Ode on a Grecian Formula

A poet friend of mine said that she’d been "commissioned" to write an ode to David Hasselhoff. She asked if she could just outsource this one to me instead. The next 20 minutes produced the following…

Thou still untarnished Bavarian punchline,
  Thou drunken king of YouTube lore,
When hungry, best to skip the lunch line
  and eat a burger on the floor.
Too much to drink, you came to rest there,
  and at your daughter, bellowed meanly.
Quite shirtless to display your chest hair,
   Thou acted very Charlie Sheenly.

And still that fails to change the fact
  of your career’s resurgency.
Your reputation’s still intact
  with music fans in Germany.
A rockstar there. A hometown god!
  A mansion and your own chef.
I ask myself, “What are the odds
  that all Germans are tone deaf?”

I kid, of course. Though you’re a ham,
  I still revere the times
Thou conversed with a black Trans-Am
  whilst deftly solving crimes.
My fourth grade self was not so cool,
  so, to alleviate my plight,
I asked my homeroom class at school
  to call me Michael Knight.

Thou soon left KITT for sunnier days –
Thine maCHEESEmo fit right in there.
And guarding lives, thou Watched thine Bays
whilst sporting scarlet swimwear.
O ‘80s idol! Fair ‘90s clown! at whom
the multitudes doth scoff,
May Gott himself bring on them doom
who dare hassle the Hoff.