115 Replies to “The Al Gore Poetry Contest”

  1. They will push us hard until we push back
    Words will not win us this war
    I long for the day when we make that attack
    And smite the enemy known as Gore
    His rotting corpse laying on the dirt
    Flys feasting on his greasy flesh
    I long for the day we give him the hurt
    Only then can we start again fresh.

  2. rzr – you win IMHO
    I grow cold . . . I grow cold . . .
    I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled

  4. Erik Larsen: “rzr – you win IMHO.”
    Damn good, but Ghost of Ed looks to me like the frontrunner. What a hoot this whole thing is.

  5. He won an Academy Award, a Nobel Prize too
    He won the Presidency in 2001
    Which was stolen by the elites on the Supreme Court
    In favour of the aristocracy’s (former) favourite son.
    He’s championed the most pressing cause facing the planet,
    As 97% of all climatologists agree –
    But the knuckle-dragging mouth-breathing losers at SDA hate him
    Because Oil company CEOS told’em to
    and in high school they all got ‘E’s.

  6. Hark to the cry of the polar bear
    Plummetting furrily through the air
    Poisoned by carbon spewed by score
    From Rajendra Pachauri’s Gulfstream IV
    Crashing to Earth with a sickening splat
    And landing as flat as a welcome mat
    Ironically spattering liver and spleen
    Over Algore’s Mercedes limousine.
    Hark to the cry of the polar bear
    Expiring as self-righteous greens declare
    To the zombie-like, slack-jawed, leftard throng
    That fossil-fuel power’s a devilish wrong
    Down with the oil! The gas and coal, too!
    To the nuclear plants, bid a fond adieu!
    We’ll be safe from a cooling world’s snow and storm
    With polar bear furs to keep nice and warm.
    Hark to the cry of the polar bear
    As the twits at the EPA outlaw air
    Carbon dioxide, a poisonous gas?
    Old Will had it right; “The law is an ass”
    The panjandrums of climate merrily play
    Merrily trading your freedoms away
    Something’s rotten in Denmark, the polar bear fears;
    And the polar bear’s know it’s between Bam’s ears.
    Hark to the cry of the polar bear
    As the Arctic ice melts, and the greens despair
    They’re kayaking northwards, secure in the fact
    That the ice is all shifting and melting and cracked
    With a boatload of sunscreen, and waterwings too
    And t-shirts and shorts in their birchbark canoe
    And the bears lick their chops as their lunch paddles by –
    So much for the polar bear’s plaintive cry.

  9. Al Gore – Climate Change alarmist…
    Al Gore – Climate Change profiteer…
    You’d think the latter would inspire some healthy skepticism among the press / liberals about the former, but, nope, nothing doing… they like the “solution” too much.
    Climate Change is merely the latest pretext for liberals taking control over every aspect of your life.

  11. (Copenhagen, Elsinore; whatever, Denmark’s Denmark, it’s all like the size of P.E.I.)
    To Gore or not to Gore,
    That is the question;
    Whether ’tis Nobel-Prizelier in the mind to suffer
    The lies and forgings of outrageous emails
    Or to take ridiculous measures against a sea of non-existant melting icebergs
    and by assertion, effectively discredit them.
    Vice-president no more; yet by this fame to say I have
    An Oscar; and the thousand UN Praises
    That Narcissism’s heir to;
    ’tis a consumation
    Gaia-ly to be wisht
    To have an Oscar;
    Yet in that sleep of environmentalism
    What dreams may come
    When we can no longer “Hide the Decline”
    Would really give us pause (if we were normal)…
    Okay, I’m through abusing the bard. I’ll write a dirty limerick in praise of anyone who does a few good Al Gore lines to the theme of either “Julius Caesar” or “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”. I will. It’s surprisingly hard, though. Knock yourselves out.
    My previous effort was to the theme of Shaft and got caught in the filter.
    bleet – shut up.

  12. You speak of inconvenient truth,
    And I say streuth,
    These bears may drown,
    or even swim down
    to my town
    or better still to yours,
    for fatter portions they may find
    in your behind
    than mind.

  14. bleet: You remind us of Gores Oscar?? WTF?
    I relise that accomplishment holds a lot of weight with you lefties, but here?
    What a shmuck.

