I am not poor, but ugly? Yes! My cache is full; my noggin? No!

Is my cranium laden with brain?
It is vacant, and I am a fool.
It’s as if my gray matter were drained
My manners are rude…a useful tool.

Understanding—I’ll give it a pass.
I am just what I appear, alas.
My cranium is not brain-laden;
I’m a genuine pain in the ass.

Intelligence and I never met.
Ignorance is toward which I veer.
It’s my residence; I live here.
Am I always home? You’d better bet!

I pique nothing but aggravation.
My speech suggests inebriation.
So minimal, my poll cognition.
Why? Because I’m a politician.

So, am I a really smart guy?
It’s the opposite, you can rely.
And it is very easy to spy.
If I said otherwise, I would lie.

(Endless blather)
I say without dissimulation:
There’s no way that I've a brace of brain.
To feign it so, a simulacrum.

I fill you with venom ’cause I can,
even though you’re a nice neighbor man.
I’ll lie again—that is the plan.
Your placidity on the lam.

My head is vacant, that is plumb plain…
dumb as a cud-chewer chomping grain,
dumping dollops on the grassy plain,
not knowing when to egress from rain.

Were I a store into which you’d pull,
you’d see: Inventory would be nul
and void. But this you would need not mull:
Of sh!t, you’d see, I’m completely full.