Listen to the Rain

You just had to mention Shakespeare and trolling, didn't you. I lost a good half hour of my afternoon putting this monstrosity together.


Monsters of yore, which under bridges lurked
And fed on goats, or so the story goes.
On modern fora leave the virtuous irked
Through poor manner and vitriolic prose
Though moderators; men with icy stare
Patrol their boards 'til hooligans are gone
To greener grounds the vexing throngs repair
And juvenile pursuits begin anon
Yet lest they harm us with their wanton hate
Or images of freakish cats with text.
Behold! They are mere boys of pallid pate,
In basements housed; eternally unsexed.
They rail against the world, and yet amount
To motes of dust, too pitiful to count.