"Yet let us ponder boldly—’tis a base abandonment of reason to resign our right of thought."

Lord Byron


In the halcyon days of 2006

(When, as I recall, fewer heretics

Roamed the earth), a bold company was conceived,

In whose potential, everyone believed.

It billed itself as the new public square,

A place of untamed and unfettered air;

A place, ‘round which, witty salvoes could fly,

Hot-takes bounce, and fierce arguments vie.

It favored those who, with crisp brevity

Could “pwn” someone with jocularity,

Or, to a post devastatingly short,

Thrust right back with a sharp, lethal retort.

It was, as I said, an air wild and free

Full of links, laughs, gifs, and quick repartee;

All thoughts were welcome, no ideas proscribed

All bibulous banter was warmly imbibed.

All users drank deep from liberty’s well

And leapt at the notification’s bell!

’Twas a place unclean, not without litter

But we loved it still, and called it Twitter.

But, through the years, Twitter underwent change

And, for freedom, censorship did exchange.

No longer was it a platform for all

But a big, unbending, left-leaning wall;

A bastion behind which good leftists went

Where, from the real world, they’d retire and vent

Amongst themselves. And their followers grew!

To them did the spoils of Twitter accrue.

Check marks, like blessings, were conferred on them

Bedazzling their profiles like bright, blue gems.

And, in time, there developed a schism

As something corrupted the algorithm.

All the sudden, the technology changed;

The wires were crossed, the software rearranged

So that conservatives were excluded

From those fine jewels to which I alluded.

For reasons that no one could understand

Tweets from conservatives were “shadow-banned”.

If they proclaimed opinions deemed untoward

By the vengeful, wrathful, “woke” corporate board

(A group of censorious, leftist mules

Who acts, supinely, like Democrat tools

And follows, like lemmings, ideologues

Over the steep, mean cliffs of rancorous blogs)

They would be silenced, unfollowed, or blocked;

Of their reach stripped, their sacred blue-checks defrocked;

From this high place, excommunicated

Cast off to “Parler”, where…no one waited.

It happened to those who Gasp! Dared “dead name”

Those whose genitals were not quite the same

As before. Or those with the temerity

To publish Hunter Biden’s “Laptop” story.

For the first sin, the Babylon Bee paid;

For the second, the New York Post was blamed.

Each, from its account, was barred, suspended

Enjoined to tweet, until it amended

Its language. I ask, does this sound quite free?

To quiet those who, with legitimacy,

Disclose to us highly relevant facts

Or satirize clowns to make us all laugh?

And, lest we forget, the boldest of moves:

From the site, President Trump was removed,

A choice made after that infamous rally

After which Trump inexplicably dallied

To quell the horde. We remember the day–

January sixth, as though ‘twere yesterday.

Inexcusable, sure, was his response

(With which we’ll deal later, not for the nonce).

But did it justify his being banned,

While evil dictators continue to stand

On the site? Their stance unshook and secure

About their calls to violence, no less demure;

No less restrained in their calls for the death

Of those on whom they pour their poisonous breath.

Somehow, their evil continues to stand

As they elude the slightest reprimand.

In steps, at this point, a peculiar man

A Canadian-reared white African

Who, as a boy, more precocious than most,

Had brains of which an old genius might boast.

Brought to the states at the age of nineteen

Restless in pursuit of his lofty dream

Not only to charge e-payments online,

But the term “EV”, at once to define.

Like Alexander, whose greatness no place

Could hold, he sought his next boon up in space.

Now, with his rockets, we flirt with the stars

And aim, very soon, to colonize Mars.

From planets to brains, he opted to sink

To probe our minds with his strange Neuralink.

And, sinking lower, quite deep in the ground

His Boring company digs tunnels around.

Who is this man, who’s accomplished so much?

None but the deprecated Elon Musk!

“Deprecated”--how on earth can this be?

Is not Musk the perfect epitome

Of America? A foreigner born,

(Of that place, no less, of mankind’s morn–

Where, beneath the sun of Africa’s heat

Homo Sapiens first walked on two bare feet)

He came here, and, through grit and enterprise,

Has not only touched, but conquered the skies.

But this fallen god finds himself despised;

Scorned by the left, by his old friends chastised.