  16. Hide the decline
    with a smooth spline.
    Move tree rings of pine
    to an ascending line.
    Liberals harass
    for taxes en masse,
    on emissions of gas!
    Gore is an…

  17. Greed
    I THINK that I shall never see
    A poem ugly as Al Gore’s greed.
    A greed whose hungry mouth has sucked
    Upon earth’s naive fear to self-destruct;
    A greed that plays enviornmental God all day,
    And Gulfstream jets to the Copenahgen soiree;
    A greed that spawns global warming fear
    A carbon credit for nothing to hand the cashier;
    Upon whose bosom real science was slain;
    Who treats all deniers with disdain.
    Poems are made by fools like me,
    But only Gore can spin this greed.

  18. They’re sneaky and they’re kooky, It’s Al Gore and Suzuki
    They’re all together spooky,
    The Carbon Family.
    They belong in a museum When people come to see them It’s really a bad dream
    The Carbon Family.
    (Neat)
    (Cheat)
    (Deceit) So put a thick shawl on
    A broomstick to travel on You’re gonna pay a lot on
    The Carbon Family

  19. It’s been a long time, since scientists got the time.
    Of this profound fool.
    Here you are tools…

  20. To you, my betters – have at it:
    Well, I guess it was back in ’63
    When eatin’ my cookin’ got the better of me,
    So I asked this little girl I was goin’ with to be my wife.
    Well, she said she would, so I said “I do”.
    But I’da said I wouldn’t if I’da just knew
    How sayin’ “I do” was gonna screw up all of my life!
    Well, the first few years weren’t all that bad –
    I’ll never forget the good times we had
    ‘Cause I’m reminded every month when I send her the child support.
    Well, it wasn’t too long till the lust all died,
    And I’ll admit I wasn’t too surprised
    The day I come home and found my suitcase sittin’ out on the porch.
    Well, I tried to get in – she changed the locks!
    Then I found this note taped on the mailbox
    That said, “Goodbye, turkey! My attorney will be in touch!” Mm-hmm…
    So I decided right then and there
    I’s gonna do what’s right – give her her fair share.
    But brother – I didn’t know her share’s gon’ be THAT much!
    She got the gold mine! She got the gold mine!
    I got the shaft. I got the shaft.
    They split it right down the middle,
    And then they give her the better half.
    Well, it all sounds sorta funny,
    But it hurts too much to laugh.
    She got the gold mine – I got the sha-a-aft.
    Now, listen – you ain’t heard nothin’ yet:
    Why, they give her the color television set,
    Then they give her the house, the kids, and both of the cars! See?
    Well, then they start talkin’ ‘bout child support,
    Alimony, and the cost of the court –
    Didn’t take me long to figure out how far in the toilet I was!
    I’m tellin’ ya, they have made a mistake
    ‘Cause it adds up to more than this cowboy makes!
    Besides; everything I ever had worth takin’, they’ve already took!
    While she’s livin’ like a queen on alimony,
    I’m workin’ two shifts eatin’ baloney,
    Askin’ myself, “Why didn’t you just learn how to cook?!?!”
    They give her the gold mine! She got the gold mine!
    They give me the shaft. I got the shaft.
    They said they’re splittin’ it all down the middle,
    But she got the better half.
    Well, it all sounds mighty funny,
    But it hurts too much to laugh.
    She got the gold mine – I got the sha-a-aft.
    Well, she got the gold mine! She got the gold mine!
    I got the shaft. I got the shaft.
    They split it all down the middle,
    And then they give her the better half.
    Well, I guess it all sounds funny, Hoo, hoo, hoo, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!
    But it hurts too much to laugh.
    She got the gold mine – I got the sha-a-aft.
    (They ain’t kiddin’ me – I got the shaft.)
    Well, I don’t have to worry ‘bout totin’ a billfold n’more.
    Hahahahaha…
    I let my wife tote it; I’mon’ be carryin’ food stamps –
    You get it, judge? I’mon’ be… Just… Hahahaha…
    Ah, it’s not funny, huh? Huh? Huh?
    Contempt of court? Whaddaya mean?
    Listen, judge: I’s just kiddin’!

  21. Doggerel
    As Gore’s a name that rhymes with whore
    So sells the man his name for ore.
    His lies are heard as gospel lore
    His carbon footprint’s forty-four.
    The inconvenient truth is more
    That ego drives his hollow core.
    He weeps his loss in ’00 and ‘04
    The dirge he sings it makes me roar.
    He screams about the rising shoal
    Forbids the world from burning coal
    But all the while he counts his roll
    And limousined he sells his soul.

