Why Can't We Call People Like Tom Cotton A Moron, Or A Fluffer

[gfarber]

37. Cotton

There once was a senator, Cotton,
Whose truth-telling skills were forgotten.
On “Meet the Press” day,
He sprayed claims every which way—
A performance some swear was all rotten.

He said kids were the core of his cares,
Though critics called that “putting on airs.”
For he cheered, so they claim,
Pete’s explosive acclaim—
A small boat the supposed target of “narco” affairs.

But Welker and Schiff cut right through,
Asking, “Tom, if protecting the youth’s what you do,
Why no outrage or bark
When Trump pardoned, remark,
A leader accused of drug-running, too?”

And then came a question quite stark:
“Why vote for RFK Jr.?”—remark
That the claims in the piece
Say his past wasn’t peace,
More a wander through life’s wilder arc.

“If you worry,” they pressed, “about kids,
Why back someone—again, as the commentary bids—
Whose crusades against shots
(So the article jots)
Could endanger them more than it rids?”

So Cotton, the article mocks,
Leaves Arkansans all checking their clocks—
For embarrassment’s peak,
Which arrives every week,
Though their governor sets quite a box.