The Skeptic

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious website of UFO lore -

It was on them I was learning of the many and concerning,

The many and concerning hoaxes from the days of yore;

Dreams and schemes of con men from forgotten days of yore, mostly that and little more.

For better or for worse, I recalled a famous curse

Cast by an avid skeptic who ufologists called a bore.

The curse that bears repeating told ufologists of the beating

They would take however desperately they hungered to learn more.

They would never, ever, ever understand the mystery's core, simply stumped and nothing more.

My laptop battery ran low and the screen cast dancing shadows

'Cross my darkened study walls and down upon my office floor,

As I viewed a blurry photo likely from some ol' time sideshow,

But shamelessly promoted as an alien from before,

Promoted as an alien found upon the desert floor, to be famous evermore.

I was rather unimpressed but I really must confess

There were loose ends of the story which I'd wanted to learn more.

Loose ends such as emails and origins of tall tales

Indeed inspired my interest in what next might be in store.

I wondered if such aspects would be more clear than before, merely this and nothing more.

Perhaps I had been nodding when the shadows started prodding,

Prodding me to hear a sound I had not heard before.

Gently there was tapping, faintly but yet rapping,

Rapping just across the room upon my office door.

Prob'ly just some stray cat scratching at my office door, prob'ly this and nothing more.

I very soon discovered it was not a kitten's mother,

But a skeptic friend who stopped by to discuss the photo more.

The skeptic, he was burning with the disgust he was yearning,

Yearning to express about the mess of Roswell lore.

He quickly flipped a switch, adding, “You need some light in here, for sure.”

We talked about deception and the negative impression

Of the widely panned reception of the slides that was so poor,

But the loose ends were inspiring me still into inquiring

Of his thoughts about the questions left unanswered from before.

I wondered of the details, perhaps for evermore.

There's Rich “Two Sides to Every Mouth” Doughlan, who's really quite a showman,

And data that the sliders lacked intentions to explore,

And what about the long ways the story came from the days,

The days in which Rich Reynolds blogged of geologists seeking ore?

Can the blog of Richard Reynolds be relied on as a source? Quoth the skeptic, “Nevermore.”

Reynolds wrote of a Bureau handler and an evil email wrangler,

And criminal investigations he later begged us to ignore.

Can there be some resolution to his hints of a solution,

A solution linking Lady Ray to con men from before?

Can we expect some answers? Tell me, tell me, I implore. Quoth the skeptic, “Nevermore.”

And what about the evidence made up of merely happenstance

And yet to be explained of how the slides had all been stored?

Was there evidence explaining many questions still remaining

Of how the Rays made Kodak slides amid security galore?

Could Dew verify his story while purveying mythic lore? Quoth the skeptic, “Nevermore.”

As the skeptic sat beguiling this cynic into smiling,

News came via laptop of the saga just explored.

It would seem the bold assertion may have been the final curtain

That the focus on the placard simply could not be restored.

Could not or would not, be the issue to explore. Quoth the skeptic, 

“That's for sure.”

So with the saga closing, the questions I am posing

Likely will remain unanswered, by and large ignored,

But the skeptic did refrain, and his curse in tact remains,

Just as the shadows from my laptop persist upon my floor.

Shall the curse be ever lifted, shall ufologists learn the score? Quoth the skeptic, “Nevermore.”