But like those wheat farms on its plain,
There's way more stems and grass than grain.
On midwest farms at threshing time,
A ton of straw ain't worth a dime.

No one's impressed if some guy talks
About the number of his stalks;
The bottom line is how much wheat
There is that folks might want to eat.

I read this thread and had to laugh –
Too little wheat, way too much chaff.

If all that chaff's made into hay,
It's just a single step away
From being – like this TROLL's vain words –
Huge steaming piles of bovine turds.

More TROLLish posts? No, let's have fewer!
This newsgroup's deep in steer manure.
The heap's immense; the odor's rank,
With most produced by one old crank.

I read this thread and had to howl;
The TROLL's still out there, on the prowl.

But there's a consolation, guys,
The TROLL (who frankly isn't wise)
Quite often STOMPS (as all TROLLS do)
In its own pile of fresh poo-poo.

Poetic justice – so it goes...
As feces squishes twixt its toes,
This TROLL with reddened face, brown feet,
Has found its place – sweets for the sweet!

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