  24. Sorry, this is a bit of a long one. With apologies to E.A. Poe
    The Climate Change Conference Delegate
    Once upon a midnight dreary,
    while I pondered weak and weary,
    Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
    While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
    As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
    ‘Tis some visitor,’ I muttered,
    `tapping at my chamber door -Only this, and nothing more.’
    Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
    And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
    Eagerly I wished the morrow; – vainly I had sought to borrow
    From my books surcease of sorrow – sorrow for the lost Global Warming –
    For the rare and radiant fraud which the geenies named Global Warming-
    Nameless here for evermore.
    And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
    Thrilled me – filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
    So that now, to still the beating of my heart,
    I stood repeating`’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door –
    Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; –
    This it is, and nothing more,’
    Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
    `Sir,’ said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
    But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
    And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
    That I scarce was sure I heard you’ –
    here I opened wide the door; –
    Darkness there, and nothing more.
    Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
    Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
    But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
    And the only word there spoken were the whispered words, `Global Warming !
    ‘This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the words, `Global Warming!’
    Merely this and nothing more.
    Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
    Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
    `Surely,’ said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
    Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore –
    Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; –
    ‘Tis the wind and nothing more!’
    Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
    In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
    Not the least obeisance made he;
    not a minute stopped or stayed he;
    But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door –
    Perched upon a bust of Suzuki just above my chamber door –
    Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
    Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
    By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
    `Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,’ I said, `art sure no craven.
    Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore –
    Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!’
    Quoth the raven,
    `Praise Al Gore.’
    Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
    Though its answer little meaning – little relevancy bore;
    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
    Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door –
    Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
    With such name as
    `Wise Al Gore.’
    But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
    Those few words, as if his soul in those few words he did outpour.
    Nothing further then he uttered – not a feather then he fluttered –
    Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before –
    On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.’
    Then the bird said,
    `Not Al Gore.’
    Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
    `Doubtless,’ said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
    Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
    Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore –
    Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore of “’net inventor Saint Al Gore.”
    But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
    Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
    Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
    Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore –
    What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
    Meant in croaking
    `All Hail Al Gore!.’
    This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
    To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
    This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
    On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
    But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
    Warmists insist we must all heed Al Gore!
    Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
    Swung by Michael Mann whose hockey stick dragged upon the tufted floor.
    `Wretch,’ I cried, `thy God hath lent thee – by these co-conspiators he has sent thee
    Respite – respite and some Kool-Aid from thy memories of Global Warming!
    Quaff, oh quaff this kind Kool-Aid, and forget this lost Global Warming!’
    Quoth the raven,
    `Gore’s no bore!.’
    `Prophet!’ said I, `thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil! –
    Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
    Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted –
    On this home by horror haunted – tell me truly, I implore –
    Is there – is there Kyoto II in Denmark? – tell me – tell me, I implore!’
    Quoth the raven,
    `Elect Al Gore!’
    `Prophet!’ said I, `thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil!
    By that Heaven that bends above us – by that God we both adore –
    Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Copenhagen,
    It shall clasp a sainted ideal whom the warmists named Global Warming –
    Clasp a rare and radiant sham there, which the greenies named Global Warming?’
    Quoth the raven,
    `Buy indulgences from Al Gore!.’
    `Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!’ I shrieked upstarting –
    `Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
    Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
    Leave my loneliness unbroken! –
    quit the bust above my door!
    Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!’
    Quoth the raven,
    `You must lie for Al Gore.’
    And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
    On the pallid bust of Suzuki just above my chamber door;
    And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
    And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
    And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floorShall be lifted –
    only by Al Gore!

  26. The story is old, my house is cold!
    Al’s pronouncements are both scary and bold!
    I am the enemy I must be vanquished,
    tax me more til my savings are vanished!
    I have not two pennies too rub together,
    alas Al wanted them to change the weather
    So here I sit and wait for summer
    No lucre for heat, now that’s a bummer

  28. Al Gore, who aren’t in Copenhagen,
    hollow be thy fame.
    Thy kingdom’s done, thy will kaput,
    in Perth as it is Texas.
    We’ll give you no pay, nor even stale bread.
    But repent and we’ll forgive your trespasses, as we forgive others who trespass against us.
    You led us into temptation, but East
    Anglia has delivered us from evil.
    For thine is the boredom, the bag of
    wind power, and the Gory, for ever and ever.
    You sin.
    (Everyone knows Texas is a synonym for heaven.)

  29. How shall I remember thee, Al of the Gore?
    With rosemary and perhaps Tippy too,
    in a threesome so much I can do.
    But, can I bring upon the apocolypse?
    With crashing tides and unwlecome goo,
    because you came too soon, what can I do?

