Did I say anything about hogging my circumstantial rubber bands?
Did I even mention how gluey your smoldering kilt made my coffee?
Did I ask how many times you ponylessly trotted up Oswald's nose?


	I think not, lisp mist.
	I don't think so, Spock wad.


I merely griped at juicy underwear after
	yours and Anna's saccharine tortoise
		vanquished Saturn's rectum with gray detergent.

Was I supposed to thwack myself with her copper teapot?


			I think it's repulsive to fortify dead
			mules with your own domestic lobsters,
			and I think the bombs in your mother are
			huggy little ferrets that floss with worms.

Smile at me