Oh, no! More klutzy sonnets from Mark Shea,
Full of false rhymes, with unrhymed lines thrown in
Whenever Shea, who’s really dumb as sin,
Can’t think from A to B and back to A!
Though proved incompetent, he types away.
When fourteen lines are done, he gives a grin
And tells himself he’s truly scored a win.
Ignorant fans applaud this slack display.
The Muses, though, are sickened by the smell
That rises from Shea’s verse, ineptly planned
And executed. Let him rot in Hell!
That’s what the Goddesses of Taste demand.
Shea doesn’t mind. In his world, all is well.
The Catholic jack-off jerk has tried his hand.
(Planned Parenthood ally and notorious glutton Mark Shea “tries his hand” again at the sonnet.)