By the Darn-Poor Rhymer
(To be sung to “While shepherds watched their flocks by night”)
There is a pond not far away,
Where lived a small white shark;
And he resolved to have his way,
And give the world some snark.
He picked a place called WriterBeat,
And avatar right scary;
Mouth open, Mogg thought he could eat
All comers, smooth or hairy.
At first, his comments and his posts
Some liked, and some did hear;
But soon, his distaste for his hosts
Increasingly was clear.
His titles were insulting; and
If you tried to “deny,”
He’d soon delete your finest hand-
Crafted, germane reply.
And his own comments he did plot
Soon after to erase;
His posts became just “dot dot dot,”
Our memories to faze.
Mogg Tsur, you think you’re Moby Dick?
The Great White, Prince of Whales?
Why don’t you see that you’re a prick?
My understanding fails.
Go back, young Mogg, to your old pond,
Go back where you belong;
The people here will not be fond
Of you, if you stay long.