(We all dislike/hate certain words and locutions; here are some of mine.)
“Don't drink the Kool-Aid,” you remarked.
I felt as if a seal had barked,
A seal with issues in his brain—
I hope I don't need to explain.
Methuselah was very old,
But bright enough (so I've been told)
To flat eschew the dread cliché—
Which we can't seem to do today.
But come and see me for a drink—
I've just the thing, you missing link.
It's sweet—and brightly colored red.
So drink your fill and join the dead.
(Perhaps there's hope, you knucklehead—
The zombies need some new Undead.)