The Grand Old Party.
A Q-Anon brand batty.
Hear this new problem.
Conspiracy theories emblem.
It's time to question the claim.
An answer must find blame.
What are we ready to say?
Our job is not erudition per se.
Retrogrades adopted a melting logic.
A funeral-home sex-shop view is myopic.
It gives a sad day to the spray-on hair.
There the idiotic embraced the riot swear.
With fascism's apathy-partisan brain
They drive a choo-choo train.
They run like clowns down a drain.
Along, they hurry and scurry.
Finally, dawn scours their dead tree.
Where electric saws shake hands
with the voters, cut the vexing spree.
Now, compassion duly wards the land.
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