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The drifter rode in – a tall knight on a horse,
And there followed behind, a formidable force.
They were armed to the teeth with all manner of props:
Rifles, cutlasses, hand guns, clubs, pitchforks and mops.
And the actors of Hollywood, trembling and meek,
All waited in fear for the drifter to speak.
Then he said as he glared at the crowd from on high:
“Listen punks, say your prayers, you are all gonna die;
For the movies you’re makin’ are liberal and lame,
Negative and nihilistic, and all much the same.
They’ve no moral, just mayhem; in short they are bad.
They are ugly; in each is no good to be had.
And your stars – antiheroes pathetic and weak,
Push your message – a future that’s barren and bleak.
You will not be forgiven for makin’ such trash.
When we’re finished there will be but corpses and ash,
For your films are a poison that seeps to the bones,
Where it turns the afflicted to impotent drones.
With your social agenda your movies are packed,
And by bad billionaires we all know you are backed,
So I’ve formed up a posse of actors like me –
We are right-minded thespians, and we agree
To put on a performance (I wrote the screenplay)
That will blow all your plots and you actors away,
And all Hollywood then will be razed to the ground.”
Then he said: “Cameras roll – ready – clapper and sound!”
The drifter cried: “Action!” The cast, (the good guys)
How they swatted the liberal actors like flies,
And to rubble the studios all were reduced.
(Consequently there will be no sequel produced.)

So now Hollywood is but a smouldering ruin.
Old Clint spits a stream from the plug he is chewin’,
Then mounts, turns his back on what once was a friend,
And rides into the sunset – sad music – THE END.