Some straggling readers hung right in, not leaving like the rest,
They clung to hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
"If he could get an Instalanche," they thought, "he'd go whole hog.
"We'd pay to have our patron ads, with WitNit at the blog."

But Hugh preceded WitNit, and so did Lileks' Bleat;

The former was a master, while the latter was so neat.
So upon WitNit's readers sat grim melancholy's face,
For there seemed little chance of WitNit getting some prime space.

The blogosphere was crowded—it made one all agog;
With Power Line and Little Green Footballs here at the blog;
And there stood Daniel Drezner, and wiley Dave Kopel,
And in the corner spitting bullets Blue-Eyed Infidel.

Then from his several readers' throats there rose a whimpy yell;
It skittered through the valley, it scampered in the dell;
It whispered to the mountain and sank into the bog,
For WitNit, mighty WitNit, was advancing to the blog.

There was ease in WitNit's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in WitNit's bearing and a smile lit WitNit's face.
And as Austin Bay peered at him, he button'd his London Fog,
And VodkaPundit had no doubt 'twas WitNit at the blog.

With Captain's Quarters watching, he sat down in his house;
And Horsefeathers applauded when he grabbed his wireless mouse;
Defiance flashed in WitNit's eye, his mouth looked grim and mean.
His fingers slammed the keyboard as the words formed on the screen.

With brainy Michelle Malkin standin' next to BuzzMachine

And Blair and Simon, Iowahawk and Chrenkoff lookin' lean,
Ol' WitNit let loose with some wit that leapt out from his head—
"Glenn doesn't like those lawyer jokes. Strike one!" Ann Althouse said.

From James Taranto, Mickey Kaus, there came a muffled roar,
Like beatings of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore;
"Come on, Witnit, give 'em hell!" shouted Postrel with good reason;
With Armor Geddon at his side our WitNit feared no treason.

With a smile to Kim du Toit, great WitNit's visage shone;
He laughed with ol' Ben Volokh; he bade the blog go on;
He signaled to the router, and the HTML flew;
But WitNit's humor missed the Heh and Bitchgirls cried, "Strike two!"

"Fraud!" cried TalkLeft, Spoons, and Quare, and Oxblog answered "Fraud!"
One flash of scorn from WitNit, and the multitude was awed.

Pierce saw his face grow stern and cold, Kate saw his muscles strain,
They knew that WitNit wouldn't let his blog screw up again.

The sneer is gone from WitNit's lip, the shaking from his knees,
He pounds with cruel violence with his fingers on the keys;
And now the words have rhythm, and now the poem shines,
And now iambic rules the air supporting WitNit's rhyme.

Oh, somewhere in this favoured land Cold Fury's shining bright,
And Eduwonk is happy, and the Belmont Club is light;
And somewhere Wonkette's laughing, and Hammorabi shouts,
But there's no joy in Mudville—mighty WitNit has struck out.

*****************

For new readers who want to puzzle out my politics (good luck), read ConsLibModism.

Posted by witnit at February 14, 2005 12:36 AM

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