The poor boy is still in quite a bit of pain.I thought perhaps if I wrote a poem for him (and showed him my ass), it might break the stranglehold that this unknown, yet painful affliction has over him.
I’m not a great poet, but I don’t mind telling you that I have often been compared to Sylvia Plath. Not, because of my poetry skillz, but because I am so fucking suicidal.
So without further uh-doo, I offer to Matthew and to you all…
ODE TO MATT-MAN
I’m sorry you feel so crappy…
I just want you to be happy…
I wish I could ease your current pain…
And replace it with pain from whips and chains…
Be it your gall bladder or perhaps, pneumonia...
If you stay in the hospital, I'll sneak you Bagwine and a vase of begonias...
I am drinking beer right now while you’re at work…
I fried Spam for you, like a soda jerk…It may aggravate whatever you have….
But, it has Velveeta, so don’t be so sad…
I want to take away whatever this ailment has made…
Oh my darling, I just want to get laid…
So now you know, I’m just a callous bitch…
Come on baby, get well, I have an itch!!!!!
Zoves!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
