Needless to say, every single moment of the evening was absurd. Jon's poem entailed hilarious personalized quatrains written to Zac, Nick and myself. Calling for a toast our ludicrous creation, Nick's piece probably should have been read to preface our folly.
Originally written on 4 old business cards and 2.5 wide sticky notes, my poem was only slightly offensive. In honor of les printemps, I present my nonsense in a more archival format...
After months and months of shivering,
delivering frigid turds from a frosty colored manhole
I now wake up with aqueous transmissions,
ubiquitously flowing to and fro.
Oh, what a delight that I might not have to thaw my bowls,
as spring has come
and defrosted my belly's food crumb.
Spring was near, now she is here.
Hear! Hear!
Hear what?
We have nothing to hear but hear itself.
Hear the swallow sing songs of how he shat on an elf.
Flowers are blooming and Christmas is over.
I only wish I didn't eat this poisonous clover.
We've done daylight savings time,
but I can barely breathe, much less pantomime.
Oh, these pants of mine, these pants of mine.
I must unzip these pants of mine (unzips pants)
Whether it's the warmer weather
or this lac-ed plant feather
This is where I draw the line.
As pollens fill the air
like microscopic dragons in a boundless lair
I and my allergies agree to sneeze.
Away! Damned poisons of St. Patrick, I expell thee.
Out! Green rot, I beseech ye.
Spring was near, spring is here.
Hear! Hear!
Listen to the buzz of bees and burgeoning leaves.
Spring was near, spring is here.
Hear! Hear! Hear! Hear!
Here, here. Her ear is swollen, swollen shut.
Mother nature is an ungodly slut.
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