Song for Mr. Shtupper Here’s to Mr. Shtupper, crossbow in his hand No longer will he hunt deer Nor longer till the land He caught The Cove, began to wheeze Before too long he could not breathe His temp went up, his O2 down And now he’s down beneath the ground It can’t be blamed on his bad luck No, he was just a stupid fuck For us, it’s just another day For him, there’s nothing more to say

The Nostril Less Taken (With apologies to Robert Frost, and none to Lurid Looney) Two nostrils diverged in an alien face, And I was curious as to both Of inquiring mind, there I stood And looked up one as far as I could To its terminus at the base of her brain; Then looked up the other, lined with green goo, And having perhaps a differing view, Because it was plugged, in want of tissue; Though as in want of sneezing spew They looked to me about the same. What shall she become in ages hence? Shall she continue to hate Mike Pence? And be inseminated by Roger Stone To bear his demon spawn alone? Shall she assist in crimes a-heinous? As press secretary of the Orange Anus? Shall her chin and her cheekbones Be recycled into Legos? Two nostrils diverged in an alien face , and I— I looked up the one less mucus-y, And that has made no difference.

Surprisingly, he had a son. He very much has the look of an incel about him. With brain wires as crossed as his, life was not sustainable.

LURID LOONEY PLEASE GET OUT Lurid Looney, please get out I’m tired of looking up your snout I don’t care if you can’t taste food Or that your head is made of wood Eyebrows drawn with Sharpie pen Must never spoil my lunch again Nor evil pout, like MAGAt trout Lurid Looney, please get out!

Tell Laura I love Her Laura and Abdul were lovers He wanted to give her everything Camos, rifles, and most of all, a wedding ring He saw a sign for a golf contest At the nearest Trump golf shithole He couldn't get Laura on the phone, to wit: She was on her iPad, posting shit Tell Laura I love her, tell Laura I need her Tell Laura and Karl Rove To get the shot, and not the Cove He toots his car to the golfing grounds He was the fattest MAGAt there And the crowed roared as they started to swing Down the fairway they drove with a deadly fling No one knows what made him die If flying ketchup got in his eye But as they pulled him from Ivanka’s grave With his dying breath, they heard him say Tell Laura I love her, tell Laura I need her Tell Laura not to moan Though I’ll roast in hell with Roger Stone On social media where Laura complains ’Bout Abdul who done passed away It was just for Trump he lived and died Alone at Log O Mierda she can hear him cry Tell Laura I love her, tell Laura I need her Tell Laura not to wait That orange tub of goo will meet his fate Tell Laura I love her Tell Laura I love her Tell Laura I love her

GROWING SEASON 2 Ball cap, covid neck, immunosuppressed Cootie catcher goatee, you know the rest With all those comorbidities, he didn’t stand a chance Now he’s an endless salad bar for worms and little ants Self immolation has become an art If they do themselves in, couldn’t say I give a fart More O2 for me, and less wasted on you As another swing state turns a little more blue

Growing Season In the land of eternal snow Lived a man who Covid laid low Wouldn’t take him no shot Then proceeded to rot And only the worms did Grow

LANDO ELIJAH Lando Elijah What's it like where you’re reposing? You are six feet under And you’re slowly decomposing Yes, you are I guess you’ve detailed your last car Worst move by far Oh, it's what you did to you Oh, it's what you did to you Oh, it's what you did to you Oh, it's what you did to you What you did to you….

