Dancing with the Stars Gives Bolton the Boot

Michael has bolted from the pack,
He's taken the bone; in the doghouse he's back.
The pooper-scooper scooped the poop.
Poor Michael Bolton; he's the dupe.

The Hound Dog song did not prove kind.
At least Michael Bolton spoke his mind.
He railed against Bruno's whiney rant,
And so, in leaving, he'll no longer pant.

(He showed up for practice wearing a mask.
Said laryngitis; began the task.)
Michael was touring and singing and such.
The mixture of all was just too much.

"Disrespectful," insensitive, too.
Those harsh words were aimed at you,
Oh, Bruno (of the foot-in-mouth),
First, it was Florence. Then your words headed South.

When cranky old Len is on your case
You need to watch the words coming out of your face.
Give the poor dancers instruction and hope
Don't just tear them down or you look like a dope.

I'd like to see Bruno out there on the floor
(Something tells me that we'd not cry for more).
It's easy to criticize, up in the stands,
While giving harsh judgment; sitting on hands.

I see much work to pack the deck,
Raves for Kyle Massey; cries for Grey's neck.
I hope that the judges let dancing prevail
Rather than picking out those who must fail.

It seems clear to me that something's not right,
Favorites you're playing to prevent a fair fight.
Let the dancers be equal, no politics please.
[Or Mario Lopez would've won with ease.]

But, thanks to this system, a lesser light won
And now, once again, you're praising to the son
Some dancers who, really, are not all that good.
I'd like to see fairness; no fixing who should

Win or lose or get the boot.
Let the dancers prevail
Chips fall where they may
No promoting. No ranting. Find a fair way.