Grok me, or disagree with my sub-jest-ion?
Whether 'tis soberer not to mind some duffer
Whose thinking narrows at outrageous fore-pun,
Or to shrug arms, incensed at Teletubbies;
As for composing, end it? To write: of sheep,
No more; deny a bleep, I say, and end
The heartbreak of the thousand factual yocks
None fresh compare to; 'tis just consternation
Undoubt'ly to be dished. Good-bye, Bo Peep;
Too deep: askance to seem; *I* dare to sub;
For having reaped MacBeth, when schemes may come,
Will feathers ruffle? Scoff? Or chortles roil?
Not give applause? Bear disrespect
To write such comedy and prolong strife?
For who would bear the Ones and scorn of rhyme
Who assess my song; the crowd fans consume me,
Harangues at despised guff, because, they say,
Intelligence gives offense; hence the spurns
Impatience ferrets from such wordy takes
When I myself could simpler treatise make
That could bear grokkin'? Better farters' fare
Than blunt vignette, wonderful theory, rife;
But for the head of someone (daft for meth?)
Whose undercover pun spree, if not porn,
No commenter discerns; muzzles the thrill
And makes us rather bare those skills we have
Than lie to others: that we know not much.
Thus knowledge, though empowered, not enthrall;
And thus creative do eschew solution
Of quick read, for witty tale, vast in thought;
Don't enter prizes for the S-O-T-M
And disregard recurrent "no reply"
For our own satisfaction. Disavow
The mass appeal (d'uh!)! Self, in thy cognizance
Are all my puns well-render'd.