‘Crazy Jarrod is what they all said,
The lies in that f… fake newspaper I read!
This is all their fault, they made me see red,
And now all over this paper my story’s spread.’
How my grievances hit the front page,
Jarrod, famous, is standing centre stage,
My word being ignored was the real outrage
So I punctuated my point with a twelve gauge.
Back to my safe secure cell I’m silently led,
There to to contemplate my sins on my single bed,
Oh, to say I’m sane or blame the ‘voices’ in my head?
Option One leaves the NRA legal team in mortal dread.
(This is not meant to be flippant, its more with a sense of weary resignation.)
I awaited the New Press with eager eyes,
They looked, downcast, at its meagre size,
I’d heard there’d be much content within;
That argument is most evidently paper thin.
Apart from yesterdays news or next weeks TV guide,
My purchase of the Press can no longer be justified,
Claiming ‘less is more’ does not jibe with this scribe;
This is a poor wee paper to which I cannot subscribe.