A Sorry Story

NOW think you well, you liars dear,
These words which I shall write;
A sorry story you shall hear,
In time brought forth to light.
A podunker of low account
In Podunk dwelt of late,
Who did in lying far surmount
Most men in his small state.

Insane he was and did oft lie,
About which he knew were true;
His bud told him he just might fry,
For things in life you do.
No words were heard by this dumbass,
So typical of his kind;
In lies he lives, with lies he’ll pass,
Unable to wipe his behind:

He cries and screams when with critique
About the junk he writes.
Your poems are hateful he would shriek
Referring to my great insights.
Only I am published he blurted out
And thus I know your junk.
But all he did was sit and spout
The lies of the lib’ral podunk!