I signed on with Putin some ten years ago,
Hoping America to give the heave-ho.
T'was a sweet ceremony with kisses on cheeks,
Oceans of vodka and dull speeches for weeks,
"Assets, I salute you," Vlad said through interp',
"Go create havoc and wear proud the term 'perp.'"
Then on to classes for havoc techniques,
Like spreading fake news in the guise of wise geeks,
And taking out ads in Facebooks and Twitters,
Psy-ops and disinfo', some really hard-hitters.
In five years flat we'd have Unc' Sam on the run,
Or about to give in, our web-assets well spun.
There were dozens of assets devoted like me,
Assange and Ed Snowden, for class Donald T,
Brad not yet Chelsea, T. Gabbard, Steve Cohen,
Each with his role but the same way a-rowin',
Such hell-raisers sharp as had never been had,
And all hoping to please our highest priest Vlad.
We set out to give it our very best shot,
A try of the college type, hopeful the lot,
But at every turn did we end up outdone,
Confounded by the good guys, outstripped, undone:
Libya, Syria, Hillary went crack,
Talibs ran rings 'round the U.S. in Af-Pak.
From Moscow Vlad thundered, "Is that all you got?
Free of charge do I have that Washington lot."
"They're finished," we said, "by revelations and words,
And Don's done his best to make a mess of the Kurds.
And tax cuts: he's brought us to true hells of debt!"
"In Congress?" said Putin, "that's a job of no sweat."
And he fired us all, after all those years' work,
Adding, "Why didn't I hire that John Bolton jerk?
There's a guy who can get the U.S.A. messed.
Snowden revelations? A distraction at best,
Assange is a sideshow, Chelsea a martyr,
Bumbling like this I've not seen since Prez Carter!"
Jeez, we all figured Ed's rev's were darn good,
Anyone can read 'em if only they would,
T'were published and onlined with our hearts in our guts,
But treated like box scores by those MSM sluts,
Who take in stride the Constitution's been peeled,
No one caring what we've informed or revealed.