In fact,
I'm the big man. When I roll
I run over bumptious chumps
hungry to be crushed by my
superior grasp of what asses
they are - sorry, guys - but
you shouldn't come uppity on
a bum like me who more than knows
how to get down, beat down, give
or take a few and then settle
like the final score next morning.
You should know better, like
every other competitiveness fan.
Bonus round? Don't mind if we don't,
do I? I mean, please yourself!
I'll happen along by and by
to make you look bad,
by comparison, clean up
what's left of you
after so many years
growing ever more decrepit
and disreputable in this grudge
I left behind, but I see
you wear the sash. Winner
and champeen! Well have a hearty
handshake on me,
Walt Mitty! Your day of glory
has finally arrived, as I saw
you and recalled our dried
-out jerky of beef, noted
your enduring obsession with it,
and congratulated you,
on all you'd gained
by our brief but stormy
association. You chumps
never change.
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