So Then Sunday: Ballpark (audio post)

Well baseball is back. Usually this would cause me to excitement, my “finally we’re out of the doldrums of Winter” yearly mark, pitchers and catchers, even with Winters no longer being the Winters we knew (it’s real dumbasses) making me look to my too many years old glove next to the TV under another offseason worth of dust, shake it off, give it a wipe, rinse repeat for so many years and so look forward to the Spring and the Summer it promises.

Though it won’t be the same game, my “looking forward” taking a serious hit (Rob Manfred has made sure of that) numbers now soon to be skewed, extra inning games off the table for me for good, a large grain of salt taken in the new ABB (after big bag) / AS (after shift) era, a cheapened version of a national treasure, but I am still an addict.

An addict who will still buy my single team package however much the checkbook pop, again. I will though miss those extra games against division foes now lost to a balanced schedule (sorry, don’t care of matchups with the Royals or the Tigers or even the Yankees, heck, even less the Yankees actually).

Anyway, a reminder of my always love of the game, a So Then Sunday, an audio post from last September after catching a game with Jeremiah Johnsen after too long a time.

If I would rank things of mine, this would be up there.

So a few nights ago I watched the best ballgame of the season, for me at least, with my MLBTV subscription, something I’ve paid for every year since its inception to catch my beloved out of town boys, even when I couldn’t afford it, which has been often. Now as a Pittsburgh Pirates fan it’s not really all that difficult to differentiate between the other “best ballgames of the season” that have come before this one as, well, like I said, I’m a Pittsburgh Pirates fan, there haven’t really been a whole lot to choose from, not a lot to “Raise the Jolly Roger” to in too infrequent texts to my Sis these days, after a win, our thing, even the not so memorable ones, any victory, especially since the All Star Break this year can be considered memorable I guess.  

There was the sweeping the Dodgers in LA for the first time since someone from a Darwin text first started grabbing sticks and hitting stones with ’em (though probably more just simple defense from the stones being thrown AT them from others in a Darwin text – no game yet, not quite, but maybe thoughts a bubblin’). We split a couple with the dreaded hated Yankees earlier in the season when they came down from the Death Star to visit Pittsburgh and get some thick breaded sandwiches with thicker fries and coleslaw on ‘em ‘n that and we did get back at and have a sweep of the Brewers who have owned us in a we’ll wear leather and spikes and hold a whip, you put on this mask kind of way for the longest of time.

But there hasn’t really been any other singular game moment to crow about, or to parrot Pirate squalk “aarrgghh matey’s” about from my shoulder until this one, just the waiting for late August and September to finally see some of the young Bucco’s of the future on a rebuilding team finally being allowed to play regularly, after dead weight DFA off the heap claim roster fills have finally been cast off, and show me some hope that I haven’t felt in , well longer than a while.

That waiting paid off with this “best game”, a combined one hit shutout highlighted by an electric kid’s nasty stuff, Luis Ortiz in his MLB debut. This game was hope. A long suffering Pirate fans hope


Now I’ve been a Pirate fan since I first discovered baseball, right around the time when they won only their second of three World Series since the cold war, only two in my lifetime and I was watching this “best” game with two different pairs of glasses, one for the close of the Tablet sitting to my left with the game and the other for distance of the TV for the almost good bad bad good movie I was also watching, that needing two pairs of glasses old now lifetime long.

It was Granddad who turned me black and gold when Grandma would allow me, and only me for some reason, to sit with him on some weekends when we would go to visit the two of them and the aunts and the uncles and the cousins. I’ve often joked that watching sports with Granddad back then (sometimes baseball or often bowling) usually with me sitting cross legged on the floor and he in his big chair in the big living room of a big old dusty breezy house was where I learned how to curse and throw shit at the tube, maybe consider a bowling team when I got to High School and be a Pittsburgh fan. Some Steelers yes, but most importantly the Pirates.


Went down to Citifield over the weekend for the first time since 2018, a yearly pilgrimage for a best of best friend of mine and I, Jeremiah, starting back In 2005 but paused in 2019 for what, I don’t remember what, though it must have been a something to cause a pause in a 14 year run and then came the the. Pandemics and useless 60 game seasons that I didn’t’ watch a single inning of for the first and only time in my long baseball fan life and then another year where I wasn’t ready just yet for not quite done pandemic crowds.  


