September 2013 Pome " Death by Pinprick"

The Fort Hood shooter's had his day,
The verdict never doubted--
That murderous major said his say
For oaths and laws he flouted.

And now the court has ruled for death--
It leaves one rather sickly
To know this skunk will lose his breath
So quietly and quickly.

(But first, of course, come the appeals
To spare his worthless hide,
By lawyers  pushing clever deals--
None of their kin had died!)

They'll wheel him down the corridor
Upon a special gurney,
Maybe a Muslim counselor
To cheer him on his journey,

They'll swab his arm with alcohol--
This to prevent infection--
A drop or two of pentothal
From a complex connection,

Then off he goes to slumberland,
No pain and no regretting,
Obeying Allah's last command,
What comfort he'd be getting!

But if the law such course permits,
I think it might be proper
To grind his corpse to tiny bits
And flush it down the crapper.

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