Ne'erdowell

In a move public’ly controversial,
His fist in our midst fapped inertial,
“Begone puritanical,
This wench grinds mechanical!”
And he wanked to that Hardee’s commercial.

they also brew swill

He speaks unabashedly of his master plan.

Unflinchingly, he describes an entity to blanket the globe, sucking lifeblood with laser guided corporate vampirism. From a jagged-looking monastery, one could fairly assume, he would grin menacingly at his empire, pondering infinite deifying maneuvers. He would have a disturbingly human-like vaudevillian companion chained to a throneside granite column.

People would call him “Sir.”