I've never been one to read Terms and Condish,
Just clicked "Accept" with an agile mouse swish,
And gone on with my versing about this sham and that,
9-11, bin Laden and the media race-rat,
So sharp was my fright and humungous my fret
When my server said I'd be wiped off the Net.
I'd heard of fellows being from Twitter banned,
Radical reporters on the Net getting canned,
And vids on YouTube that challenge convention
Getting yanked as seeming beyond all redemption,
But I always figured my rhymes were quite tame:
To jab at some prez or to point out some shame.
But it seems the censors are scaling new heights,
Lest people lack for their deep-sleeping nights
If presented the thought things aren't as Fox says,
Or that for the truth we can't count on our prez,
Thus has JoeShmoeNet (my server) turned blistery,
And told me my website is now part of history.
I sent them a mail and invoked First Amend',
They said, "We're a company, not a godsend,
Besides, Phil, you've got to read the small print:
Section 5, Para 6, even though you must squint,
Which forbids any rhyme that sounds at all moot,
Which you did -- alas! -- pairing 'put' with 'boot.'"
I objected and said that was hardly a crime:
And you scrap my site on account of a rhyme?
They answered the danger was present and clear
To oodles of schoolkids and their tender ear,
Speech defects and horrible complex might follow,
Trauma in which for all life they might wallow.
I replied, "Your motive like politics sounded,
The clause being true but the action unfounded,
Though surely a generation will thank you,
And as for me what can I answer but 'Fank you.'"
So to e-smithereens has gone my old page,
The victim of nerds, those kings of the age.