ALAS, POOR TELLER

Alas, poor Teller, I knew him well,
Knew him before the YOOK ["euc"] tree fell...
Squishing him right off the chart
With a teensy sound like a chipmunk fart.
I knew him with his teardrop scar
Seen only close and not from far,
Knew him with his greenish eyes
Closed in YOOK shadings where he lies...
Ever now, his tales untold,
Ever now, his lines unsold...
For Teller never got to be,
No Russell character, no, not he.
So, to him let's raise a toast,
He, for whom there is no boast
That women find him with their eyes
On the screen quite magnetized.
No, he'll never see the day
When we line up far down the way
To buy our tickets to his show...
We'll never see the guy, oh no!
Never hear his voice so deep
Telling tales that make us weep,
Never see his smile so wry,
Never view his teardrop eye.
For all the YOOKs have now been felled
Leaving Teller's tales untelled.

- Jo

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