It seems there's one in every crowd;
They make their presence known
By constant braying long and loud
And won't leave you alone.
You're just minding your own business
And they come running up,
Not for some act of kindness
Or, to fill an empty cup;
They're there with an opinion
About most everything
And act like you're a minion
To some evil king.
I'd like to take them to the side
And maybe beat some sense
Into their mangy hide
But, I expect they are too dense.
Instead, politely, I decline
To listen to their sass
As they keep on with their braying
The noisy little #$%#$%#$%!
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