PrintApril 16, 2007
The arbiter (a poem)
All Hail! All Hail!
The arbiter is in the house!
Imus grovels gravely
for words he did espouse.
Rutgers' ladies second to
the Court of Sharpton's cause.
Spin it to the Reverend first,
or he'll judge you without pause.
Kiss his foot with contrite lips,
pucker up so well.
'Cuz if you don't,
he'll make your life
a living, race based hell!
