Less Than a Loser

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The Equality of Humanity is a fiction; we all know that is true.

But using it to end the dominance fight is the best thing we can do.

 

If some inferior man wants to be big, then others must be small.

He has to bring other people down low, so that he can feel tall.

 

There is someone who knows that desire. He wants to make others fall.

He believes that heís the only person who counts for anything at all.

 

This useless morally retarded putz just keeps on insisting

that people praise and admire him merely for existing.

 

Heís always kissing the mirror. He canít even claim to be nuts.

He surely wasnít born that way: heís truly a self-made putz.

 

He gives no thought to others; of himself heís overflowingly full.

Of pious compassion he says to himself itís just a load of bull.

 

But the one who lifts up others is the greater man, of course.

When he does some wrong to others, he has the sense to feel remorse.

 

To nurture the world properly a good man needs to be strong.

To exploit the world callously is a hideous moral wrong.

 

Every religion teaches its people the value of service unto others.

We come by that knowledge easily: we see it in our mothers.

 

When the jerk fails, as he always does, he loves blaming others.

Any thought of responsibility is one he quickly smothers.

 

When he wrongs a person he makes others take the blame,

thus denying himself the transformative power of shame.

 

But then he canít change himself because he gave away the power,

so behind his blaring vanity sullenly he will cower.

 

His antisocial behavior gives him no cause for celebration.

He sins by diminishing himself in his own inner estimation.

 

The secret lurks and prowls deep in his mindís interior

he knows that relative to other men he is grossly inferior.

 

Weíre all well justified in despising and detesting him fully,

because he had the ability to be a man and chose to be a bully.

 

In "Alumnus Football", the sports metaphor that he chose,

the sports poet Grantland Rice did these famous lines compose:

 

"For when the One Great Scorer comes to write against your name,

He writes Ė not that you won or lost Ė but how you played the game."

 

Comes that fatal day when the final score is tallied

the jerk finds that no one who knows him to his flag has rallied.

 

Our putz tried to cheat the game; he didnít play it well.

Now he has his final reward, a lonely place in Hell.

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