His favorite carnival act had always been the Geek Throw,
watching the bodies hurl into the maw he felt a Queer dizzyness,
not felt since finding spoiled Lox deep int the chin whiskers of his Goatee,
And found by his own upper lip, thinking it had found a Cutie morsel of Interr sweetness.
Now the Horde of Lib-tards, in awkward Quad piles; he imagined the Farms that bred them;
a land without Sun, with fitness of enforced Jigs and dinners of squirming Bug Pie.
He felt they were unlikely Kin, and himself a Cad;
he began a Yern-clawing of his beard, as if it were on Loan
from an Oaf; a Lein against his entire summer crop of golden Oat.
(Quiddler Poem of ED 11/24/2022)