The random validator

I am the random validator.
When the teapot complains
about being short and stout,
I rub her rotund back
and tell her thin is out.

I am the random validator.
Each afternoon, when the crow weeps
for better hair and a baritone,
I remind him of the Bee Gees,
and a certain Rolling Stone.

I am the random validator.
The sidewalk made a snide remark
about wanting center stage.
I pointed out Colaba;
now its poise has come of age.

I am the random validator.
If I ever ask you
for a pat on the back,
remember my random ways:
cut me some slack.