  30. A group of scientists tried,
    to say they had nothing to hide.
    With proxies they lied,
    of c. dioxide,
    and records of temps were denied.
    Lear jets and limos,
    emails and memos,
    the decline was repealed,
    the fraud is revealed.

  32. Whoops, posted in wrong thread earlier, eep!
    ‘Twas the weeks before Sweden, Fine – Denmark, I know,
    I lay here asleep, my yard full of snow,
    The furnace all burning, the heat ’round my bed,
    Dreams of bears drowning just danced in my head.
    The children were snoring, their legs all askance,
    wearing pajamas emblazoned with Spongebob Squarepants.
    When out on the lawn, there arose such a noise,
    which comes from a moonbat who’s lost all his poise.
    I peeked out the window, and shuddered with fear,
    Who else would be out there but AlGoracle Sneer.
    His Prius all smoked, it clunked and it shook,
    For alas! His batteries were completely all cooked.
    His hair was slicked back, with Grecian care,
    a fixed grin on his face, with a horrible stare.
    His suit all a-wrinkled, his shoes all worn down,
    A VP’s dour face all lit with a frown.
    Then – He spat and he roared, in maniacal glee,
    A hockey stick graph soon nailed to a tree.
    His disciples he called, an inferno of fire,
    they crawled from the depths, all full of ire.
    “You cretins! You morons!”, Algoracle yelled,
    “The world now knows us as liars beheld!
    Your emails, your code, I feel I must cuss,
    As I toss you – no, pitch you, all under a bus!”
    Mann and Jones cried, fingers all out disjoint,
    “It’s all from him!”, “No, it’s FOIA’s fault!”
    Algoracle glowed, he sparked and he lit,
    A tree nearby soon smouldered and split.
    He grabbed both those imps, and crammed them away,
    To the revived Prius, who’d seen better days.
    Grinned evilly to me, and lifted some wine,
    And bid me adieu with a yelled “Hide the Decline!”.

  34. Lamented a man named Al Gore
    Once promoter of hockey stick lore
    “At Copenhagen I’ve muffed it
    ‘Cause climategate’s stuffed it
    Where the sun doesn’t shine any more.”

  35. An homage to Douglas Adams Vogon Poetry.
    Far flung the pure snow is smashed by the sun
    While atoms of Carbon and oxygen mixed
    reflect the rays back on the earth
    Hey its spring. Lets all get naked.

  36. Blowin’ In The Wind
    How many economies must AGW claim,
    Before we call their hand?
    Yes, ‘n’ how many seas must fail to rise
    Before we can mine the oil sands?
    Yes, ‘n’ how many times must Al’s Jestream fly
    Before it’s forever banned?
    The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind,
    The answer is blowin’ in the wind.
    How many years can AGW exist
    Before the next green fad comes to be?
    Yes, ‘n’ how many years can Al Gore get rich
    Before we can drive our SUV?
    Yes, ‘n’ how many times can the CRU twist the truth
    Pretending it’s warm, can’t they see?
    The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind,
    The answer is blowin’ in the wind.
    How many times must a man look up
    Before he can see the sun?
    Yes, ‘n’ how many frauds must we all pay for
    Before the scam comes undone?
    Yes, ‘n’ how many polar bear must fall from the sky
    That too many people have lied?
    The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind,
    The answer is blowin’ in the wind.

  38. There was a senator from Tennessee,,
    Who said he could save the planet for a fee,
    “We create too much carbon” was his refrain,
    From his lofty perch aboard his private plane,
    Jetting to Europe to prolong the crime spree.

  39. One fat December noon
    AL Gore conveniently disappears
    Not too late not too soon
    The lies rise high
    Fools gather for the coming years
    Treasures say goodbye
    Snow sits nicely on the peaks
    Ice remains in place for no reason
    Its been that way for weeks
    Then parched are the brains
    As lies spew forth this season
    With the data comes the chains
    Known creatures stir the crowd
    Take their money, unashamed
    Moving rapidly with the data cloud
    Liars seek scapegoats and excuses
    Hell breaks loose for those blamed
    On the Hill their scheme loses
    The losers cry
    The hour of truth is proclaimed
    There be the fools

  40. All right, I didn’t write this one, but the guys who did knew they were writing fantasy:

    A law was made a distant moon ago here
    July and August cannot be too hot
    And there’s a legal limit to the snow here
    In Camelot
    The winter is forbidden ’till December
    And exits March the second on the dot
    By order summer lingers through September
    In Camelot
    Camelot, Camelot
    I know it sounds a bit bizarre
    But in Camelot, Camelot
    That’s how conditions are
    The rain may never fall ’till after sundown
    By eight the morning fog must disappear
    In short, there’s simply not a more congenial spot
    For happily-ever-aftering
    Than here in Camelot
    Camelot, Camelot
    I know it gives a person pause
    But in Camelot, Camelot
    Those are the legal laws
    The snow may never slush upon the hillside
    By nine PM the moonlight must appear
    In short, there’s simply not a more congenial spot
    For happily-ever-aftering, Than here in Camelot.

