Country Girl Gone Wrong
To Humbug Molly, her ilk, and all
Misfortune attend and disaster befall!
May life be to her a succession of hurts;
May fleas by the bushel inhabit her skirts;
May aches and diseases encamp in her bones,
May lungs full of tubercles, bladders of stones;
May tapeworms securely in her bowels give an itch;
This one; if a dog would be surely be called an old bitch.
May used corn cobs from the out-house be snarled in her hair,
May pigeons droppings anoint her as they fly through the air.
May blue-flies buzz round her; an old meadow muffin
And tumblebugs roll balls, she's the finest for certain.
Aroma of skatoles and indoles do hang in the air
Following the presence of this one, not fair.
May the bile spread in her libelous attacks
Splash back on her, this journalist hack.
May all be blessed by her passing
And give Thanks everlasting!
At dusk the no-see-ums
Will seek out and bite some
Sketters will buzz around her head
They leave disease if they bite it's said.
May her skin crawl just thinking of the ticks
The numbers increasing as each one she picks,
She deserves it all, this devil's female kin,
Evil! Sister of cupidity, cradled in sin!
Writing prose with a Poison pen!
Doing harm to great men.
May the death angel
End your spiel.
May she be
Infested ‘n Besieged
By Bedbugs and lice feasting
(It's the insects way of caressing)
On abundant skin folds grown flabby.
A banquet provided by this no-lady.
Hiding in her drawers in spite
They'll come out at nite,
For a nocturnal taste
Of writer's waste.
To Molly Ivins,
She's no Texan.
Tho she claims to be.
She's a country girl gone wrong.
Avenging H. L. Mencken, whom she compares herself to.
(After K. Q. as quoted in Ambrose Bierce's The Devil's Dictionary.)