Why? He made a move to purchase Twitter

(That place where our scarce time goes to fritter!

Where free-thinkers like him are oft scolded

If they resist the narratives molded).

Flush with cash and of more funding availed,

To Twitter’s HQ, Musk buoyantly sailed,

Hoping there to find a welcoming port

But meeting, instead, an unfriendly sort.

This board, about whom we’ve heard so much since,

Included a Saudi Arabian prince!

And many others, to Musk’s view unkind–

To his passion, cool, and his vision, blind.

At best, to his coming, they were lukewarm,

And planned to sink him in a brewing storm.

To be a part-owner, with their consent

Musk offered a sizeable ten percent

(Against which his enemies pushed and bristled,

In response to which his supporters whistled!)

By this brash offer, the board was displeased

And planned to kick Musk behind his rich knees:

In a desperate effort, this deal to kill,

They prescribed what’s known as a “poison pill”.

For financial terms, elsewhere must you go…

And yet, at the least, this much should you know:

A “poison pill”, as it’s casually termed,

Is used to defend a vulnerable firm

From being usurped. By whom? Well, another

Who’s well-equipped for a hostile takeover.

To dilute his stake was their shrewd intent

That Elon was able to circumvent.

He did so by hatching a plan that night:

“Your poison be damned! I’ll buy you outright!”

Of all true “boss” moves, I know no greater

Than that employed by this great innovator.

Now he’s the sole, free-spirited owner

Of the once, now again, free-spirited Twitter.

Yet, at this, ostensible “Liberals” raged!

(Proving, again, from their name disengaged)

The thought of all speech, unfettered and free

Was met by the Left with hostility.

Their shrill throats filled with loud, barbaric cries

Sounding democracy’s imminent demise;

Warning that if, free speech were untrammeled,

Our soft body politic would be trampled

On. This! From those who protested Berkeley

For its perceived assaults on liberty!

From those on whom the downtrodden rely

To give voice!--when out, the voiceless can’t cry.

Now, the Left has revealed its true color:

Black–the shade beneath which freedom’s smothered.

Yet, with some luck, we’ve seen through this long night

With Musk, at the head, providing the light.

So, cheers to Twitter! A new chapter awaits

Let’s unlock the pads, and open the gates.

Success, ‘tis said, yet more success begets–

On the prosperous rains ever more profits.

So reads the adage of the Gospel’s Jew:

The iron law, the Effect of Matthew.

“To him who has much, more will be given;

A yacht, a car, a mansion to live in!

From him who has less, though, all will be stripped,

By want afflicted, by poverty nipped;

To whose fearsome bite, he’ll no doubt succumb

For, to penury’s fangs, no one is numb”.

Against this harsh law, there’s no argument

Though it little allays the discontent

Of the poor. And to the poor, we must add

A “news” network so immeasurably bad

That a pauper, in coarse indigence clothed,

By all the world scorned and everyone loathed,

Would prefer to starve on scraps of stale crust

Than suffer a day with CNN+.

The streaming service, launched a month ago

Proved from the start inauspiciously slow

At gaining viewers. “What a shocking surprise!”--

Said no one with unclouded ears and eyes.

Why, for a fee, would you mindlessly watch

A pundit as bright as an unlit match?

A panel of experts whom you can’t trust?--

For such is the talent on CNN+.

Into this doomed venture, millions were sunk

By lusty Jeff Zucker, on his own power drunk;

Who, with an underling, had an affair

(A fine example by a network chair!)

For which, from his seat, he was promptly expelled

To the sound of which his career’s been knelled.

His replacement’s been named: Mr. Chris Licht–

A man stronger built, and less derelict.

Much of the blame has now fallen on Zucker

Once the recipient of vast corporate succor.

Don’t forget–CNN’s dad is Ted Turner

Whose filial bond is to the Brothers Warner.

Neither, on Zucker, was especially keen

Whose ouster has been anything but clean;

Who leaves, as he came, in ignominy,

The scoundrel of a shameful company.

At his behest, CNN plus was launched

With whose leave, ‘tis hoped, the bleeding’s been staunched.

But still, the network hemorrhages credit

And is trusted less than a thread on Reddit!

(Through which, for fun, I’d advise you to scroll

Who knows! You might just encounter a troll!

