Mr. Hebdo Gave me a Wedgie.


Mr. Hebdo sat on my head and wouldn’t stop pulling my beard,
How could I hold to my lovely distraction when dealing with something so weird?
Mr. Hebdo laughs like an imp who spills all the drinks on the floor,
Ruining carpets and taking a toll on my sanity just like a bore.

Mr. Hebdo, why do you make my life such such a notable pain?
How can you live with yourself when it’s all you can do just to drive me insane?
Mr. Hebdo patted my back and brought me back down to the Earth,
Bade me to look out the window to see all the neighbors inflated with worth,

Mr. Hebdo gave me a wedgie only to help me to see,
How that we need to be brought down a peg, and he whispered “Je suis Charlie.”


Could be Con (nah..)


With zany do did Jabberwock,
A cranky row of teeth displease,
Whence Alf the vapid critter faced,
In sitcoms measureless by taste,
up to a moonless Bea.
So six high piles of mess of bull,
With stank and vapor on the whole,
And there were Golden Girls with Nealson thrills,
Where bosomed many an adolescent boy,
by cultured hoarists patient as a Phil,
Exposing crazy guests for all to see.

Sew butts! that extra fatty tissue which molded
Round the smooth hill to shape a gluteus measure!
A squishy place! unholy and upholded
And where beneath a waxing moon cuckolded
Bea Arthur sailing by her doctor’s order!
So that her buttocks, with boundless extra stuffing,
Can get a rest before the Emmy’s strutting,
A mighty laughtrack momently was flopped:
Amid which mom half-interested plopped
Big kernels flipping down around the bucket,
The couch now full of treasured popcorn nugget:
Amid those noshing corn with salt and butter,
There rose with subtlety a mild titter.
Alf styled his nattering ’round an Elvissed notion
Bouffant big shnozz a toothy grin apace,
He made the sitcom measureless by taste,
That broke the brainpan of the critics’ station;
Above the carpet red with celeb’ blood
They danced and jeered at Jabberwocky’s cause,

The gnashing of his cranky teeth
Sounded harshly in the mics;
Where the ghost of (Ledger) Heath,
Chatted glib with Wanda (Sykes),

It was silly trope of common form,
To see a monster so deny the porn!

A lovely with a telephone
In a show that he once watched:
She was a Californian babe
And by her phone she laid,
Lounging with Alf the vapid.
To end up photoshopping
The Jabberwocky’s face
To her deep delight ‘twould get her,
Extra plastic sorts of grace
And she sold that tape on air,
What grainy vid! those tones of flesh!

And all who bought her video,
They all did cry, Beware! Beware!
Her crazy eyes, his frizzy hair!
It’s just Alf, not Jabberwocky
And close your eyes with holy dread
For we on media hath fed,
And drunk the swag of Marketing.