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.