Alex

Hello, my name is Moderator
And I have a truth to tell
What it's like to moderate
And to have someone berate

Of how unfair I must've been
To grade his work and all
And finally to give third place
In HIS opinion--what a disgrace!

"You have been so mean to me
And so, with no adieu,
I will tell the world of my
Hard feelings towards you."

He goes around and tells his story
Way out, far and wide,
Little understanding how I 
Feel Inside.

"What a disgrace, Mr. Moderator!
Most certainly, what a disgrace, 
To see you put me in third place
...Tut, tut, what a GRAVE disgrace!"

Behold Mr. Moderator 
As he stands his ground
While mindless ones go to and fro
And smear him till he frowns.

Grave Mr. Moderator,
With his face so dim,
Longingly waits for no more disgrace
Of mindless ones towards him. 

Mis-ter Moderator, quiet as he could be
Writes down his notes 
And reveals his thoats (thoughts)
Of what did really be (what REALLY happened)

Of how Mr. John,
The angry one,
Has gotten his p's and q's mixed up 
And how Mr. John had some fun
And unknowingly, HAD messed up

What did he mess up, indeed,
How did he mess up indeed?
He messed up in grammer, and spelling,
And...manner of writing his words--INDEED!!

Then without double checking,
Mr. John in a rush,
Sent his poem, wacky and...wookee
To the Moderator for being judged

Mr. Moderator, quite the commentator
Looked LOUD and LONG at his poem--
riddled with errors and full of atrife
That he just had to grab a knife...

With said knife, he clearly slashed 
The WHOLE poem into the trash
Bit by paper, white droplets did fall
And landed in the land of...per-ishable fall (the trash basically)

With trusty computer and keyboard in hand
He began to type just as fast as he can--
And tell that guy, full of pride
That "hey....your poem's in the trash."

Moderator proceeded to tell
How the "work of art" did not bear well--
With words misspelled all over the place...
"...and grammar misplaced--oh, what a DISGRACE!!"

"I told and I warned you,
Before submitting a poem,
You must check it and then...check it
..BEFORE I inspect it."

"Therefore, I now decree
That your poem is third place
For you did not do your part
In keeping the rules of this...race."

Mr. John after getting the e-mail,
Was filled to the end of his rope
And so, lost hope and grabbed a rope
And proceeded to choke himself. 

...The webcam was on, and Moderator saw
What this man was about to do
And this he said, (and we would say too),
"Young man, get OUT of your stew. (You heard of people "stewing" over problems?)

"You need to do better
And when you do better
I will look at your poem
And say that it's better"

"Then your poem I will inspect
And your poem I won't reject
So then you will get your reward
..and as for me, I won't get bored."

But Mr. John, in a rage,
Looked at the camera with disdain
And turned it off as fast as he could
And then suddenly, to his feet he stood

...He sat back down, and with his site,
Entered many weblogs--cruel and full of spite
Against Mr. Moderator--
the commentator

...So this is my life as a moderator
What a REALLY hard life it is
Now you make sure, that you learn
The ins and outs of it

For when you become, as I am
You begin to see and understand,
What a hard life that we all lead...
When you all become just like me  (a moderator)