We thought, back in ’05, a trip down to Queens and still Shea Stadium back then, would be a cool get together moment for a new morning show crew and we eventually played fetching verbal tag with a group of pretty young women, out on their own cool get together moment in seats so far up and away from the field that we were like in baseball clouds. We knew there was a game going on somewhere down on earth, in between the lines, but we played this fetching instead and had such a time. Couldn’t even tell you who won that one. Baseball has that way, a way to make you sort of forget things even though you knew, a mine vs yours, or a mine vs them, as long as it was being played somewhere near you and you were there meandering, meandering with it as baseball wondrously meanders and you talking and laughing and paying attention on occasion.

But this past weekend Jeremiah and I caught a game again, finally, after these too many years, ones that sneak up on you and have you think of windows closing more than you’d like, years, and “breaking out the fancy chairs tonight” he said in his driveway with a lugging to the car fancy parking lot chairs for lounging pre-game dog grilling and sauerkraut heatin’ in a cat’s water bowl (hey, it’s what I had on hand. It worked for the warmin’ is enough as a good baseball hot dog don’t do cold sauerkraut) and upscale beers and spicy mustard awaitin’ some hot dog buns. And not just regular hot dog buns on this night mind you, no siree Bucco, but brioche hot dog buns, this was an occasion after all, you break out the brioche for an occasion I guess. I know. Nice touch right? I thought the same even though I have no idea what brioche is, other than it just ain’t some regular white bread fashioned as a hot dog bun. It’s fancy sounding where hot dogs ain’t fancy.


Everyone was asleep, or close to it as I grabbed that one seat at the back of the car, at now a quite happily baseball night spent almost 1 in the morning that allows you to ride WITH the train and with no one behind you, not ride backwards as some do. I don’t know how people sit in the “backwards” seats as traveling with your back to wherever you’re going is just so unsettling to me. Maybe if you’re with company, for the distraction Ok, but if you’re not with company as is always the case for me on nights like this you just grab that one seat, at the back, that one first step in if you can, that one one that points you forward.


Next to Jeremiah and I tonight was a family. A Mom and a Dad and five kids, all tremendously good looking, cover of a family magazine good looking, almost unfairly so to all the regular ol’ families out there, Mom and Dad troopers that took the gang out for a night at the ballpark all around 7 or 8 or younger, and did it so well that I wanted to go back to a trophy store that JJ and I had passed on our way and buy them just one javelin lookin’ throwing gold idol prize or something similar and say well done, maybe even engrave their names that I didn’t know on it. I wanted to buy them their own ice cream too that I watched dad so gingerly walk with, balancing five, while I was in the concourse on line for the loo. What a team these two were with this five. And that would be the emphasis of the story in that family magazine they were featured on the cover of by the way “How to balance five children at a ballgame and look good and accomplished while you’re doing it”.

Jeremiah noted to me that he didn’t think he could do that, have so many kids, his thoughts equally distracted and focused by the fact that he is in the family way, he and his better half, Britney, just a few month to go now, or 12 or so weeks in babyness parlance and he’s scared to death in the best and most understandable of possible ways.

Then Rodolfo Castro got a hit (I love that guy) not a lot of that kind of Pirate thing was happening on this night so I had moment for a hard clap clap into my glove and a holler of “you go Rodolfo!!” and before you ask, yes, I brought my glove as I have for every game since I was 13 at that double header with Dad and Granddad, where I met John Candelaria courtesy of a homemade Candelaria jersey and a chance bumping into his suddenly excited and beaming parents as we were heading out of the ballpark, mom spinning me around to show her husband the back of this “jersey” maybe realizing for the first time what their son had achieved to reach all the way to the suburbs and to some 13 year old kid who spent his hard pedaled earned bicycle paperboy money to fashion a sort of jersey of his favorite ballplayer and then head to a game, two of them (what a bonus that was) with a Dad and a Grandad, to show it off with glove in hand.

You’re never too old to bring your glove to the ballpark.

Just like then I still dream of foul balls.


