Here’s a verse I saw writ above a urinal in gentlemen’s entertainment establishment:
Put your finger in. Wiggle it. Wiggle it. Wiggle it. Again. Do that fancy little dance you do when the deejay goes, gobbledy goobledy. Look, it’s a bird. No, it’s death. Flying south for the winter. Miami, USA.
It’s hard to keep it together with all that visual realist haiku mumbo jumbo bullcrud messing with our minds and spirits, you feel?
Whatever happened to the limerick?
You know the one about the mono-erotic guy with the huge freaking wang. Now that’s art. That beams in like a laser on the emotional spittoon that is my soul and just lets loose with a thick, horking loogie.
I NEED ANSWERS!