Of Pseudo Journalists

Strutting like a wild peacock, a media
Acolyte and a bodyguard at his side
This fakir fakery walks the corridor
Thinking he was entering triumphantly
After his garbage paper made an " expose"
Of imagined venalities of the agency.
(What a pre-homo erectus specie
Irresponsible, no talent entity, parading
His low IQ and his idiocy!)

Suddenly, this slimy creature, masquerading
As a brave member of the Fourth Estate,
Ran down the stairs like a monkey terrified,

The tail between the legs, and sought refuge

In the arms of authority he has despised.

Cried he to the female cop, "They pointed

A gun at me there, they wanted me dead!"

The chief, descending from his sanctum,

Saw him from a distance and said, "It's him,

The quarry in Agoo. Agooyong."*

Indeed, this liar king met his adversary

In that cloudy afternoon in January.

But a convict always bears false testimony

He will remain the unreconstructed impostor

Whose mind is in his anus

Or to be fair and generous

Some brains are scattered in his pig eyes,

Some in his foul mouth forever swilling

His own urine laced with vomit green.

*Iloko pun on Agoo, a La Union town,

which means, "crazy or madman."