Tuesday, March 4, 2014

How Fat is your Tuesday?

Mine’s on the couch,
snoring. Loudly.

He barged his way in
sometime after midnight
after stumbling up the
stairs.

He tossed his shirt
on the floor for
me to pick up.
Knocked over an
ashtray.

He asked for some water,
but I was afraid he’d spill
it. But he forgot he asked.
He’s covered in beads.

He dropped a bunch
somewhere. Said he fell
down some woman’s
stairs. They went
every where.

He just farted in his
sleep. I think he
crapped himself.
There’s a woman’s
phone number on a
napkin.

How’d he get that?
He’s a party God.
He’s an Ass.

I can’t wait to see
him again. 

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