Oh, bless the Torygraph!

Oh, bless the Torygraph!
You have to laugh:
It tries so hard and yet its
Credibility decreases with
Each hoist of its irrational
Flag to telegraphic speech;
It parrots pieces of old time
And stereotype – all hype in
Frilly shirts and fancy bloomers –
This old Tory crooner preaches
Supplemental sugar treats
To those who take their slop
With a more modest garnish
Than the Daily Mail adopts.
No, not for nothing does it
Cultivate its outraged face in
Subtler tracts of seeming
People-pleasing Reason
To convince the Worried Well
And Pretty Comfortable that
Anything approaching left is
Recklessness personified.

It plies the great god
Umbrage with entitlement
From battlements bespoke
And smugly reassures the
Fearful Well and Safely
Comfortable that Earth is
Surely flat and that what’s
Right and proper is the more
Ensured by their dab hands
And fossil-brained demands.
Oh bless the Torygraph –
You have to laugh – It’s much
Too daft to be highbrow and
Somehow just refined enough
To seem a cut above the smut.

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