Tuesday, September 12, 2006

my best poem yet

the shiteing shitheads of doom
fill me up with glowering gloom,
follow me into my bathroom,
where they multiply and mushroom,
and I'm a foul smelling buffoon.
I'd get them with my harpoon
if I had one,
or if I had a clue
how to skew
the shiteing shitheads of doom.

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