Tuesday, September 20, 2005

Poem: I Wish These Kids Would Get The Fuck Out Of Here

Leave, you little bastards.

Wait, I can hear your mom calling you.
I can barely hear her. Something about, "We're going to Chuck-E-Cheese" or "the arcade" or something like that.
But she says to hurry.

The sign says "no swimming", dipshit. Of course, I'm swimming, but fuck off, I was here first.
Now, all we need is an infant. A crying, hungry, dirty-diapered infant. And a dog.

Oh wait, they're all here too.

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