Jack Brown What a clown He got concussed He lost our trust He’s now a Libertarian. Bald Spot Brain rot If not before Then surely henceforth. Then it’s official, now: We’re having a cow The Bald Spot’s lost its leftist lean It’s achieved a capitalist gleam: Arma virumque canō, Trōiae quī prīmus ab ōrīs Ītaliam, fātō profugus, Lāvīniaque vēnit lītora, multum ille et terrīs iactātus et altō vī superum saevae memorem Iūnōnis ob īram; multa quoque et bellō passūs, dum conderet urbem, inferretque deōs Latiō, genus unde Latīnum, Albānīque patrēs, atque altae moenia Rōmae. How now, brown cow, How was Jack Brown smacked on the brow? Mayhaps he was doing his laundry And in quite a quandary As he penned the following, Conscious not of his doom impending: The clothes spin, I put them in the bin, A lonely smile, I wait a while. Mayhaps as his pen left the paper, Only realizing much later That a horde of mice Didn’t think twice Before sweeping him off his feet And making his forehead laundry machine meet. Le smack. Concussèd. Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? No. We don’t have time for that. Jack Brown is concussed.