Friday, October 6, 2006

Rhyme of the Ancient Marinated Douche


Yea, ‘cross yonder bar,
There lies a mystic scrotum,
Powers of douche, strong.

Perhaps my dark thoughts,
are tempered by raven hair.

Not enough, I rage.


Set face on fire, lo!
Behold pink shirt, oiled grease.

Save the minx, I must.

Tribe tatted greaseball,
Embers of discontent stoked.

I’d lick her kneecaps.

Unholy union,
Ripped shirt tragedy, karmic loss.

My soul dies many deaths.

# posted by douchebag1

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