The hubris-coated Thug-in-Chief
Has boasted how, beyond belief,
After a hundred days or less
Of futile spinning in a mess,
His nomination to the court
Has been approved—that’s very short.
He boasts it a great victory,
But—as well all the world can see—
The while he croons it, waxing lyric,
There is a type of win called “pyrrhic,”
In this case quite applicable
Since by a means despicable.
The credit goes to Mitch McConnell,
A creepy sort of man iguanal,
Who exercised all kind of tricks
To get the best in politics
Despite, because his moral void
Two branches may have been destroyed.
Both legislative and judicial
Expedience made sacrificial,
Rendering one, the court of law,
Dishonest, by a fraud still raw;
The other, indissolubly
A stasis pit of contumely.
The country he has set upon
The course of being left undone,
Irreparable harm as must ensue
Corrupted bodies, rank, untrue,
Meanwhile vain simpletons yet boast
Their victory, and raise a toast.
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