A poem written by Jim Finch
In the land of glitz and glamor
Came a man who stood below
The lights and ceilings put in place
By the rulers who were on the blow
Chille, by name, Chille by game
A Prince of thieves and fools
Would hawk his worthless products
And take the police to school
Lawsuit after lawsuit
Insult and threatened wrassle and punch
His viewers would tune in each night
And see the other auditors each his lunch
“I am the one, I am the hero of the story!”
He’d cry with feigned fury and rage
But all would see a little man crying and shouting
Never immortalized on the page
So as Chille turns 50,
He runs up and over the hill
We wish him psychological help
And a diagnosis and a large bill
For yelling and screaming
Prank calling and the charade
Won’t be remembered
As you’re another day closer to your grave
Wise up, settle down and think
Oh little Chille Man
About the life you could be having
If you could only understand
Societal change won’t happen
But there can be a change or two
If you just stop being an asshole
And put some work into YOU.
Happy birthday Chille
And fuck right off and back
As you’re now much too old for this
And please stop doing crack.
Embrace your family,
Embrace Charlie, embrace anything that stays,
You’ll be happier, oh tiny little man
If you just change your way.
Chille at 50.
Fuck off right now and again.
A high high ho and away you go
A step closer to the end.
