Short Story of Doom
The waters filled diligently
But no one noticed ones fly
Out of the side of the stadium
Near by to the horse filling
A man dressed in chaps
Got ready to mount the horse,
But, alas, it was too big, and she
Had to go with the smaller one. Ugh.
I hate it when these fuckin’
Weenies shrink. I want
A bun that isn’t too little
We is all in a dilly of a pickle
Waiting for gifts from Kris Kringle
But the children were disappointed
To find that Santa was a woman
/centaur. This didn’t sit well with the
north pole standards council. They passed a
fiery dragon on I-88. Waving
shaving cream strewn trophies
were strewn throughout the high
school; the little bastards had trashed
the classroom in protest as
they yelled “fuck the man,”
without even realizing the irony,
of the fact that they were the man!
Oh snap! I grabbed my anarchist
Bandana and ran to the El.
El Diablo, that is. Satan roared
And created evil incarnate-cheerios.
The cheerios sprouted legs, horse heads, and ran
down the street chanting “punk fuck shit fuck shit…”
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