After so many years of not doing this and so many years of not caring to do things LIKE this, I am famously anti-social in my own small circle these days, I finally let myself go a little bit. Train rides on the way down along a gloriously sun glinted Hudson River next to happy laughing college girls with some adventure waiting in the City while sportin’ the coolest of old school kicks, smiling couples being smiling couples with their own anticipated adventures in store and babies singing baby “La-La” songs, singing singing singing and bouncing at the front of the car with an on top of the world Mom & Dad showing bouncing baby off to strangers on a train but not in a dark mystery way, maneuverings through people in a packed stadium playing my soon 100 loss boys no less, as, of course, a playoff push will fill the seats no matter the competition, a multitude of too many folks almost but I endured for baseball’s sake, a ballpark’s sake, ordering a couple of beers from a tiny woman behind fried heat lamped somethings and beer taps who noted my birthday when I jokingly said my license read “Old dude” and admonished me ever not so slightly for her and I sharing a birth year “Hey, we’re not old!” with a pointed wagging finger.

I realized then that, though I don’t really do people anymore, they still have their moments.

That small woman gave me a fist bump before I left to go back to my seat, but with a smiling glare, a double fist bump as a matter of fact to our shared 1964 and the not feeling old, I mean, you can’t be old at a ballgame now can ya?


I didn’t completely talk Jeremiah off the ledge of thinking too much of the wonderful and the frightening and the down the roads but maybe I at least made him back up a bit on it, he knowing that I’m not totally unfamiliar with fresh off the line new baby models replete with working horns and racing stripes after having spent the first 5 years of my nephew Jake’s squirmy, screamy, grabby, happy, poopy existence in a house shared by his Mom (my sis), myself and my brother, the two of us playing Daddy-Uncles and I followed that almost immediately with another youngin’ just in the next stage of youngin’ evolution from 6 into the early teens with Jagger (The JG) and his Mom and I wrote of him and all of us quite often.

I was probably not really any good at this as I look back now, look back a long way as both Jake and JG are in their beginning 20’s, or maybe I was Ok for my short stints as both of them are really fine, smart and most importantly just good young men, but I did at least earn a couple of chops along the way, and an I love you and an I hate you and an I love you or two, so maybe enough cred there to at least get JJ’s toes off their curl on the edge.

I know it sounds silly, but baseball did this, it’s where this best of friendships really first began and this weekend it got me and him in a place where we could talk after too long a time as we always could and did at the ballpark, in a dog grilling parking lot, in a couple of really nice seats with cool strangers as momentary companions and especially on the ride “home” to a train station and a sit down at a little pub in Hastings waiting for the 12:27am, it got me out of the house, finally, reminded me of those multitudes at a ballpark, of life, of a Mom and Dad worthy of trophies and an extra ice cream they didn’t get to enjoy at the game after spreading it around, but maybe a reach into the freezer at home after a gang finished and in bed and toes then met on a couch sharing a spoon and a tired knowing nod to a night well done and spent.

You’ll be good JJ. I have absolutely no worries there, you’ll be really good. And maybe in a couple of years we’ll go back and do this again, you and I and Britney and a newbie, Grant, a name I’ve been told to expect and you’ll be the guy who catches a foul ball with a baby in his arms and makes the big screen in center field for replays and the best of “Awwwww” moments from a packed ballpark.

Thanks for the start Grandad, and I did do some bowling on a High School club team just to let you know, not very well, but I did.

Greene Crackers Part II

Back in December of 2021 I thought to a little fun and a dig at Margie Q Greene, someone who deserves as many “digs” as can be thrown her way, gotta point out the nutters, the ignorance that endangers us and our democracy as often as possible right?

A version of the Green Acres theme song, “Greene Crackers”.

Just some simple little pointed stuff.

Well, I thought again (yeah, I need to stop doing that, the thoughting, nothing but trouble) this time to updating it, to making it more current.

Still just some simple little pointed stuff.

Greene Crackers Part II

Greene Crackers has more thoughts you see

Though that leads to scary possibilities

Now she wants red states simply to secede

With no thinking who it is that pays for all their needs

Margie Greene crackers howls ironical  

How libs are fascist devils taking us to hell

They try to be inclusive but their woke’s a death knell

To her Christ white oppression in her genuine fascist spell


Libs fought


Libs shot

Autocracy’s wife

Marge fascist right

Greene Crackers she wants there  

My Great MLB Disappointment: The Permanent Manfred Man & Other Thoughts

So earlier this week, as a true baseball fan, I came across the story that I had dreaded as baseball begins to kick back into gear for another season with players starting to report to their teams respective Spring training sites.

