Just as we glumly slump in the face of another outburst from the Archbishop of Canterbury, the mighty Iowahawk strikes yet again.

It takes rare erudition and even rarer imagination to link one of the world’s most famous poems (nearly 200 years old) to the fiercely straining underpants of a bratty American politician. Perhaps the idea is that they both soar to great heights.

Anyway, that rare erudition and imagination have been hard at work. And here is the result.

Although the ode might have been renamed more aptly Hotsweatyhandias.

Hmm.

Let me have a go at this…

In Twitteru did Coo-I-Khan

A stately pleasure-dome decree

Where Hudson the sacred river ran

Through cavern best beloved by man

Down to the sacred c…

And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:
And ‘mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.

It was a miracle of rare device,

A sunlit pleasure-dome, with balls of ice…

And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!

Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

That should do it.

Phwoar!