In Which It's Chicken Licken Gross

If Great-Great-Grandma would not call it food,
Then really it is not, quoth Pollan, and
I find this valid, though it's sometimes rude
To point it out. Today though, through the land
(Of Internet if not America)
Comes forth this tidbit: Chicken's only meat
If it all comes from one bird, which, no duh
But somehow many think it's fine and sweet
When it's extruded like soft serve, all smooth
And pink, and shaped at will, containing bits
We'd never eat, from many birds. I'll soothe
You not at all; this stuff just gives me fits.
It's why I don't go dining with a bird
Or other critter, sans the farmer's word.

BONUS SONNET: Poor Roland Burris Just Can't Scrape Off The Blagojeblech

Said Golgafrincham Captain Dick Durbin
To his Dentrassi pal and counterpart,
"Dude, do you know the mess that you are in?
You'd just resign and leave if you were smart."
Said Burris to his partner "Umm, no way.
My only sin was offering to help
Supply frood food for Blago's next buffet."
Said Durbin, "Fine, you dumb Dentrassi whelp,
Go hang with Vogon Blago; I don't care."
(Apologies, I will admit, are due
To Douglas Adams, though I firmly swear
I think he'd laugh at what is happ'ning, too).
And so as I take in this news, I'm torn
Between profound dismay and snarky scorn.

I Will Miss His Soundbites Somewhat Less Than Bush's

Indulge I do at times in schadenfreude,
A vice, I know, but sometimes I can't help
But celebrate when someone so devoid
Of virtues gets the chop. I gave a yelp
Of glee when he today was so impeached
That he can't serve the state of Illinois
As even a dogcatcher. He has leached
From history a portion of the joy
We rightly felt to see Obama's win.
Then he compared himself to MLK
And Ghandi when exposed as not human
But Vogon-born, and proved it just today
By tormenting his state house and senate
And living glupules frart and slipulate.