The Bus Has Crashed. All We Do Is Sigh.

An ideas man with no ideas,
incensed by common sense,
setting off down the path of procrastination and showy distraction,
because doing anything of actual value would be an abomination.

Obscenely out of his depth and out of touch,
tough on nothing but the nerves of the rest of us,
a sycophantic sock puppet for the same old solutions, that have never solved his many problems.

He has an idea,
that he borrowed and bastardised,
stripping the sheen from it until it is dry, tarnished branches on the ground,
and he points with a smile,
waiting for us to be amused and amazed,
but it never happens.

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