I don’t often have a chance to listen to Glenn Beck’s show in the mornings, but yesterday was an exception. And, oh boy, was it worth it. The whole thing arises from the revelation a few days ago that former Vice President Al Gore had concluded the first chapter of his new book with a poem. A crappy poem. And, since it doesn’t have a formal name that I know of, I’ve decided to title it myself:
I know that ten minutes for the Glenn Beck clip is a long time, but upon hearing Beck and Pat Gray and Stu Burguiere burning off a little excess time by playing with Gore’s poetry and delivery to Harry Smith, I couldn’t stop chuckling all day. And, I figured, with all that’s been going on, as frustrating as it all gets, y’all could probably use a chuckle, too.
Of course, I shouldn’t poke fun. After all, I’ve never had a knack for poetry myself. However, when news of Gore’s poem broke a few days ago, while walking through downtown Philadelphia, bundled up against a chilly breeze, I came up with a poem of my own.
If I may . . . ahem . . .
Violets are blue.
The global warming hoax is dead.
So shut the hell up already.