I came across the story at MLB Trade Rumors, which, if you are a baseball fan, is a good informative site and one that doesn’t seem to need to beat you over the head as much with Statcast nonsense like MLB where it is practically part of their site’s stories mission statement, I think, to inundate you with as much useless Statcast shit as possible, in every other paragraph, with surely some quota for writers for a minimum number of times to employ the mind numbingly useless numbers followed by an “as per Statcast”. 

It has really diminished the writing of the beauty and the brilliance and the romance of the sport.

Sorry, but no one is hangin’ ‘round the water cooler discussing or marveling at exit velocities or launch angles or spin counts or arbitrary “elite” something or others or percentiles or comical percentages of possibilities no matter how much you hard hit rate them.

Now, as this true baseball fan, I have always made a part of every day of the offseason a check in with whatever news was available to me, in whatever form, from old newspapers back when to now MLB and Trade Rumors for the latest talk and moves and then to DK Pittsburgh sports more recently, and specifically, to check in on the latest talk and possible moves in the world of my beloved Pittsburgh Pirates, beloved since I first discovered the game and then started to work on understanding it, then play it (in many forms for many years) and even to dream impossible dreams of it, Black and Gold dreams.

But I came across the dreaded story and my disappointment was palpable, to me at least, in a swing too hard knock it foul anger kind of way, but, sadly, it wasn’t unexpected as Rob Manfred and MLB have always had this as one of their major game change goals since shamelessly using Covid as a way to force it into the conversation and then onto the field back in 2020 and then for the next two seasons after. Shamelessly I say as Covid was used as the excuse for it being necessary to possibly shorten the games for safety concerns but it was still ok to schedule 7 inning doubleheaders? I knew we were screwed last season when, at the last minute, after it had been taken off the table, it was reinstated for “just one more season” when in reality it was reinstated as one more opportunity to force fans to accustom to the idea of just one more season and beyond, like the best of propagandist will when they repeat lies over and over until you just acquiesce.

The dreaded? The gift runner on second base to start extra innings, the Manfred Man (borrowed term) if you will, an embarrassment to and a mockery of the sport, damning the integrity of the game. And no, it’s not a “Ghost” runner as it might be called, has been called, is called, as the headline of that dreaded story at MLB Trade Rumors read when I first came about it earlier this week and has been used in other stories.

This isn’t some wiffle ball or stick ball game in my backyard with friends when I was 12 by the way, though I guess the childlike playground rules nature of it kind of applies but the difference being that even in those wiffle ball or stick ball contests, when we were kids, we still had respect enough for the game that that “ghost” runner actually had to earn his place on second base depending on what constituted a double for us at Frankenberry Field. 

At least we knew what a legitimate game was and within the rules of this game we played and loved, a wiffle ball one, or a stick ball one, with a small number of friends, maybe just a couple to a side, where we placed imaginary runners at their earned bases, we knew of the game’s importance to us, we kept within the rules of the real game as best we could. Bill punched his wiffle/tennis ball past the double line, Sav squeaked a seeing eye single past Dave (we always had at least one infielder at second along with a pitcher) or if we were lucky enough to have had six guys that day, another at third, but we now had runners at the corners.

We didn’t make anything up when it came to what “ghost” was on base. It was baseball as best we could imitate it, Bill punched that double and Sav squeaked that single. And we never tried to find a way to shorten the end of it, however much Mom’s sandwiches and iced tea enticed us to take a break and we didn’t make millions while doing so.

But MLB? They don’t even try to make the best as could, no, they just alter what we found to be baseball gospel, earned things, but instead just imagine Bill’s punched double to be just that, imagined, and then place a “ghost” there as if Bill had never even grabbed a bat in hopes to get to Mom’s sandwiches a little earlier.

Now MLB will try to justify how they want to get to those sandwiches, how fans will see the new permanent extra inning games as actual baseball.

“I think for fans it does bring focus at the end of the game” according to Rob Manfred.

What “focus” is that Rob? That a first pitch single will get you to the parking lot faster and rob you of the excitement that extras can bring? Yeah, that focus.

No, no it doesn’t bring focus, unless of course you mean by focus the focus of wives who have agreed to sit in lawn chairs and pretend to glory their beer league boys while wanting to get to the bar as early as possible along with their men.  

The wives know as well as anyone else that it is not real baseball or softball any longer as beers and bar apps await, man that place has the best potato skins, can we pick up the pace please?