Dead Not Alive It's fresh meat, only the names will change Every day, it seems they’re wastin' away Mostly red states, and their bodies are so cold Posted stupid memes but now they’re not so bold He’s a dipshit On a hospital bed he died And now he’s….dead not alive Now he’s….dead not alive

Six Feet Under Sudbury Zombies like to eat gray matter In this guy’s case thar’s an empty platter Dumbass should have had more sense But he didn’t, so now he’s in the past tense Please get the shot so you don’t go forth like this foolish idjit from the great white North

YAKELY YAK Just quit a-posting all those memes I’m onto your Antiva schemes If you had took one little shot You wouldn’t be put underground to rot Yakely yak (yer on crack)

She Finally FAFOed Been wondering when this foolish one would meet her sorry fate This will be a short one, cause I’m tired and it’s late So long, farewell, auf wiedersehn and also sayonara The worms convey their gratitude for your MAGAt marinara

Mandibular Pendejo I’ve written my memorial poems for MAGATs bad and worse I’ve pointed out their foolish ways with ridiculing verse We’ve seen them all, and seen them fall with thought processes weird But till this day I’ve never done A poem for a beard! Mandibular pendejo ain’t the way to go If you want to avoid triage Safer by far to be shaven clean and not grow a cootie garage for the virus will say “Ooh, we like that!” and inhabit your cootie habitat Next thing you knows, your immune system went and the cooties still live in your beard, without rent So don’t be an idjit and don’t be an ass And shave that face just as smooth as glass

Fonergoner Pandemic and Covid comin' Ain’t getting that vaccine, no I hear ventilator hummin’' One dead in Ohio O2 is down now Spike protein cutting us down Let’s turn up his oxygen flow What if you knew he was Dumb as a box of rocks? “Where’d my fuckin’ horse paste go?” Na na-na-na, na-na na-na Na na-na-na, na-na na Na na-na-na, na-na na-na Na na-na-na, na-na na

Saturation I can't get O2 saturation I can't get O2 saturation 'Cause I cough, and I cough, and I cough, and I cough I can't get no, I can't get no When I'm on my Farcebook And my friends come on my feed They’re telling me more and more About some vaxxing information true Supposed to keep me from turning blue I can't get no, oh, no, no, no, hey, hey, hey That's what I say I can't get O2 saturation I can't get no oxygenation 'Cause I cough, and I cough, and I cough, and I cough I can't get no, I can't get no Well I’m in my bullshit world And I’m posting this and lyin’ bout that And I’m tryin’ to make some girl She says “Baby better come back, maybe next week, I got Covid clots in both my feet” Ree-deep (He croaked)

Angry Dick from the Florida Sticks Angry white guy full of rage Another meme, another page Drink too much? Was mom craycray? Was your brain just naturally made that way? Spouse’s O2, downward rampin’ You thought it best to keep on campin’ Her face turned blue, her tongue turned red Went into hospice and came out dead Did you miss her? Probably But you failed to connect points a and b: If she got the shot, she’d still have life And you’d not be looking for another wife

A Gaggle of Idiots A gaggle of idiots gathered to pray They badgered the Lord just to get their own way Did it make any difference? I don’t think so She’s still on the O2, highest rate flow I never thought it would ever come to this They take ivermectin, they drink their own piss Don’t forget zinc and vitamins too All that won’t stop the Cove from coming for you My heart’s long been hardened, I no longer care If they shit in the bed and they struggle for air This may sound cruel, but I think it is true: The world is a much saner place without you

Stick an American Fork in Her, Cause She is Done.... Laid low by a viral varmint Though she wore her temple garment Didn’t help her, not one bit Stuck in a hospital, sick as shit Near shuffled off her mortal coil In spite of the anointing oil Root cause of this awful mess? She overdosed on LDS

Another Caustic Acrostic Found out after effin around After a necrofeline rebound For life can turn to shit in a flash Oh, your wife will be spending Much Go Fraud Me cash And you won’t know, cause yer Gonna be below An acrostic for you, Mr. Blue

Weekend at Bernie’s, Strapped to a Gurney He looks like heck with a hole in his neck But damn, he owned them lib’ruls! Can barely talk, barely walk But damn, he owned them lib’ruls! Not much left but bones and skin Bedsores to fit a dead cat in Does he rue donning his hat of tin? Hell no, he owned them lib’ruls!