Sunday, November 2, 2008

I'm a Poet, Asshole!

Hey Asshole!

I decided I'm a poet this afternoon because I wrote me a poem. It's purty darn good if you ask me, and I'm gonna' send it to these people that told me if I wrote a poem, they'd put it in a book of poets and I can buy me one for seventy-five bucks.

That's a good deal, and then I'll be published and famous. That'll get me lots of money and I can use that money for the bomb shelter I'm building for the nukes that're gonna' start being shot at us by the Chinese when Obama takes over the country.

One thing about Obama; If he's a muslim and relations with Osama, and if he's a Marxist and a Socialist, and if he wants to teach kids about sex, and if it were his fault the gas price went up, and if he wants surrender in Iraq, and if he pals around with terrorists, and if his Reverend hates the United States of America, well then we must have been dumb as shit to let this dude be a Senator for so long.

And I was thinking this too: If John McCain thinks Obama's dangerous because he went to some meetings with that Ayers the Terrorist guy, then don't that make McCain dangerous because he hung around in the Senate for two years with Obama who's known to hang around that Ayers the Terrorist guy? God I miss you, Ross Perot.

Nader can eat the turds outta' my asshole, Asshole! I ain't wearing no seatbelt. I ain't no sissy!

But back to that thing I was saying about being a poet. I wrote me a poem and this is how I'm gonna' be rich and famous. Soon, I'll get to pal around with Brittany Spears. What man wouldn't like to pop her little stink sack. And if I'm lucky, I'll get to bust one on Paris Hilton. She's so skinny, my pecker would look like Godzilla. If I can get a piece of Martha Stewart, I'll show her where the cupcakes are. That's one creative GILF. That there means Granny I'd Like to Fondle.

Okay, so here's the poem. It's called, I Wrote This Here Poem for You, Whore!

Hey Asshole.
I wrote this here poem for you, whore.

I done wrote it because I was bored.
What's it for?
I don't know, whore.

This poem is gonna' get me famous and rich.
Then I'll have me some money, bitch.
And I can pay for your purty mouth,

To do what it does when you go South.
While your down there, what if I fart?
That shows I love you with all my heart.

I love you right down to the core.
And that's why I wrote you this poem, you whore.

There it is. They say the book comes out in about four months and I'm gonna' buy me one if they select me to be in their book of United States poets. I think they got no reason not to take my poem here. Where am I gonna' get me seventy-five bucks? I may have to sell some of my smokable back medicine.

-- Wacky Macky

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