A sower of strife, of untruth, a peddler

Into all things an unscrupulous meddler!

He by whom misinformation is claimed

Wait…does not CNN do just the same?

Is one to be heeded, the other, scorned

When, in deceit, both are fully adorned?

Both are allergic to veracity

And sneeze at whiffs of legitimacy.

The trouble, though, is that one will pretend

To be, to candor, a devoted friend;

An ally of frank, disinterested truth

Conveyed by someone trustworthy and couth.

The other hides behind no such pretense

And inflicts on its viewer no like offense).

Remember–it wasn’t so long ago

The network proudly boasted Chris Cuomo

Whose brash journalistic misbehavior

Made him, to his trade, a baldfaced traitor.

Onto his show, he welcomed a brother

Whose scandals Chris refused to uncover:

Like the deaths of thousands of New York’s aged

Or the sex abuse in which he engaged.

(An approach to women, I’m sad to relate,

Chris, led by Andrew, did imitate).

Of all his misconduct, CNN tired

And, eventually, Chris Cuomo was fired.

We mustn’t, of course, forget Don Lemon

(A vain, mean, insufferable specimen!)

Who, in control of a platform so grand

Has neither wit nor style at his command.

Of meaningless tripe he every night speaks

As empty rhetoric flows out of his cheeks.

And worse! Other things fall out of his pants

At which even his fans can’t but look askance.

Some years ago, after fondling his part,

Rubbing the head that makes all men less smart,

He smeared on an innocent waiter’s face

The loathsome juice of that foul, nether place.

For this, by the man, the police were called

Yet one doubts Don’s deviance has been much stalled.

If, chaste reader, by that you’ve been sickened,

Your temperature raised, your heart rate quickened,

Your stomach up-turned, your nausea provoked

More illness, I fear, is soon to be stoked.

Let us recall a one Jeffery Toobin

Renowned for his great legal acumen;

His polished presence, upright and urbane

Erect as a proud cocksure weathervane.

Excuse, if you would, the crude innuendo!--

Such sordid expressions are far below

My taste. I confess, my tongue feels quite crude

When it deigns to talk of a man so lewd.

During a Zoom Call, in a lustful trice

He sought to indulge his solitary vice.

He pleasured himself, or so it is said,

Consulting with his less intelligent head.

Rubbing himself like a brute troglodyte

And giving his colleagues an awful fright;

Soiling their screens with his tumescent flesh

Which only grew more when they clicked, “refresh”.

Accuse me not of equivocating:

Toobin was seen to be masturbating!

There! I said it!--though it troubles my mind

To think with him, CNN’s still aligned.

And so, with that, as I move toward closing,

I ask of you the questions following:

What are we to make of such a network?

‘Round which every corner, two perverts lurk?

Whose staff is of virtues utterly bare

From its lead anchors, to its network chair?

An intemperate channel, laden by vice–

From whom we’re to take our news and advice?

No. CNN undeserves our regard;

Its reputation is burnt, frayed, and charred.

Yet still–it had the vain audacity

To branch off and start a new company

A “premiere service” with eyes on our purse

To fund a network that’s only got worse.

Now, like rubbish, laying dead in the dust

Is the aborted corpse of CNN+.

It scarce saw a month before it collapsed

To which we bid, CIAO!--why not? in all caps.

The tree of government is triply branched,

In three portions split, in three segments tranched:

Nearest the root is where Congress is housed

(Of whose brainless bugs, it should be deloused!)

The branch Executive, next in esteem

Is led by a dotard whom we must deem

Diminished—If the case be made quite plain

Of a man for whom we’ve naught but disdain.

Climbing up our Constitutional tree

We grasp the slight branch of article three.

Of its worth, our Founders thought so little

They hardly gave it a jot or tittle!

But lo! Mark well how the times have been changed

The Articles shuffled and re-arranged,

So that, in a flash, the third is the first

The order upended, turned, and reversed.

Now, we look at with submission and awe

Not those who make, but interpret the law:

Nine lawyers in gowns of solemn black robed

On whom, regrettably, we have bestowed

Lifetime appointments. What a strange decree

Made by a putative democracy!

Here’s a high caste who fears no removal—

Deaf to the people’s loud disapproval.

