Sometimes, when you're suffering writer's block, you get a little desperate. When that happens, you probably shouldn't show anyone your work. But I'm going to do it anyway. Last night, I wrote this little homage to a poem written by this guy named John Donne. Hope you get a snicker out of it.
Batter my arteries, trans-fatty globules,
you lock, clog, make me cry and wheeze
my way up stairs. I stand on worn out knees
to work to pay to mend me, make me new.
Reason should command me, tell me “quit
eating those french fries, burgers, tater tots.”
But dearly I love you, cannot bring a stop
to turning whenever I see a drive-in.
You’ve captured me, hydrogenated oil,
even though cholesterol’s my enemy.
My body you have ravaged, looted, spoiled;
called prisoner my gastric cavity.
Should I despise my saviour, poor Olean?
Ah! Never! I’ll always relish thee.
I'll be here all week. Try the chicken. Remember to tip your servers--they're working hard for you.