Size Matters

Only some marketing whore, used to dealing in lies
Could attach a deceptive label such as "Fun Size"
To a candy bar that now doesn't comprise
Much more that a nibble or bite.
Tell me, Ms. Contemptible Corporate Shill,
When you go out at night to drink your fill,
To dull your inhibitions til your voice gets shrill,
Would you rather guzzle a shot of beer or a pint?

You unctuous twit, your use of language is slick,
But when you go out looking for love, or a quick
Bedroom romp, would you a ten inch member pick
Or a little stubby five inch "Fun Size" friend?
Sure, selling lies will always be your vocation
But if you swear that you'd prefer a two day vacation
To a couple of weeks in some exotic location,
I'd find that falsehood hard to comprehend.

You show us a compact and call it a luxury car,
You market a night light and call it  an "Evening Star"
When it comes to quality you keeping lowering the bar
There's no lie too far-fetched for you not to shout it.
It's all about sound bytes, mini bites, Little blights
of deceit calculated to cheat us. Our treats and delights
Are being wrested from us by advertising parasites.
What's sad is that we're not even getting angry about it.

"Fun Size!'  Just call it "Getting Less for More Size,"
A dumbing down of merchandise in the guise
Of doing it for our own good or whatever other lies
Dishonest sacks of shit like you shovel our way.
Deluding the very public that you've come to despise
You've become the architect of Honest Value's demise.
It's time for us to wise up and refuse to patronize
Those who strive to deceive with the words that they say.

Postwar Hogan's Heroes

In the aftermath of Nuremburg
The Allies cast the net out
To pull in Nazis of lesser infamy.
General Burkhalter ratted out Colonel Klink,
Then took a powder to Argentina
To play pinochle with Doctor Mengele.

The morning of Wilhelm Klink's trial,
A long black limousine pulled up
To monopolize the parking space
In front of the Judicial Building.
Corporal Newkirk, the charming con-man, card sharp
 And master of disguise, roused himself from his dream
Of changing his name to "Richard Dawson"
And becoming a randy game show host
To mutter, "Jesus Christ!  Won't you look at that?"

"That's old Sergeant Schultz," Frenchy LeBeau exclaimed.
"I'd heard that he made a killing in the Black Market
 During the war, but I never believed it until now."

"That bloody clever rotter!" Newkirk chortled,
Laughing the appreciative glee of a scammer
Who recognizes the beauty of someone else's con.

"When that old fox kept telling us and telling us
'I know nothing.  NOTHING!'

That shrewd old son of a bitch
Really DID know something."