And loudly flows the Don

Some years ago, after my clamoring for attention in the local press ("You can't ignore me, you can't ignore me! I am God's gift to writing,I have a tattoo across my back in which a full fox hunt is in progress. I have even joined the hunt club to get into your boardrooms. You can't ignore me)."
Yet editors continued to ignore me.

Here I was in the horsey part of Ontario, Tottenham and all that, and not only local media but the "horsey toffs" were ignoring me. "Cor. An ornamental hermit! We should take him to the club. Oh how we do absorb the foreign riff-raff.".
Still, I had taken to singing to myself, "Lord won't you buy me a Mecedes-Benz"--at least to tow the trailer with. My wife already has a horse...She was always horsey. And she taught me how to ride. (She had picked me up one day by the roadside, a frog prince who never did quite stop snagging mayflies with his tongue, an appendage of startling length--because he had been sort of that way all along).
Just no powdered wigs in my family and that was that. But Darn. It would be good fun being a lord. People would say, "Good Lord" as my plug of a roan would take to the apple trees, through branches and blossoms-- to try to unseat me. Still, I simply had to get a lordship in this area of King Township where the mucky-mucks be. Had to be at least like another unfortunate scribe, maybe Conrad Black. At least nobody ignores him, even in jail.

My last newspaper column had read, " Ivan Prokopchuk Ignored!"-- And after that, even more thoroughly ignored.

I had to at least get a Mercedes.

But the last Mercedes going by Tottenham was a truck loaded with Pakistanis looking for a home."Well, we came by Mercedes. All one hundred of us."

"Come Mr. Taliban, tally me banana."

I am still looking for a platform, if not a platform, a plinth, a mount any mount. Got to be noticed! Trying to be Hannibal in King City...Or at least Harry Elephante.

Finally, all my grandstading yielded results. "Well, you can write. You should at least teach english at King College."

They made me a don.

People would say, "There goes Ivan the don.'
In the pub, they would say, "How's it goin', Don?"
"Ya know somethin'? At the college, they might call you Doctor. But you drink so much. Over here, you're just 'asshole.'"

I stuck out my tongue, like Jar-Jar Binks.
Back to the basics. Back to the first word in my dictionary.
You just can't make a silk purse out of an aardvark's ear.