Tag: dealing with idiots

From twitter:

Donald was a curious child,
His hands were small, his hair was wild,
His face was orange like the sun,
He liked to make up words for fun.

But the curiousest thing of all,
A thing so bigly, yet so small,
The little chap had no control,
Of where his fingers chose to stroll.

Where’er he went, his palms would itch,
His tiny digits start to twitch,
They simply just could not resist,
Pressing that and squeezing this

Donald’s riches were untold,
He was obsessed with all things gold.
He lived atop a golden tower,
And loved to take a golden shower.

But Donald wasn’t satisfied
He stomped his feet and cried and cried,
He pulled a face and sucked his thumb,
He even made the Pope look glum

Everyone the small boy met,
Bemoaned his lack of etiquette,
Tall, short, old, young, slim or fat,
They all cried,
“Donald, DON’T DO THAT!”

Keen to stem his groping habit,
Don’s mother thought to buy a rabbit,
And so one Tuesday off they set,
To Mr Melnik’s World of Pets . .

But soon as he ran thru the door
There came a most almighty roar
Of grunts, barks, squawks and squeaking
(He wasn’t good at public speaking)

He rang the budgies’ tiny bells
Prised the turtles from their shells
He didn’t care, wasn’t fussy
He stroked each puppy, grabbed each pussy

‘Out!’ the owner reprimanded,
And so the boy left empty-handed,
Aside from fur clumps and, I fear,
A very tiny piece of ear.

Leaving Melnik and his critters,
Suffering from ticks and jitters,
And also, thanks to our marauder,
Post-traumatic stress disorder.

But there was one place, I recall,
Where Donald acted worst of all,
The boy just wasn’t made for schools,
He simply couldn’t follow rules!

He had no tact, he had no filter
His social skills were out of kilter
The only thing he knew to do
Was yell and yell till class was through

In fact the only friend he had,
Was a strange young fella name of Vlad,
Who drank vodka and Tabasco sauce,
Bare-chested on the rocking horse

Young Donald couldn’t see the harm,
In setting off the fire alarm,
(That naughty little trouble glutton,
Could not resist a big red button)

And when the school had congregated,
In the playground, agitated
Once five minutes had expired,
He’d jump and yell ‘You’ve all been fired!’

It may be true that Donald tried,
To be upright and dignified,
But sad to say, the proverb stands,
The Devil makes work for tiny hands.

Try and try as best he might,
Poor Donald simply couldn’t write,
His teacher stared in disbelief,
When he spelled coverage ‘covfefe’!

Young Donald built a wall one day,
To keep the Mexicans at bay,
But when he said ‘Call me El Jefe!’
They stuck the bricks up his #covfefe.

Making trouble was a cinch,
For the little orange grinch,
He ran with scissors, tugged girls’ hair,
His tiny hands were everywhere!

When Donald set his school aflame,
The fire chief asked who was to blame.
He said, “I cannot tell a lie,
It must have been the FBI.”

Though Donald never touched the booze,
He believed in aliens and Fox News,
Santa, Bigfoot, all things strange
Everything but climate change!

Donald blew his vast resources
On cheeseburgers and new golf courses.
Cash that would be better spent
On meds and anger management.

“Oh Donald!” cried his mother sadly,
“How did you do quite so badly?”
“It’s all lies!” was his retort,
“It must be a fake school report!”

Donald’s face was big and orange,
Which made it very difficult to write a satirical poem about him…