Verses on the Morning After

I actually ended up getting some pretty positive reactions from some friends about the poetry I had posted before, so I figured I’d at least put some of my more entertaining ones up here.

This one is an imitation poem of Jonathan Swift. And it’s not imitating one of those  sissy “not” love poems to his “not” main-squeeze Stella, but rather his scatological works. If you don’t know what scatological poems are, please look it up before you read. That way, you’ll know it’s actually a legitimate type of writing, and not me just being as ridiculous and disgusting as I can possibly be. If you’d care for some examples from Swift himself, read these two:

A Beautiful Young Nymph Going To Bed

Cassinus and Peter

\\

Verses on the Morning After
Written in Rememb’rance of the Fairer Sex

Poor Stephen in a new Bed awakes,
To a throbbing Back and Head that ayches.
To his Left, on a stand, he finds his Phone,
And to his Right, a Blonde Woman unknown.
Stephen feels a Sting upon his Neck,
And grabs a Mirror, just to check.
He looks and finds the bruis’d red Hickey Mark
And wishes dearly that it weren’t so dark.
What happen’d Last Night, he cannot remember,
But he knew, somehow, it involved his Member.
But as he stands up to find the Rest-room
He smells a just utterly noxious Fume.
He looks around, and down, and finds a stain,
Of Rear-Ended origins most profane.
On his and her Legs, the Blanket, and of course his Ass
Is the now-Crusty Evidence of his actions crass.
So he wipes Himself clean with the well-worn Sheet,
And then figures his Time here is quite complete.
And as he sneaks across the Wooden Floor,
He prays his Junk won’t develop a Sore.

//

Maybe this isn’t the most appropriate thing to post on Valentine’s Day, but fuck it, who am I trying to impress?

Take it easy,

-Panda

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About erfnompanda

Life can be anything you want. Or anything you don't want, for that matter. Me? Well, after four years, too many thousands of dollars in student loans, and a piece of paper that says that I can write the English language well, my life is somewhere between 2005 Charlie Sheen and 1980's Danny Bonaduce: Nowhere to go but down. So on my way down, I figure I'll pitch my last ditch effort at making my world-view known and, more importantly, take as many people as I can down with me. And so this, my friends, is Life According To The Panda. View all posts by erfnompanda

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