So, TSO at This Ain’t Hell has come up with even more proof of Tim Poe’s total bullshit story including this gem:
Not only did he promote himself, he gave himself a CIB. That’s right: the dude was in transportation and claimed a CIB. A FUGGIN CIB!!! That, in and of itself, is legal grounds for a legal, public beat-down in at least six southern states.
This douchenozzle has inspired me to write a poem. Since his name is Poe, I put it in the style of Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Raven”
Once upon a show for talent, I portrayed myself as gallant,
And told tales of the Taliban and grenade attacks that m-m-m-made me sore,
While I stood there, clearly lying, I sang well, there’s no denying,
As was evident by clapping, clapping on the studio floor,
“‘Twas T-T-TBI,” I stuttered, “while I was singing I ignored-
R-rattled brains inside my gourd.”
Ah, distinctly I remember acting like a total member,
Lying like a fallen timber splayed out on the forest floor.
Eagerly with stories borrowed;- I pleaded to return tomorrow,
With a blatant lack of sorrow- sorrow for my character poor-
Now I bear the name and title of the craven attention whore-
I’m a liar evermore.
And my fable, sad, fictitious, bereft of KP doing dishes
Thrilled them- filled them with the phantom terrors of a foreign war;
So that now, to still the stutter of my voice my heart aflutter,
I told them of a wound (another) that made my back feel awful sore-
Embellishing a lie that I had told the judges once before;-
But they were lies, and nothing more.
Presently my stock flew higher; no one thought I was a liar,
“Howard, Howie, Sharon, I would love if I could sing some m-m-more”;
But the fact is I was fibbing, my combat record I was ad-libbing,
But so loudly they were clapping, clapping but I knew the score,
If they knew that I was lying, another shot they’d be denying- so I was rotten to the core;-
I lied to them a little more.
Nielsen ratings climbing higher I set the audience on fire,
Every viewer was a buyer of the lies I told before;
But the internet was working, and my fellow Joes were lurking,
And the only words they spoke were “Where’d I see that douche before?”
Then they remembered “he was the guy who evaced ‘cause his ear was sore,
Merely this, and nothing more.”
Back at their laptops, fingers burning, the transpo unit’s wheels were turning.
Soon their stomachs were a churning like they never had before.
“His Purple Heart’s imagination, his stuttering a machination:
You see that lying SOB has never gotten hit before-
He never fired a shot and never knocked upon an Afghan door;-
He’s full of shit and nothing more!”
What started with the lies he stuttered, sent the intertoobz a flutter,
His buddies in the unit said that he was there a month, no more;
“Not the least combat had seen he; he was just a FOBBIT weenie;
But, he made it sound as if he’d gone and fought and won the war-
Then he got an earache and his ass was promptly out the door-
Came and went. A month, no more.”
This put the real vets in a tizzy and soon the sleuths were very busy
Over records, 214s, and pictures did they strain and pore.
“This Blue Falcon is a liar! Surprising his pants aren’t on fire!
His story’s less believable than the Army flick with Pauly Shore-
Tell me how they didn’t know this guy’s shtick was total lore?”
All the bloggers did implore.
Supporters said “Do not detract him, the Taliban they did attack him
You weren’t there so you cannot say what he has been through before.”
But my comrades were there seeing, my DCU pants I was peeing
And it was clear to them I didn’t want to be there anymore-
Officer and NCO knew I malingered to the core.
Faked the funk and nothing more.
So I went home and started lying, to impress I was a trying
Benefits were mine if I could get my foot inside the door.
“My back hurts” was I to utter, effected with a sometimes stutter
Setting women’s hearts a flutter with, “Let me tell you about the war.
I was fine until I got grenaded in that awful Afghan war”
“And Iraq.” I lied some more.
But now my tale has grown too tall and, stealing Valor from the fallen,
Has made me worry that I’ll have to pick my teeth up off the floor.
My CIB and Bronze Star Medal are just more lies that I have pedaled
Followed fast by lies that I had never said those things before-
Fearful of the anger that all vets that served against me bore
They know I’m rotten to the core.
So now I stand here skin in pallor, anomy of Stolen Valor
And a dream of wealth and fame has brought me to this loathsome state.
What’s right and good I was ignoring while myself I was a whoring
Fancying Americans were gormless idiots galore-
But it turns out they don’t tolerate liars like they always did before
I’ll have honor, “Nevermore.”