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The Poetry Thread

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Hush Twitter users, don’t say a word,
Elon Musk has promised to “free the bird”

And if that “free speech“ bird don’t sing,
Elon needs to shake down Steven King.

If all the blue checkmarks just laugh,
Then Elons gonna fire half the staff.

And if the advertisers flee,
Elon’s gonna say, “they hate liberty”.

And if the boycotts drive Twitter broke,
Elons gonna whine that you’ve all gone “woke”.

And though his business plan’s a mess,
Well Elons actually playing 3D chess.

Hush little nazi don’t you cry,
Cause Twitters just been bought by that “pedo guy”.

If you hate others, due to race,
Elons gonna make you your own safe space,

To post hate speech, and share fake news,
To bash the gays, and blame The Jews.

And if some users would rather not,
Well Elons gonna claim that they were all bots.

And when there’s no more libs to own,
Then Elon overpaid for a 4chan clone.

If he bankrupts Twitter, Musk won’t care,
That piece of shit will still be a billionaire.

/copy and pasted
 
"Plommer the Scammer"

In the north where the maple trees whisper and sway,
Lived a man named Plommer, who’d lead folk astray.
Not with a gun, nor a blade in his hand—
But with silver-tongued schemes and a digital brand.

He hailed from a town where the snow softly fell,
But his morals, you’d find, were cold as a shell.
With charm like a fox and a smile like a mask,
He’d promise you riches, just one little task.

“Just trust me,” he’d say, “I’ll triple your gain,”
While draining your wallet and laughing at pain.
A prince of false papers, a lord of fake links,
A master of PayPal and crypto that sinks.

Online he’d flourish, on forums and feeds,
Planting deceit like a gardener with seeds.
In real life, too, he’d weave and he’d wind,
A handshake, a promise, then gone with the wind.

He scammed the old widow who sold off her land,
He scammed the young artist with dreams in their hand.
No conscience to check him, no shame in his game,
He wore fraud like fashion, and thrived on the fame.

But whispers grew louder, from coast to the crest,
Of Plommer the Scammer, who wouldn’t let rest.
The net that he used, so wide and so sly,
Began to unravel beneath a watchful eye.

For even in Canada, cold and polite,
There’s fire for justice, there’s teeth in the night.
And somewhere a file grows fat with his name—
A warrant, a trial, an end to his game.

So heed this fair warning, be sharp, stay aware,
If Plommer comes calling with riches to spare.
Behind every message, behind every smile,
Could lie a deceiver with fraudulent guile.
 
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