Suntard

Lord of Lies, Father of Flies, works at dunny
Canarywharf, insanitary psy-operator works to keep
Suntards

attocerebral sheeple, lairy lambs who wear
wolves, falseclass mooncalves on the way to The Chop.
Suntard

mooncalves steered nowhere selfless, same
personal darkness where shepherded masses always lead.
Suntard

sheeple swineherded by churnalistic chyrons,
clarion dogwhistles, catkicking sirens.
O Suntard,

upclose your island dwarf sirens are silicone chickens
w/ chlorinated tits, populipstick on neolib pigs.
Suntards

wonder what Miss New Wotnot did w/ her new wotnots, notwhat 
became of Overton widows, Faith, Hope & Charity.
O Suntards,

here on Snickersnee Island, the arrows that fly by night dark
as money are the swords, decapitwatting, which
'tard Sun-

readers - Scumbuyers my Lord, Scumbuyers - 'mong not so yon
nesiote peuplade of Arkadders & Glandricks. Hon-
orary Suntards

(Mailmongs, Expressflids) also have their Weltan-shoed-in
by lamestream lucrepriest UK lugenpress.
Suntard-

tarders trained at finest spirearchies of teratogeny
to titrate propaganda such that Scumbuyer (my Lord)
Suntards 

in their fractally catkicking swillions swallow
argumenta ad crumenum at the coarse source. Whilst for 
broadsheet Suntards,

the wine o' clock news is artfully autoskewed
into expedient misreadient of Ideologreed's ideologredients.
But all Suntards

are caitiff lions on swill. & tho' it's
proletjorative denouncing semiskilled turnspit
Suntards

for hyenapanzees, who covet shortlived Judas perks    
a Camp Kapo might weirdflex, I assert all soulstump
Suntards

are owed stiff eyeope' of English truthserum,
veritas tea. My spout is mightier than the sword! Yet 
Mudsill Suntards

in particular shame Our Class when they're horrorsoccer 
suckers of squaddies' botties' colluvies. Dishonour lovers,
Suntard-

ed by sprot, the pron of mationalisn.
Upon the Belgrano, a belligerents' belgard they still bestow. 
O ye Suntards 

lapsed broletarian, I've Gotcha-dammerung! Once you all were 
l/ stressful stepsons I contemned but could not censure, 
but now? Now, subaltern Suntards,

I see there is no keeping you onside.
You are not the dazzled vassals of vital whores,
but Suntards inviting 

benightedness, dim as a dimbo's dimple in a dim light.  
Their fruntal brutile futal bowing bove lobes,
their Suntard 

cerebrum (w/ decapitraits), rote-cite their lil' psitta-
comics, 2ndhand shitonomics, parrot the punditocrats'
Suntard

scripts...Well, just about, for in the single digits of the 
Oxford readinglevel languish such classic oinker-ordure-
IQ'd Suntards.

The Filth Estate a massomatic machiavellum
spreading blockheadism even w/out being a bestsellum.
Wuxtry, wuxtry! The Suntards'

fav columnists are lumpencommentariat, themselves onscript 
(joun. equiv. of lobbyfodder). The Empire's pensforhire 
Reutard those too schooled to Suntard,

quillshill quockerwodgers quockerbloggers quockerpodcasters, 
are encoders (for a wonga quota) of their owners' sub rosa longueurs, 
bloatwaring Suntard

48k psyches w/ the views of the vaunted vermin 
in ermine/ khaki/ tweeds/ pinstripe.
Some of the slickest Suntard-

ant agents even don Kippot, for Suntard synagogues
of Stockholm syndrome now defame in the name
of social cleansing at home, ethnic abroad. Suntard-

ation is mightier than the Lord! I wish Death
to the fascistinsect, in fact, the preying noncompis
mantis of the Suntard

hive-mire, whose dupers delight in Suntard
seinsvergessenheit, the wonder-deficit, but you won't readallaboutit 
in the Suntard Times.

Nor of dem jibberly jukes in gilets jaunes,
whom us Anglais should be jel & emulous of, but
Suntard-

istan UK is too hardcore hornswaggled by The Stick
of ragstoriches exceptions to The Rule. Their
Suntard-

igrade mental tun state also survives the vacuum pomp
& pageantry & Brexcetera Brexcetera. Or maybe
Suntards

are just plain 'tards for the Indiangiver bingo.
Perfidiousalbion on speed? Pah, Borisbritain's
on spice, smackedout on Suntard

skimpressions scantamount to a creed.
O vox populi comix vex me! Our Utopia of Butskellism's gone
crazy l/ a Foxtard!

So don't get Suntarded by the Scum, be luxtarded
by a deep toke on a lost road, struck gloriously dumb by 
heatstroke, as you squint at our blinding, illuminating star.

& don't get Starspackered reading the Daily Star either.