Bully me you, I exemplified archetypal scapegoat...

who suffered cuts by a thousand knives.

Even as old (dish) married
(spooning) curmudgeon,
who receives social security disability
linkedin with social anxiety)
chose the fork less traveled
aye pucker with sunken cheeks,
(especially without dentures)
and raspily suction toothless mouth
drawing reminiscent guffaws affecting
attempt impersonating plumber

(think suctioning and unclogging toilet)

please support your local bummer

back in the day one
long haired pencil neck geeks palled
around with another
hirsute nerd - Roger Kummerer,
(who both of us graduated Methacton
High School class of 1977),

and yours truly readily

admitting, alluding, and attesting

without shadow of doubt

representing the dumber

than rocks of said beastie boys

bandits, donning particolored pachyderm
gabardine garb getup trumpeting,
especially as Mummer

on each New Year's Day
with bare ass tuchus

excellently imitating courtesy said orifice

(as chief motormouth) sound
of combo motorboat hummer.

Ah... the joys of amazingly aging gracefully

happily recalling never being

beat into bloody pulp dully

imagining dimming sense and sensibility

before (appearing gratefully dead)

lifeless body dumped into gully,

nevertheless all the while fully

maintaining conscious, and forcefully

summoning forth latent powers gleefully

choking living daylights masterfully

delivering just desserts upon Tom Viglione,

whose plaintive laments truthfully

resonate as blessed music

to ears unaccustomed hearing pitifully

sounding long overdue comeuppance

forever disbelieving wrongfully

perpetrated injustice

witnessed impossible mission

fueling an ordinarily meek lad

only in his dreams, he envisions zestfully.

Pugnacious thuggish hooligans...
although decades passed
(into the black hole sink
of space/time continuum)
long since elapsed, whereby hoodlums

jockeyed to rain upon the head
of yours truly,
who weathered figurative brickbats
by remaining analogous
to a deaf-mute person

one after another verbal blow

threatening introverted diminutive boy

who, no surprise did eventually,
albeit (stuntedly) grow

(as an aside resembled anorexic
Santa Claus ho... ho... ho...)

still wracked, impacted, affected...,
this punster, he haint Joe

King, nor the Riddler, but upholds
valuable humor less or mo'

feebly, lamely, and quirkily aspires toward po'

whit tree linkedin with infusing,
(no matter ex post facto)
freeing mine unsung hero,
and perchance if I threw a judicious punch
(rearranging the face of thugs)
subsequently winning the respect
towards those beastie boys,
who would know better next time,
when they come back to town
than to tangle (mane lee)
with the likes of me.