The Autumn Windbag is a moron,
Blustering in from TV,
Constantly wrong, he drones along,
Yammering incoherently.
His collar is vermin-eaten,
He wears a bag of trash,
With a tinfoil hat above his head,
Spewing some balderdash.
He groans as he opines dumbly,
A pundit’s brain of mold.
And the producers shake and quiver and fake,
As he embodies the perfect scold.
The Autumn Windbag is a nitwit,
Pontificating just for fun.
He’ll embarrass himself and act like a bum,
And cry when he’s cancelled and done.
*With apologies to the late Steve Sabol and the great John Facenda.
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