The sky
is the color of
dirty dishwater, a
sodden gray, like
wet concrete — or like
Michael Moore’s fat
face after four plus hours
at the Country Kitchen
buffet.
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I just lost my appetite.
I am imagining Michael Moore’s face buried a trough of country sausage gravy.
I think I may be sick.
sometimes the dishwater
– say, after a spaghetti dinner –
is less the color of michael moore’s face
but instead the color
of his gastointestinal system’s
other end.
I guess I don’t need breakfast this morning after all.
o_O
You go now. You here four hour!
I’m close enough to that color I’m thinking…
http://twitpic.com/4703b1 )
Any poem that puts wet concrete between the sky and Michael Moore is a happy poem.
Someone needs to introduce Michael Moore to goetta. Then he might finally have that arterial implosion and release those excess tons of carbon back to Gaia.
Mmmm, goetta. It’s German for haggis!
I am awaiting the results of my surgical consult. Wish me luck.
Michael Moore should eat himself.
Michael Moore should eat himself.
That would be cruel and unusal punishement.
Spiny,
John Pinnette is awesome! “40 pound rice? 40 pound rice?!?! 14 generations my whole family never eat 40 pound rice!”
His NyQuil bit is one of my favorites.
Off topic, except for the mocking of douchenozzels. Sad and funny. The sad part is it is not that far removed from the truth.
Well, in that case Joe, Peter Fonda is always good for a laugh.
… or like
Michael Moore’s fat face
four hours after a massive coronary,
face down in the Country Kitchen buffet.
There! We needed a little ray of sunshine after all this foul weather.