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The following constitutes a rather
twisted as a pretzel SUBTITLE:
I dash with my jiggling boobs in an attempt to escape...
being overrun by teddy bears and beanie babies
while carrying out heavy duty spring cleaning.
Twas the bright idea of zee missus aye air
and dedicate this poem
(yes tis correct, if you bare
lee remember this mister
did formerly she push lee duck clear
addressed said spouse
"my little buttock blaster” endear
ring - for obvious reasons,
and before she begat two 'ere
rip press ably lovely daughters),
anyway thee wife I fear
to publicize contracted a benign
strain sans incurable glare
ring housecleaning malady;
thus far no unpronounceable hair
raising name affixed
to non contagious condition, nevertheless
accursed malady,
whereby to keep her
from auctioning me on eBay,
I squarely hide in root cellar.
She frenziedly scrubbing stubborn stains
from clothes, dishes,
and gamut of hibernating
Oryctolagus cuniculus domesticus
horde (nee motley crue)
entrapping scampering dust bunnies
that come breathing alive
nsync with beastie boy
city rollers culture clubbing babes
upon first spring day
engrossed in this, that,
or some other sweeping floor foray
(analogously to Velveteen Rabbit)
shedding fifty shades of gray
winter coat when warmer temperatures arrive,
where humongous fur clumps would lay
comprising sudden empty raft
of shelf space minus a may
zing globules, oh...lemme get on track,
whence frenzied fever
"cleaning bug" nee
major virus afflicting wife,
would necessitate impossible task
strapping former feisty Norwegian farm gal
in straight jacket livingsocial every
would be no game to play
24/7 daily challenge devious skullduggery
Smokey and the Bandits
an imp posse sub bill
outlaw gang, who lived
like Aristo curr Rats along the quay,
which unpredictable timeframe
boot tiring and cruel task
of her life Yukon say
thine remaining lifetime,
that's my wife oye vey
would frank lee zapping
every last oomph of mine
if able twin door remaining with spouse
meanwhile 'till she obviously
plucks persistent sprouting stranded follicle
tiller broad forehead resembles
a minuscule tarmac way.
Though far fetched, not impossible
for me and Joe Six
Pack to become one and the same
since a concerned counterpart
contributes to the mix
cuz, she waves a scolding gold finger
dying with craven craving for sweet licks
to grace tastebuds longing
to savor and dissolve sucrose
in any one of the natural
or synthesized combinations
in an effort whose memory
of a washboard tummy
doth hunger for youth afflicts
recent embarkation since maintaining a diet
of exercise no more pesky heeding "yo dude"
(you look like a lady),
the inner fitness maven against
temptation of high caloric junk food
and nightly snack king
on a flexible fitness routine,
this lxiv aged body electric feels good
these myopic eyes and
well-calibrated hands measure less dense hood-
winking bosom, that if I feigned being
a "bared naked lady" -
asper this chest lewd
city in reference to "man boobs"
that seemed to materialize overnight
now appear to decrease as well
that unwanted "love handle,
this chap more inclined
tubby in a greater mood
to parade around
this non-crowded house shirtless
AND definitely NOT in public,
BUT no weigh Jose
would this generic guy go completely nude
cuz being self-consciousness of my physique
might prompt outsiders
to consider me a prude
and even during closed bedroom door
sexual exploits deter me tibia rude
fellow (with average go daddy long legs)
and my dangling dipstick smallish
(concluding biology screwed)
a chap worthy tube he more endowed,
though gratitude proffered
to same divine cosmic consciousness
but as the year's pile up appreciation
of functional faculties alter matts' at tee 'tude
accepting physical characteristics
more or less static
hoe ping believe mass elf ya wood.
