THE FINE REPORT

Some fun, for the rest of us

 

The poem the retard posted:

–The hope of even seeing you again
was leaving me;
and I asked myself if this which shuts me out
from every sense of you, this screen of images,
is marked by death, or if, out of the past,
but deformed and diminished, it involves
some flash of yours:
(under the arcades, at Modena,
a servant in gold braid dragged
two jackals on a leash).

http://andrewsullivan.thedailybeast.com/2012/10/a-poem-for-sunday-2.html

 

 

The Fine Report’s rewrite:

–The hope of never seeing you again
was filling me;
and I asked how the @#$% you ever got elected
every nauseating image of you,
is marked by death, or if, out of the past,
but deformed and diminished, it involves
some stupidity of yours:
(under the arcades, at Modena,
I see your grotesque wife taking another free vacation on my dime;
but also two jackasses getting thrown out of the White House).

 

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