Tuesday, July 8, 2008

 

Black like a brute

It lies there mute

When it talks in style

It flashes bright smile

It sings what they like

It stops when they dislike

It’s cared, it’s abused

It’s shoved, it’s refused

They call it an idiot box

And admit it’s like the stinking socks

It predicts unpredictable weather

And the coming price of leather

Some own more than one

Yet some have none

Wading infinite family moods

And spectra of routes

Say all at home

TV removes a vacuum

The ladies like the soaps

The males dismiss ‘em as dopes

They love the losing sports

Despite tons of ads it promotes

The kids like the toons

Others think it is a boon

Whatever said and done

The small screen will definitely run.

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