gotta shit,
gotta shower,
and jerk off twice.
then call Eric
and complain about Franco
while driving rain eats me.
these tasks,
just as you ask,
make me believe everything is a-okay.
an unfunny comedian,
with bad wrists,
even I know we will find a way.
even rhyming poems
hate my guts,
but who gives a fuck?!
with a new mission
and a new gold goal,
now is the time to fold.