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.