He took on slime and filth like Gerry Gable,
And showed them up as venal and corrupt,
But when he put his full deck on the table
For his True Love, she brought him down abrupt.
The Holocaust he gave some clear revision,
He made Irving and Cesarani howl,
But though he held these fakes up to derision,
There’s never been a bigger mug than Al.
By far right and Moslem he’s been applauded,
For his exposing liars, fakes and cranks,
For his pronouncing queers not gay, but sordid,
And explaining how we can beat the banks.
But though he saw through all the cant and flim-flam,
And sorted what was haraam from halal,
She took him to the cleaners with a prize scam;
She never found a bigger mug than Al.
“I love you darling”, she said; he believed her,
“I want you always, in and out of bed”;
Not once did he suspect that grand deceiver,
Until she dropped the sucker on his head.
Though he continues to exude defiance
His heart was shattered by one femme fatale,
Though he may humble ogres, knaves and giants,
There’ll never be a bigger mug than Al.
She only wanted him to kill the bastard,
For naught but his death would allay her guilt,
And but for Providence he’d have been mastered
By tearful eyes and hours in her quilt.
She drove him to the brink, but he retreated,
Near shattered by his love-induced grand mal,
How could he have been so blind and conceited
To think her kind could love a mug like Al?
October 26, 2010
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