From the hulks

Nous sommes le
2 Ventôse, An 214

On Moral Imbecility

With 10,000 characters the mandarin supports the skies
and calms a distant emperor's fears;

With interminable forms the IRS fills Uncle's big fat tit,
mopping barbecue for K Street's endless lies;

With myriad bits of jargon postmodernists buy their peers'
flattering gratulations--and tenure too, with luck.

But how does it avail you even the tiniest bit,
dear future cadavers? Death doesn't give a f***!

Words are the magic that makes morons of us all.