15/30

Rondeau: Sham-Wow Vince

With perfect pitch and jihad eyes

he shouts at me me how cut and dried 

it all could be. It minces, cuts;

your life could be exciting, but

there's something that you have to buy.

He has it down: Luck hates the shy.

I bask word-battered and deny

the finest print. No sense rebuts

a perfect pitch.

The German magic that's inside

could soak up every tear you've cried

for every door that Fortune shuts.

Your faith renewed! You'll love my nuts!

He beams and dares you to defy

the perfect pitch.