Verses on the Death of Isselman2000
Occasioned by his Death, and written by Himself.

If there was once a hapless chap,
Who loved the world, engaged in crap,
And overall was fairly keen
To leave his audience in spleen,
Then I bestow before your eyes
A fairly miserly surprise:
A mortal of the middling kind,
Director, philanthrop, and blind
To all the pleasures of the world
(From those he knew, he'd nearly hurled).
Yes, this is but a tragic tale,
Of one depressed, insecure, frail,
Emotionally-challenged brat
Who at society had spat
And cursed the paparazzi down
While they were passing through his town;
Engaged in reading of the Swifts,
The Drydens, Miltons, and the shifts
In language he would, eager, note.
Under an alias he wrote
His parodies of big and small,
And Swift he liked the most of all.

Directed he the Chronotron;
The hearts of many he had won.
But those who loved him, they were few—
Those who admired him, were true,
And stayed until the bitter end,
When, hapless, he had scarce a friend,
And, half a trillion in debt,
Which he had blown on booze and rent.

While lived, he lived and hardly made a sound;
And once recalled returned he to the ground.