Happy fuckin’ Tuesday, folks! I hope all of you had a great mother-fucking weekend. I managed to get stuck doing laundry in a house with no air conditioning in 90 degree weather AND I was interrogated by a police officer, all in one day!
But enough about me, I know what all two of you are waiting for. Using the current heat wave as inspiration for my perspiration, it’s that time of the week again where I take an ancient form of poetry and puke all over it. Like ta’ hear it? Here it goes:
Sun rises up high
Sweat like MJ at Disney
Why can’t I just die?
*Oh, and to my co-worker that can’t seem to find a pair of pants that fit her ginormous ass and has her Rock of the 90’s CD playing on a continuous loop, “Go to Hell”.
I only need to hear the Cranberries/Spin Doctors/Hootie and the Blowfish once a day, thank you very freakin’ much. God, I hate you right now.
2 comments:
My sack does cackle
Then gently weeps salty tears
That pool in my socks
corporate accounts
payable Nina here
how can I help you
Yeah, I modified it from the original, but I couldn't figure out how to do one for The Spin Doctors -- I mean, really, it's pretty hard to fit 'dirty nappy drugged-up no-talent hippie wannabes' into a Haiku.
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