannabe—
His golden toilet glitter’d free.
He aimed to grab some fresh puss-see,
As he trod down through MAGAlot,
And sneaking from Melania,
And fortified with Levitra,
He gain’d once more the old chutzpah
Of youthful Liverspot.
All in the grey beclouded weather
Dreamt he of polish’d saddle-leather,
The strap, the crop, the chain, the feather:
‘Twould be such fun to use together
Tonight in steaming MAGAlot.
Some buxom lass he would disarm
With real estate, and then she’d warm
To yielding her pneumatic charm
To lusty Liverspot.
His pale low brow with botox glow’d;
The fine hairs from his long ears flow’d;
Behind him someone laugh’d and crow’d,
‘Methinks a lech’rous horny toad
Is out and loose in MAGAlot!’
The Lady, dashing from her lair,
Emerg’d into the sultry air
With phone at ear, and unaware,
Slamm’d into Liverspot.
They bang’d their heads, they hit the ground,
They made an awful crunching sound,
They saw the bright stars spin around,
They each still made a swift rebound—
They fear’d amusing MAGAlot.
Their eyes search’d, met, and open’d wide;
Their mouths crack’d grins from side to side;
‘Well, I’ll be damn’d! My hero!’ cried
The Lady Idiott.
PART IV
Both their minds were entertaining
Notions lewd and power-gaining.
Neither of them was complaining,
Heavily the low sky raining
Over trashy MAGAlot.
Up they went to share airspace;
Ere long the two were sucking face.
Too eager was he to embrace
The Lady Idiott.
And down her bosom’s broad expanse
His stubby fingers did a dance,
As he became one lost in trance
Before her vacant countenance
In superficial MAGAlot.
And by the closing of the day
The talking heads at Faux said, ‘Hey!
We knew the old fart still could lay
The Lady Idiott!’
For the hopeful Prez and L.I.’s rite,
Her face was caked a pasty white.
Her wedding gown would look just right
For wearing to a pitbull fight
In bloody MAGAlot.
And all was perfect, nothing wrong.
The singers sang some mushy song,
And clearly she was ‘well along,’
The Lady Liverspot.
Heard a rumour—holy moly!
Lady-Liver split up wholly!
Liver’s lust had soften’d slowly
When she got too roly-poly
In their tawdry MAGAlot;
And once she whelp’d their bawling brat,
She in a lawyer’s office sat,
And sued till golden bricks were shat
By old Sir Liverspot.
The earnings from her LLC
Soon increased astronomically.
A gleaming figure now was she,
On a giant shopping spree,
Thrilling all of MAGAlot.
Out upon the streets they came,
The MAGA crowd with hearts aflame,
And round her Ram they sang her name,
‘Our Lady Idiott!’
What is this? and what is here?
For in the trailer park so drear
Did her double-wide appear;
And they piss’d themselves for cheer,
All the folks at MAGAlot.
But Liverspot fumed a little space;
He said, ‘She’s got an ugly face:
She’s not my type, what a disgrace,
That Lady Idiott.’
Bravo!
Huzzah!