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I'm itching to rewrite this a little:Piss off with the gents of Lit
Those pompous and libelous twits
They prance about as they flex
Spouting they're god's gift to sex
But can nary find her clit!
BumpA chef thought the locals were wise,
Their praise made him feel on the rise.
But the joke, sad and clear,
Was that fools held him dear,
While his cooking brought tears to sane eyes.
Almost forgot... Bump.An author, in his hubris once chose,
to share not with the locals his prose.
They laughed, not mislead,
as, It's beyond you, he said.
while wearing the emperors new clothes.