The Epic Tale of Melissa, Who Is Very Wrong

This is as good a time as any to officially inform you all about the Sneer Campaign Discord which we set up weeks ago. Most of your favorite sneerists are there being active, chatting amongst ourselves. Feel free to come over and join in, mess up our established flow with your newness!

What can you expect? There are the usual sorts of channels which reflect our attitudes and interests. There are secret exclusive channels that you might never see! How many? No one will ever say. If you know, then you know! There is also a channel where you can read, but you can’t participate except with reacts. The main sneeros will chit chat to each other there in our own version of a discord-based Real World, or possibly a sitcom. Mostly though, you will see the typical opinions and quips that you have grown to expect, and will better understand it when someone like Saxon is inspired to take Dollissa down in the form of creative expression being presented to you today!

– Amandoll

All gather ye round, the friends of the sneer, as I tell ye a tale tall and grand
Of a sweet and unusually clever young girl, who made an unfortunate stand
Whose brain had a thought, and amongst all those smarts, that thought just did not belong
So listen in close, as you hear the poem: of Melissa, who is Very Wrong.

An illustration done in an old medieval text illuminated style -- it even has some metallic gold sheen in it! There is a bard with a lute or whatever -- but the bard has pink hair because it is Saxon! She faces Dollissa who is in a line, being led by, three men with donkey heads. They are meant to be jackasses. All are in garb of the middle ages.

As pals often do, we chatted, we two, in a Discord chat expertly made
A server for folks who sneer, goss and poke at society as it’s displayed
A home for all those, who when in their throes; absurd and wore wit with fine measure
A shelter, a beacon for all who are seeking a uniquely Sneer Campaign pleasure

Let it be known, that Dollissa’s throne as a Queen of the Campaign remains
Even as in her flight, of fancy that night, caused its readers immaculate pains
So with that disclaimed, I’ll do as I’ve aimed, and get on with my spilling of tea
As I share her reflections, nay, divisive invections, of a show on the ol’ BBC

As a person of learning, I often am yearning, for discourse rent culture anew
A take that is burning, can often be turning me on to a path that is new
But nothing prepared me for words that ensnared me into a rage quite untamed
As Dollissa sat churning her thoughts out concerning a TV show called Doctor Who

As I innocent sat and related to all that I found myself very enthralled
In a video essay about the good show that the author decidedly mauled
While flattering some, they ventured the best of the series was truly complete
And Chibnall, the runner, although quite proficient was simply unfit to compete

To Discord I went, having somehow now spent, an hour and half contemplating
The critical view of a Youtuber who had arguments well worth debating
But before I could mention the certain dimension the writer had cast on the tale
Dollissa did speak, did verily seek to upon us her judgements prevail

Although she had seen, with her eyes, on the screen, the story I meant to discuss,
Her words they betrayed a fact, now displayed: the devil is in all of us.
Wrong to the Nth, “The Doctor, the Tenth, is of all the worst of the lot”
She spewed words, crime; like venom, like head-to-toe denim, and the base of my brain it grew hot.

The man she maligned could not be defined as anything less than a saint
And though I’m resigned to act like I’m blind when a faux pas is made that is faint
In cases where David Tennant’s involved for actions I cannot be blamed
I could not be consigned to behaviour refined, nor exercise any restraint

An illustration here done in medieval ways, like the monks would do in a text. In this one, Dollissa, astride a hilarious chestnut steed, aims her lance apparently between the eyes of Saxon's white steed. Both Dollissa and Saxon are in old timey armor and riding towards each other in battle. Saxon has a sword rather than a lance. On the field beneath them are fallen warriors. There is an Olde English font between them that says Ye Olde Opinions.

At first though I tried, my brain it complied, though barely to answer polite,
What she said next left me overly vexed, and primed me for quite a fight
“His dominant trait, when you watch and you wait, is just that he is very British
Pip pip cheerio” she claimed he did go, in a manner aggressive and skittish

My blood reached my ears, confirmed were my fears, Melissa did harbour a thought
That’s so deeply wrong, that even a throng of good teachers could not have her taught
As the man is from Scotland, notably not land where “pip pip” is uttered by tongue
And I knew of her folly, though it makes me not jolly, would I be required to have sung.

There is more, my dear friends, of this talk that offends, that can be observed by the strong
If the means meet the ends and your stomach transcends such debauchery, please come along
And join us on Discord, go ahead, pull the rip cord and witness the girl unashamed
That girl who contends what the devil portends – Melissa, who is Very Wrong.

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