apologies to Edgar Allen Poe
Once upon a midnight dreary, watching TV, feeling queerly,
Watching many a quaint and curious Pundit of forgotten Bore,
While I nodded, nearly sleeping, suddenly there came a screeching,
As if someone over reaching, over reaching a point most sore;
"Tis some reporter," I muttered "screeching like his ass was tore."
Only this and nothing more.
Ah, distinctly I remember, was it June or last September,
When each separate voting member caucused from the chamber floor.
Eagerly I sought a Pundit, wondering who had won it,
Mayhap to see if HE had done it -- done it for the lost and poor,
For it's rare to find an office seeker working for the lost and poor,
Nameless here for Evermore.
And the sad, uncertain features of the various media creatures,
Thrilled me -- filled me with fantastic Hopes never felt before,
Seeing newsmen, barely started, looking like someone had farted,