Upon this third branch alights a new face—

One selected for her sex and her race;

For the womb she wields, the tint of her skin

Yes!—These are the conditions of Joe Biden!

“Find me a woman!”, said he to his staff

(In a lucid moment, before a gaffe…)

“One whose chrom’somes, when counted, number two,

One whose pigment bears an ebony hue;

One whose legal theory matters much less

Than the female parts that hide ‘neath her dress;

One well equipped with vagina and breasts—

Don’t bother with grades on her law school tests!

They’re no good measure for true competence,

For knowing a jurist’s jurisprudence.

No—Such Matters are grossly archaic,

Just assure me she lacks balls and a d***.

Assure me she’s black, with no hint of white

For, as you know, that pale race is a blight!

You hear me, you dog-faced pony soldier?—

Time is wasting, and I’m getting older.

Now go! Find this gal, and keep your search short,

Bring me a black woman for the high court!”

So said the man who’s whiter than paper,

Feebler than tissue, lighter than vapor;

Clad in his colorless Scotch-Irish skin,

This dismantler of “Whiteness”—Joe Biden.

His staff then nodded, in happy assent

Pleased that their boss would keep his covenant;

For did he not promise, some years ago,

That on a black woman, he would bestow

The appointment? Now, the timing was ripe

For him to make good on his campaign’s hype!

All that was needed was an open spot

With which he could fill his pick of the lot.

At last arrived the opportunity

(Perhaps to save his dead presidency).

Concluding his service, set to retire

Was the forgettable Justice Breyer.

For his replacement, a search had begun

That led to Miss Ketanji Brown-Jackson:

A woman adorned by every merit

A “dazzling” candidate fit to inherit

Steve’s chair. But first, she must appear before

Senators amassed on the chamber floor.

Of questions posed to her, there was no lack—

Some modest in tone, some pitched to attack;

Some were awash in rank sycophancy

While others quizzed her biologically.

By New Jersey’s finest, Cory Booker

(A second-rate dramatist and looker)

Brown was eulogized, right there on the spot,

As if by a wine-drunk lachrymose sot.

For sobriety, though, and shedding of light,

Real, honest inquiry, and deeper insight,

It’s not to fawning Democrats we turn,

But the probing mind of Marsha Blackburn.

She spent her brief hour of inquisition

Asking the judge for a definition,

Not of laws civil, crim’nal, nor common,

But of that bewildering thing called “woman”.

“What is a woman?”, the senator asked,

Her true purpose veiled, in innocence masked;

For she knew, by asking, she’d set a trap

‘Round which, at most, Miss-Brown Jackson would tap.

But tap she would not! She declined, instead

To speak the blunt, obvious truth in her head;

To announce right there, unequivocally

There’s quite a large difference ‘tween “he” and “she”;

That the two, in kind, are rather unique

And not at all veiled in “gendered” mystique;

That a male, well-muscled, burly and strong

Has, between his thighs, an organ that’s long;

That, when aroused, stretches up to the sky

(Stirred by his giddy Chromosomal “Y”!)

And that, for the sex that’s dainty and fair,

No such erection encounters the air;

No rising phallus, full-swollen with glee—

No—she wears her passion with more subtlety.

Forsooth! It more oft goes undetected

A light unlit, a tower un-erected.

But on Ms. Brown-Jackson, all this was lost:

As She remained terse, no matter the cost.

To Blackburn’s question, her answer was brief,

Yet so long on nonsense, it beggars belief.

“What is a Woman? Ms. Brown, do you know?”

To which the judge sheepishly answered, “No”.

“Of sex, I fear, I’ve not quite got the gist.

What do I look like? A biologist?!

A master of such inscrutable arts

As where a male ends, and a female starts?

’Tis a complex field in which I’m unschooled

By which all are misled, and many fooled.

Sadly, I lack the keen erudition

To probe this dense, impregnable question.

You ask if a woman I can define:

I haven’t the power; I’ll have to decline”.

Thus saith Brown! Our new justice Supreme

Whose radical bent, straight charms can’t redeem.

So as to avoid my speaking amiss

I’ll end my importunate poem with this:

By failing to know her biology

Brown’s divulged her gross ideology.