good christ how many pitchers of bass was that

[spatch]

I have no food. I have no juice.
It's pouring out, so there's no use
In plodding downhill to the store.
I think I'd sleep a few days more
If certain cats would take a pause
From blessing paper bags with claws
(They don't listen to no groan,
Just to objects weakly thrown
And all my bedside ammo's gone.)
So bravely forth I soldier on
Making some sad compromise
With pillows over ears and eyes
I shift uncomfortably in bed
And every time I turn my head
The Anvil Chorus clangs bombastic.
In other words, I feel fantastic.

Comments

[cheezdanish.livejournal.com]

There once was a man named Noyes
Who went out on the town with the boys
The beer he did chug
And then barfed on the rug
And said, "Oh fuck scansion I'm going to lie down for a while."

Feel better, dear.