what’s the use,
oh, holy goose,
of being spit
like hunks of
indeterminate
meat? oh,
squawky son,
did you just
bump heads
with a bus?
i mean, come
on, what else
could be
quite this
much fun?
and yum,
that fancy
truss of
sinew that
so roils upon
the fiery stones
was taken
from such
voluptuous
bounty! but
would you
rather such
refreshing
captor’s
captive
just go up
in flames
or (how not
to salivate
but drown
ingly?) down
the hatch?
or both, of
course?
and right
you are,
young
squand
erer;
and
onward,
ever and
as always,
towards
the next
mouth
wateringly
murderous
course!