  41. Posted by: b_C at December 8, 2009 7:55 PM
    Is that you, new?
    Posted by: Kate at December 8, 2009 8:21 PM
    Kate, I love crypticism as much as the next guy, but, “Huh?”
    Perhaps a “Clue #2?”

  42. b_C,
    I’ll see if I can help you out here. Kate is a busy woman.
    Does anyone want to describe “new” to b_C? Black Mamba: would you maybe give it a shot?
    (;>)

  44. b_C,
    No, nothing like that, as far as I’m aware of. “new” is somewhat of an unknown commenter. I could search out an post and have you read it but let’s see if BM responds to the challenge. I asked the same question, some time ago, and BM responded in kind. It’s a “right back atcha” kind of thing.
    I had read your comment and quickly thought it was a possability but dismissed it. When Kate asked the question, I reread your comment and felt, if it was “new”, that extensive ESL training would have had to have occured. No disrespect towards you.
    Cheers.

  45. Should have entered the song title only. “Newly” rather than “new” in that context would have clicked.
    Vaguely recall poster “new”; tend to enter narcolepsy at line 2.
    Thanks for clarifying.

  46. b_C,
    Some would feel it began @ line 1. “new” became “old”, at times, and may have had one other monicker but the ‘style’ stood/stands out.
    Cheers.

  48. The Copenhagen March: Two steps sideways, one step back
    The Copenhagen March (to the tune of “North Atlantic Squadron”)
    In Copenhagen’s cobbled streets,
    The shysters and the shamans meet
    To practice lies and more deceit
    In the name of Global Warming
    Chorus
    Away, away with fife and drum
    For here we come
    With frozen bums,
    We’ll smoke some dope and pray to the Sun
    In the name of Global Warming
    The winds rise up and snow comes down.
    But not in Copenhagen Town,
    Where Bambi fries and babies drown
    Because of Global Warming
    Chorus
    Suzuki, Gore and Soros went,
    Hoping for new providence.
    Obama’s praise was heaven-sent,
    “You must stop Global Warming.”
    Chorus
    With caviar and limousines,
    Jet engines burning kerosene,
    All necessary so it seems
    To stop this Global Warming
    Chorus
    In Anglia a web was spun
    The tangled strands have come undone
    And trapped the bugs who’ve had their fun
    And lied for Global Warming
    Chorus
    When all is said and nothing done
    The earth still turns below the sun
    And melting goes and freezing comes
    We’ll wish for Global Warming.

  49. dwo –
    If she continues not to question AGW, she’s going to be my soon-to-be-ex. As of this moment, she’s still spewing forth untold volumes of that poisonous CO2!

  50. Apologies to Poe…
    Once upon the Eve of COP Fifteen, while stolen emails I did glean,
    Over many a exiled research paper I did pour,
    As I learned, anger snapping, suddenly came a slapping,
    As of some flesh flapping, as if jowls wagging outside my chamber door.
    Tis a friend, I thought, pulling a prank on me outside my door,
    Only this, and nothing more.
    Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
    And each separate dying hope depressed me more and more.
    Eagerly I wished the morrow; – because I had sought to borrow
    From my research a relief of sorrow – sorrow for the lost science lore –
    For the rare and radiant voice of truth who to speak I did implore –
    Silent here for evermore.
    And the hope for salvation in uncertain reading of each email phrase
    Thrilled me – filled me with fantastic hopes never felt before these days;
    So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I read again from the start,
    `’Tis some joker again I hear outside my chamber door –
    Some lame loser who wants in is at my chamber door; –
    This it is, and nothing more,’
    Presently I grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
    `Jack,’ said I, `or Jerk get away from here I do implore;
    But the fact is I have a Glock, and your ass I will be capping,
    And again came some slapping, jowls flapping at my chamber door,
    Dude I can hear you smacking’ – here I opened wide the door; –
    There stood none but Albert Gore.
    So I shot him.
    Then two times more, just outside my chamber door.
    I do not advocate the killing of Mr Gore and this poem is for entertainment purposes only. I much prefer he goes to jail. Just saying.

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