squeak my little mice, squeal my feline friends: the rats are coming.*

you really picked the wrong kind of enemy,
one that finds your sense of humour
endearing,
and a sense of humour
    that's both endearing,
                        and easily overturned;
the rat populace said so:
             you have no veto,
that sort of privilege is left to the people
with enough political integrity
to not take to jogging
     in the morning, as those blonde
chewbacca ****** take to,
outthinking the stability of the dover
cliffs, with some sort of masterplan
of the mexican wall...
  how about you blow up the channel
tunnel first?!