Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Epic Poem Tuesday: The Choad Warrior
The Choad Warrior awoke,
The sun broke through clouds of,
douchiest gray morn.
He put his bling on. He prepared.
Hair greased faux hawk like war paint.
Hand gestures ready to flick like so many glorious white doves sent from heaven,
Like so many tribal tats, on his heart.
So many giant sunglasses, on his soul.
The Choad Warrior flexed and preened,
and by affixing the Jesus Bling of true douchitude,
he was ready.
She lay waiting in the club,
not knowing what would come.
Her status as an innocent flower,
long forgotten in the pounding techno
club music of her psyche. The
selling of six dollar shots to horny
college fratbags,
like water trickling over rocks.
Because every epic poem,
must have water trickling over rocks.
