By Kevin Piastra, age 15, (shortly before Barack Obama won the 2008 election. I still plan on making this into a short film. Maybe revise it to be about Colbert leaving. Anyway, the formatting is screwed up and I wish I posted this as soon as I wrote it but I basically just found it.)
Stephen McCoy is thirteen years old.
He’s always polite and does what he’s told.
For a boy his age, he’s nice and plays fair
but he wants to be just like Stephen Colbert.
He doesn’t mind living with his cats, dog, and sister
though he’d rather share a home with journalist Wolf Blitzer.
There he could project his political opinions
and host a program with thousands of minions.
Stephen doesn’t mind a day at the beach,
though he’d prefer to be in Washington giving a speech.
He conducts interviews with his dog Lucy
in the hopes of creating a mini Steve Doocy
so he and his biased talking dog
could go searching for American minds to defog.
“Yes, she’s a beagle but I wish she was an eagle.”
He’s not just about hating the New York Times,
he likes to blog and read to pass some of the times.
While other kids read books like Always be Smiley
Stephen’s favorite author is Bill O’Reilly!
One night, while watching The Report,
he heard a story that made him quite sore.
Such horrible news he could not face
for his hero McCain had lost the race!
He checked other broadcasts to make sure it was true,
unaware his parents were trying to watch, too!
He thought McCain was failin’ since governor Palin!
His momma sent Stephen off to his room
despite his predictions of this country’s doom.
There he was sentenced to spend the rest of his existence
alone with news clippings on Iraqi resistance.
While vlogging on choices about the womb
Stephen’s mother burst suddenly into the room.
She said: “If you want to, you can go out and play.
It’s sunny outside and a wonderful day.”
Stephen tried arguing but he just couldn’t speak.
The hours of isolation made his gravitas weak.
so he took out some paper and scribbled with a pen:
“We Republicans will never leave our homes again!”
His mother said,
“You’re not a republican and the party’s not dead,
these games that you play are all in your head
You’re not Stephen Colbert, you’re Stephen McCoy.
You’re not a right-wing pundit, just a teen boy.
You’re 13 years old and you are my son.
Now go run outside and have some real fun!”
Her frustration spent, she walked down the hall.
And while Stephen leaned back against the wall
the room started to dim and to spin.
Of hotdogs and ketchup it started to reak
His overactive imagination had reached its peak!
He saw Lucy, his corresPAWndent slave
and heard Reagan’s call from beyond the grave.
Ron spoke from heaven and made unreasonable demands.
While through cracking walls reached Cheney’s hands.
Every talk-show guest in his life that had filled up his dreams
swept his loaded questions to terrified screams!
To escape the weirdness, he reached for the door
but tripped and landed onto the floor.
His voice was faint and slow
as he defined “Truthiness” from his favorite show:
"Truth that comes from the gut, not books.
However you feel reality looks.”