This was written in a drunken haze on New Years eve, when the classical metaphysical imagery of our ephemeral existence, penetrated my substance addled brain and engendered the realization that fleeting, impetuous decision to suckle on the teat of life, is substantially mired by the blasé disregard with which we are apt to treat the glorious gift of vitality.
Time goes on supine,
Like a runny nose, sans handkerchief.
Oh! Won’t you let me feel the bulbous joy;
When I wipe the snot off, Oh so coy.
Don’t wipe my nose, let the damn thing flow;
…and finally, in the mucous of time, shall I glow.
Er...maybe I’m still drunk.
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Excuse me, is your refrigerator running?
Because if it is, it probably runs like you - very homosexually.
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