“The Normals” is what Fat Boy calls his crew
Of mindless drones, conventional as shit
Fresh from huge bovine asses. Me and you?
We are excluded, folks. We just don’t fit.
This sad truth now I hasten to admit.
I don’t have tons of suet at my waist.
Shirt off, I don’t display tit next to tit.
When I shave close, I am not Innsmouth-faced.
And, worst of all, my literary taste
Is not erected on a normal bed
Of ignorance. That ground has been erased
By study, which I’ve long preferred instead.
Yet set aside such unavailing fact!
Smugness in Normalland remains intact.
(Without the facial fur, Mark Shea clearly displays the Innsmouth look.)