Previously on “The Craven” (No.257.1, No. 258)
Once upon a midnight tweeting. . .
Repeating lies of greater size. . .
“It's Robert Mueller!”
Then through the door a horde did burst. . .
“Documents!” quoth I, “Indeed!”. . .
Standoff still, we starred in silence. This Mueller, was he prone to violence?
Would TRUMP be crushed into the mush of Big Macs smushed there on the floor?
“It could,” said I, “be in your interest, ending quick this senseless inquest,
this nothing burger of uninterest, if, for instance, I request. . .”
My lawyer told me, “Say no more,” and scuttled, high-tailed, through the door.
Sad, I gazed upon the floor.
The room was cleared and as I feared they'd seized my phone. I stood alone.
My mind reeled, my feet lost feeling, could it be young Don was squealing
ratting out his dealing dad? I never really liked that lad. Or his brother.
The pair remind me of their mother who I wish I'd ordered smothered.
There's many folks just don't deserve me, I gotta tell ya, it unnerves me.
Those who know me live to serve me.
[to be continued?]