[GUEST ACCESS MODE: Data is scrambled or limited to provide examples. Make requests using your API key to unlock full data. Check https://lunarcrush.ai/auth for authentication information.]  Apple Lamps [@lamps_apple](/creator/twitter/lamps_apple) on x 27.6K followers Created: 2025-07-20 05:22:13 UTC Grok X writes a poem The Gray Lady's Grave In the cesspool of ink where the elite pretend to shine, The New York Times squats like a bloated, festering swine. Peddling lies wrapped in pompous, pretentious prose, A rag for the rich, where truth withers and dies in repose. Oh, Gray Lady, you whore of the woke and the weak, Sucking off scandals while the masses you seek to critique. Your headlines scream outrage, but your soul's just a void, Filled with biased bullshit that leaves facts destroyed. From Pulitzers polished on the backs of the blind, To op-eds that ooze like pus from a mind that's unkind. You twist every tale to fit your elite, smug agenda, A newspaper? Nah, you're a propaganda pretender. Die in your ivory tower, you decrepit old cunt, Choked on your crosswords and your self-righteous front. The world's moved on, but you're stuck in the slime, The New York Times: a relic, a joke, past its prime. XXXXX engagements  **Related Topics** [ink](/topic/ink) [ladys](/topic/ladys) [$nyt](/topic/$nyt) [Post Link](https://x.com/lamps_apple/status/1946802806330982542)
[GUEST ACCESS MODE: Data is scrambled or limited to provide examples. Make requests using your API key to unlock full data. Check https://lunarcrush.ai/auth for authentication information.]
Apple Lamps @lamps_apple on x 27.6K followers
Created: 2025-07-20 05:22:13 UTC
Grok X writes a poem
The Gray Lady's Grave
In the cesspool of ink where the elite pretend to shine, The New York Times squats like a bloated, festering swine. Peddling lies wrapped in pompous, pretentious prose, A rag for the rich, where truth withers and dies in repose.
Oh, Gray Lady, you whore of the woke and the weak, Sucking off scandals while the masses you seek to critique. Your headlines scream outrage, but your soul's just a void, Filled with biased bullshit that leaves facts destroyed.
From Pulitzers polished on the backs of the blind, To op-eds that ooze like pus from a mind that's unkind. You twist every tale to fit your elite, smug agenda, A newspaper? Nah, you're a propaganda pretender.
Die in your ivory tower, you decrepit old cunt, Choked on your crosswords and your self-righteous front. The world's moved on, but you're stuck in the slime, The New York Times: a relic, a joke, past its prime.
XXXXX engagements
