Look! Bad Limerick Wednesday!
Because, why the hell not? Besides all of the obvious reasons, I mean?
I will go ahead and go on record by saying that this will not happen again next Wednesday, because hopefully, I will be less of a freak by then. But, you know. Today, I am just going to revel in my freakitude, and also, impose it on all you nice people. Sorry about that.
I wrote the majority of this limerick this morning, while sitting in traffic, on the back of an envelope, with a half-stub of a pencil. Because I am classy like that. Also, these facts alone pretty much guarantee that the limerick in question is not good. It is, in fact, very not good. But hey -- at least I am not talking about sycamore trees anymore. Now, I've moved on to "There once was a man from Nantucket." Obviously, that is sure to end well. (It rhymes with bucket!)
Anyway. Hello! Have more poetry! And please don't hate me forever.
Why Wednesday's Child Is Full Of Woe
(In Many Painful Verses)
(Special shout-out to I-75; thanks for all this sitting!)
Last night, in what turned out to be
An ode to my stupidity,
I took dachshunds (four)
To the second floor
And decided they’d all sleep with me.
And I did so with no apprehensions
Concerning my bed’s small dimensions.
But I should know well
That the long road to hell
Is paved with my dumb ass intentions.
But of course, I’m an ignorant whore.
And so, at about 1:04,
I quickly awoke
To hear Tasha choke
As she threw up all over the floor.
So, I sprang up from bed right away
And gathered some towels and spray.
I cleaned up the mess
(With minor success)
And once again, I hit the hay.
But then around quarter to three,
I woke up to something sticky.
And though sleeping nearly,
I realized quite clearly:
“That fucking dog threw up on me.”
So sometime between three and four,
(While Boris continued to snore),
I was taking a shower
At an ungodly hour,
And not wanting dogs anymore.
I got back to bed before dawn,
As dew drops were coating the lawn.
But as I settled in,
I realized with chagrin
That now fucking Tasha was gone.
So, filled with a great sense of dread,
I once again got out of bed.
With a reluctant lurch,
I blearily searched,
Like a zombie come back from the dead.
But happily, it wasn’t long
‘Till I found where she’d been all along:
Behind cracked closet door,
She was splayed ‘cross the floor,
And gleefully eating a thong.
Now knowing that my evening fell
Somewhere in the third ring of hell,
I got down on all fours,
To salvage my drawers,
When I suddenly thought: what’s that smell?
For a stench, so horrid and vile;
Like a house blend of hot ass and bile;
Had assaulted my nose,
In the midst of my clothes.
And that’s when I saw the first pile.
According to medical views,
“Diarrhea” is seldom good news.
But problems compound
When its effects are found
Inside of your favorite shoes.
And you would be quite impressed at
The multiple places she’d shat.
It was way more than twice,
But because I am nice,
I’ll spare you the details of that.
But WHILE I was standing there, man,
Miss Tasha was crafting a plan.
And with one sudden twitch,
That little brown bitch
Grabbed my damn panties and ran.
Now, there certainly is a connection
Between diet and doggie digestion.
But I was in such a snit
That I must now admit:
I gave up on the panties in question.
So I crouched there, completely nonplussed,
Scrubbing the floor in disgust,
While one shitty broad
My undies with unrestrained lust.
At long last, after one final sweep,
I could FINALLY go back to sleep.
But the second I rose
I heard something and froze:
My alarm clock was starting to beep.
I won’t make attempts at transcription
Of emotions beyond my description.
But suffice it to say,
I started my day
By having a fucking conniption.
So friends, if you are ever led
To believe I'll take four dogs to bed,
Please run to me quick,
And bring a big stick,
And smack some sense back in my head.
Happy Wednesday, everyone!
Tasha says, "I'll never see/a rose as beautiful as me! Or as likely to throw up on you."