I've just lost something very precious to me, namely a post. And now it is gone for good.

There is rage boiling and bubbling deep within my thoracic cavity, roughly where the Matrix would be if I were Optimus Prime and not a middle-class North American male. Instead of recreating the post, I will write a song.

Norteamericano,
No time for your bat guano
Westchester County Executive
Andrew Spano,
I'm en el bano
Would you care to pay my taxes?
Answer my many faxes?
I didn't think so,
Roe
v. Wade, I am ambivalent
Stare decisis, my parents are both immigrants
That's enough bling-bling, you make my eyes squint
Clint Bolick,
You sick,
As in dope, not meretricious
Never vicious, and I'm always suspicious
Of rogue states and bald pates
And pu-pu platters
Mad Hatters, haberdashers
Where my hats at?
Pat Sajak for President
Why, you ask?
I'd say the answer's self-evident
You half-time resident,
Passin' through in your bungalow
Your funds low