Humlet of the Games
By not78highstreet
Published: March 7, 2010
Updated: March 7, 2010



To be, or not to be, that is the bodkin:
Whether 'tis nobler in the arse to stuff her
Despite the weary thongs and bursting bras of outrageous fatties,
Or to be flaccid in a sea of big ho's
And watersports, by peeing on them. To drain—to flow,
No more; and by a slurp to say we suffer
The cock-ache and the thousand natural STDs
That flesh is heir to: 'tis a conflagration
Devoutly to be spay'd. To eat a hoary pie, yet slip that torpid banana;
To plop, to fizz, or pork, yet dream of wick'd bacon—ay, there's the meaty rub:
For in that heap of girth what poor reaming some may cum,
When we have blue-ball dementia like some morbid cod,
Must give us paws—there's the beastial respect
That makes calamity of Fatty, your wife.
For who would beat the hibbitty, jibbitties or aching corns of strife,
There's no I in team, except the team that reamed your wife
Th'oppressor's bong, the proud man's smoke,
The pangs and pongs of chubby love, the law's Tom Delay,
The insolence of orifice, but the sperm's the thing
That patient men of th'unworthy merit spew,
When he himself might his orgasm fake
With a bare sweaty bodkin? Who would farting bear,
To grunt and sweat under a wife's weary life,
But that the dread of rotting and stink after death,
The undiscovere'd cunt, from whose hairy bum
No Priceline traveller returns, puzzles me still,
And makes us rather bear those H1N1 ills we have
Than fly to others that we know owe the IRS a load?
Thus science doth make moist cow dung of us all,
For I cannot fix the Tube of Boob nor watch the filth adorn
Sad goodbye, the native son of dubious origin born,
craves his lost sticky video and raunchest DVD porn
And is sickened with the high cost of boredom's thought,
Of cable enterprise of great greed and moment
With little regard their dullest audience turn awry
And loosest the games of slippery action, oh Winter Olympics!