Courtesy of The Daily Kos and Bill in Maine:
Twas the night before Christmas and in his penthouse
Martin Shkreli was relishing his life as a louse
His millions were stacked to the ceiling with care
In bundles of Franklins thirty feet in the air
The pharma CEO slept smug in his bed;
While visions of price-gouging danced in his head;
Like the price of an AIDS drug he’d recently sent
Soaring to the heavens by five thousand percent
When over on Twitter there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my
porn Bible lesson to see what was the matter.
Away to the home page I flew like a flash,
“BREAKING: Turing CEO’s career is headed for a crash!”
The moon over midtown made the Big Apple glow,
As if in a spotlight for a really big show,
When what to our wondering eyes did appear,
But a team of G-Men in full G-men gear
With a warrant for arrest and list of charges so thick,
I knew in a moment they’d be cuffing this prick
More rapid than eagles through his foyer they came,
And they read him Miranda, then his transgressions by name:
“You fraudster! You stealer! You vulture! You cheat!
You swindler, you schemer, you freaking deadbeat!
To the back of the car! To your waiting jail walls!
Now come this way! Come this way! We gotcha by the balls!”
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on Late Edition
That Shkreli had been fired from his corporate position
As I turned my head and was scratching my duff,
I saw perp-walking Martin, all bound up in cuffs.
He was smarmy and pale, a narcissistic little shit,
And America convulsed in a schadenfreudic fit;
The fear in his eye—oh, yes, it was there,
Soon gave me to know this guy had no prayer
He spoke not a word, but soon lost his smirk,
As prosecutors drooled over nailing this jerk,
And the whole world exclaimed as he disappeared with a snort
“Karma’s a bitch, pharma bro, and we’ll see you in court.”