All the little worker ants,
           	Would wait with bated breath.
                          	To see the newest offering,
                                         	Of their orange cheese puff deity.
 
A gold coin? An autographed guitar?
           	Trading cards? A swatch of his suit?
                          	And, oh glory be!
                                         	An autographed bible!
 
Bills went unpaid,
           	Food was not bought,
                          	Pocket change set aside,
                                         	All to procure this clutter.
 
“This will be worth a lot of moola someday,”
           	They told their junior ants.
                          	As they puffed out their chests,
                                         	And drooled over their perceived richness.
 
Late at night, PBR in hand,
           	They would rub themselves and moan in glee,
                          	As their eyes gently stroked the,
                                         	Rubbish, foolishly bought.
 
Each week brought another opportunity,
           	Another scam to erode their earnings,
                          	Another ploy to feel like a member,
                                         	Of the Buffoon Platoon
 
Roy Richard
February 2025