Poor old Johnny Franzen
Sounded sad upon the big hurrah, he moved a million hearts through Oprah.
Our mothers cried and read along and who’d blame them.
Now you’re NYT, not literary, now I must say more than ever.
Go Toora Loora Toora Loo-Rye-Aye
and we can write just like our fathers.

Come on PBW,
We miss you (and your blog) I check daily hoping for  something,
Your
pub dictionary
entries so full of hilarity you’re subversive
Ah come on PBW.

These authors round here wear beaten down eyes
Sunk in Mary Kay faces they’re so resigned to what their fate is,
But not us, no not us we are far too young and clever.
Remember Toora Loora Toora Loo-Rye-Aye
PBW we’ll hum this tune forever.

Come on PBW, one more blog entry
Ah come on, you can write anything,
They won’t get you in a suit (you’d hoot)
Ah come on, blog, ah come on PBW.

And just so you can have the earworm all day, here’s a link to
the real song
.