Hell, MLB even admits that this “gift” runner on second during the regular season is not legitimate baseball as they abandon it in the playoffs, I mean, you don’t want somebody’s team losing the World Series on a bunt and a sacrifice fly or just that simple leadoff single on the first pitch in the bottom of the tenth now do you?

And don’t get me started on the other new rule changes for this season, pitch clocks, eschewing shifts that have been in play for decades and have always been part of the game (manager waving fielders to the right or the left) and shortening the distance between the bags as artificially producing offense seems to be the only goal, that’s what the peoples want right, more offense, even if it’s cheap? Just like those juiced home runs right?

You might say that all of this hasn’t changed the game Rob, but that’s just not true.


“Step right up, step right up!”

(Megaphone, Top Hat, fancy gold festooned red vest)

“Come under the tent and see the greatest game in history!”

(Manfred on the mound directing the spotlight to second base)

“Behold the magic of a baserunner suddenly appearing where he shouldn’t be!! The Manfred Man who appears not what you see! A Ghost!”

“But will soon send us home early in a lesser baseball spree! And extras long no longer a need to be!!”

“But it’s still baseball we will decree!”

“Step right up, step right up!!”

“You will also see the ease now of stolen bases and doubles and triples with gained inches that are sure to be sinched with larger bags flipping a finch to the game’s shared history”

“Step right up, step right up!!”


Well Rob, if it makes you feel vindicated, you will have certainly shortened games, at least for this one diehard as I will never watch any game past nine any longer. I know I will fade, I’m old now and things will gain a sad normalcy but this one will still never rise above being a gimmick, a sideshow, a cheapening of the sport.

My Buccos could be in the chase at the end of September, a division on the line possibly, as I watch my paid for MLB subscription for as long as its been available (never an easy pay for me) but if it goes to extras I will have to turn it off, as I have for two seasons now (2020 didn’t count, should never count, an aberration, didn’t grab an inning) as watching a cheapened version of a possible victory just wouldn’t be worth it.


And by the way? I would so love to see the game, with new artificially created offense and defensive limitations discount the time hoped to be saved from all of this.

I’m not a petty guy, but I will be in this case.  

Old Days & Mix Tapes

So Jolie, a long time friend of mine from my WVU days, happened upon this picture of a mix tape lineup at my facebook spot here from our days together going on 30 years now. A picture of a mix tape’s list of tunes that I couldn’t even begin to remember where it is that she came about it, well I mean I know where it is, obviously it’s there, I mean she found it and liked it, I just hadn’t thought to look for it in quite a while but was wonderfully reminded that it exists there somewhere (not thinking of other possible pics that might exist … really, I didn’t know they had a camera … well Ok … not TOO embarrassing I guess … I’m alright with average though I’ll tell myself above so).

There was this alternative college radio station and there was this bar, the Foxfire Pub, that liked this alternative college radio station enough to get drunk with it, get drunk with it quite often and sleep with it and build babies/friends who would go on to do wonderful things, live wonderful lives but still talk to this day and give and take shit and even accidentally, it seems, come across reminders of those first flirting days. (I’m not condoning sleeping with your college alternative music mix pub by the way).

Brian said that if I built new tapes (for you youngins they were things called cassettes, original Mix tape things, things that you recorded songs on and tried to impress girls with, in a small flat plastic thingy with spinny holes, playable in cars as new car standard then) that the beers were on him for the night, a Friday or a Saturday, depending on when I presented my beer tape golden ticket .

#14? Yeah, I had quite a few freebie nights it seems … still searching for my pants from tape # 9 and my New Order T-shirt from tape #3. Sheila? Really? I loved that T-shirt.

I thought to YouTube the tunes then and, man, I suddenly didn’t feel that ache in my shoulder and my ginger stand ups from a wonky back? I could lift the world, ok not really and that’s a bit too dramatic (bend at the knees dude) but I was young again for 3 or 4 minutes at a clip, the world was so big and I was so small according to Miracle Legion, Adrien Belew was all poppy, CS Angels did the drone, Railway Children got even more poppy than Adrien, the Bat Mastersons played the dining room after we cleared out all the tables AND the dinner patrons “You done with that? Seriously, we can box it up for you … now”, The Rave-Ups rocked (and still do), the Jack Rubies had that alternative sound and even Steely Dan snuck their asses in there.

