Not quite Pope, nor even Dryden

I came up with this, in (bad) imitation of Pope, after seeing some of John M. Ford's pastiches and parodies.

A fragment of Pope

Those who believe that life might still be fair

Hearken not to the voices on the publique air.

What man could dream, or hope, or even think

In that miasmic, neo-fascist stink?

Consider Limbaugh, whose fans have but the wit to

Call in to commend him with a plain ‘Rush, ditto’.

Easy for him the poor and dark to tell

‘Justice for you, would be for me a Hell’.

A feminazi is a woman who

Has her own vision and point of view;

To Limbaugh that is simply quite as bad

As anyone proclaiming that he’s mad.

Even more outrageous is one who pokes

Fun at the total lameness of his jokes.

Beyond the Limbot, there’s that flower of vanity

The right-wing poser by the name of Hannity.

For him, the easiest thing of all’s to blame

The faults of others for his own self’s shame.

Michael Schiavo for him’s an evil man,

Who interferes with the god-ordainéd plan

To sustain life when mind and soul are gone,

And Hannity rants on, and on, and on,

Inviting all within the land to hear

How he alone knows how to hold life dear.

Here in Atlanta, there’s Neal Boortz, for sure

His name lies, for it means ‘son of a boor’,

And he’s a boor himself, for whom the plight

Of sufferers matters only when they’re white

And rich, and fighting for the power to keep

Those under the flight path from needful sleep.

‘Tis pity that throughout the sunny South

All sewage seems to flow from out his mouth.

All through the morning, his large teeth clack

With contumely for anyone who’s black.

O’Reilly claims to speak for common folk,

Explodes in anger at the smallest joke;

Telling all the critics of Bush’s war

To remain silent if they know what for.

Not fair nor balanced, but we know he’ll sue

If anyone disdains his point of view,

Or show’s that he’s gone far beyond the noddy

In claiming falsely to have won a Peabody.