The Rape of the Wart

And now, unveil'd, Paine's Toilet stands display'd,
Each silver Vase in mystic order laid!

With such a prize no mortal must be blest,
So Ben decrees! With Ben who can contest?

There Tryworks nit-wits rest in formite [sic] vases,
And Wart resides in snuff-boxes and tweezer-cases.

Cages for gnats, and chains to yoke a flea,
Dry'd butterflies, and tomes of casuistry...

But trust the Muse--she saw the Wardo's lies,
Tho' mark'd by none but quick, poetic eyes.

Oh, Blogosphere! Behold Wart's Rumor as it flies,
And monstrous grows to spread half-truths and lies!

Her keys, the fiery Termagant aflame,
Tuned up, and hissed, "A pox on Wardo's name!"

(When to mischief mortals bend their will,
How soon they find fit instruments of ill!)

Just then, a Pirate drew with tempting grace
A two-edg'd weapon from his shining case.

The Pirate spreads the glitt'ring Forfex wide,
T' inclose the Lie; now joins it, to divide.

The meeting points old Wardo's lies dissever (Heh!)
From the ex-Professor, for ever, and for ever!

Then flash'd the living lightning from his eyes,
And screams of "Cointelpro" rend affrighted skies!
Not louder shrieks to pitying heav'n are cast,
When spouses, or when Indnz breathe their last.

Methinks already I your tears survey,
Already hear the horrid things they say,
Already see you: a degraded toast,
Your honour shredded by a blogger's post!

The pox forever curse this hated day,
Which snatch'd Wart's best, his fo'mite lie away!

For, after all the murders of your eye,
When, after millions slain, yourself shall die,

Your reign of lies shall end, as end it must,
Tho' all Paine's marbled bathrooms turn to dust.

Wart's faux pox, the Muse shall consecrate to shame,
And to the Blogosphere consign Ben Whitmer's name!

(Picture credit for the toilet; Apologies to Alexander Pope!)