Funk's Meltdown: A Ballad of Iron and Woe
Funk sat at his keyboard, fists clenched in despair,
Trump had won once again; it just wasn't fair.
His face flushed with fury, his words full of spite,
He raged through the day and posted all night.
"How could this happen?" he muttered aloud,
As he sifted through photos—young, fit, and proud.
Once broad-chested and strong, a champion of yore,
He shared vintage snapshots, posed on the gym floor.
"Back in my day," he posted, recalling the past,
"Strength ruled the world; the weak couldn't last."
But now he felt shattered, his idols dethroned,
While the land he loved felt painfully owned.
Each scroll through the feed was salt in the wound,
His words got sharper, his tone fully tuned.
Old magazines filled with icons and steel,
Became his escape from the pain he’d conceal.
And as his meltdown continued, one thing was clear,
For Funk and his pride, the end seemed too near.
Yet in photos and stories, his younger self gleamed,
Of a time unblemished, and a future still dreamed.
Poll