The Saurian Lecturer
Pretending he has wisdom to impart,
He lectures from his well of ignorance.
Bamboozled by his rep, his audience
Accepts this mindless babbling as high art.
They love the odor of his oral fart.
His scattered spittle they call Heaven’s rinse.
Believe me: they are not hard to convince.
He has these poor souls drooling from the start.
You seek to disabuse the crowd in vain.
They’re lost from nasal hairs to fingertips.
About his emptiness, they won’t complain,
Though they’d be better off if his huge lips
Were governed not by his deficient brain
But by the ganglion that rules his hips.