Now this tape isn’t entirely indicative of what these tapes were. I’m a poppy guy and this one reflects that, but I wasn’t the only one to present a golden mix tape ticket, Bill Pearis was the one with more of an edge, but we both enjoyed those dumb free beers. Too much so. I’m sure we both made note, at some point, that the other got home safe while wondering why we were maybe shoeless in a fountain somewhere, in a neighboring state somehow or falling down a hill.

But these tapes were our world in the most perfect of spots, they were our thoughts rock and rolled when our own thoughts were insufficient, they were our identity … and, well, some free beers.

“Dude? Where the fuck are your shoes … and how about we do a Little Latin Lupe Lu with the Strawberry Zots?”

An Earworm Dilemma (the universe obviously hates me)

Sure sign the Universe is making you pay for something or just flat out hates you.

Was leaving the station(s) last night and playing at Randy’s (prod boss) desk was WGHQ, “Magic”, and I walked through “Gypsys, Tramps & Thieves” on my way to the back door.

It followed me in my head to the car, in my car until I hit the CD player, but it waited patiently until … out of my car, into Stop & Shop, around Stop & Shop, to the check out at Stop & Shop where I layed my money down, out of Stop & Shop, into my car a second time until I again hit the CD player, but insistent bastette that it was it waited patiently once more until, out of my car, past the din of the furry and feathered downstairs, up the stairs to the girls and until I could finally make it to the television for a saving.

When I woke up this morning I was good for a moment, ahhhhhhhhhh, I thought … gone … until … she was a gal in trouble and hadn’t seen that smooth southern bastard for a while, for a while … AGAIN!

Oh, Son of a Bitch!! Seriously Universe?!! Look, I know I don’t necessarily lead an exemplary life but I couldn’t have done anything THAT bad!!

“What’s that Universe?”

“At least Grandad’s sellin’ some bottles of Doctor Good to maybe ease my pain?”

“Yeah, real funny Universe, you’re a fucking card”.

Mohair (sweat) Pants Sweater

You know as a single guy who lives with two cats, is dusting challenged and isn’t metrosexual enough to own one of those sticky rolly things you’d think I’d know better than to buy black pants (cargo sweats in this case) let alone wear them out in public if I ignore this whole should “know better” thing.

I swear it looks like my pants are a fuzzy salt & pepper mohair sweater today.

Danger Ron (Mighty Mouse DeSantis Theme Song)

Been working on another DeSantis letter (Dear Great Leader wannabe) after a couple of others, “Woke Hopes” and “The DeSantis He Can”, including almost all the lyrics for a rewrite of Michael Jackson’s “PYT”, or in my rewrite’s case “CRT” and other 3 initial combos and a look into the GOP’s now constant boogeyman that they get so wrong (not surprisingly as they are a GOP that trust the likes of a Nikki and a Margie Q to lament the unamerican nature of truthful history or falsely claim its being taught in places that it ain’t – truth? Pshawww) but boogeymen and the dog whistles that come with them don’t have to be right they just have to be ON the right and stoke white folk.


Ha, gotcha!!

But the only instrumental version of “PYT” that I can find is a minute and half longer than the actual tune so that would be a bit more song figgerin’ plus there’s also a me trying to sing an MJ tune. I think I could swing it, minus the dancing of course (I’m old and terribly out of shape, could never choreograph such a thing, would probably pull a hammy or something and could also never dress as well as that – man those shoes and those jackets MJ) but …

… was wearing my Mighty Mouse T-shirt a couple of days ago and the thought occurred …

So a cartoon theme song then to a Mighty Mouse and a Danger Ron.

Danger Ron (Mighty Mouse DeSantis Theme Song)

Mr Crow he never hangs around

When he hears this frightnin’ sound

“Here I come to save white day”

That means that Danger Ron is on the way

Yes, when histry’s taught not solely white     

Danger Ron will pick a fight

Say no classroom legit’macy

Of lessers having part of history

It’s a clear and present danger

To the ex-ceptional

Rewrite he will instead to fit right’s call

(right’s call, truth’s fall, white’s tall, patriots)

Free thought’s only his to decide

To all others he will deride

Thoughts of inclusivity

Danger Ron’ll even ban diversity


He just flies in now to save us all

From real truth that can’t stand tall

Against Danger Ron’s fascist tries

He’ll sure cut the lessers down to size