by Ross Sharp

A loser wrote some words today,
Had them published in a paper.
He wrote them ’bout a woman he hates,
And boy, this loser hates her.

This woman he hates, she too writes words,
But in another paper,
She writes words ’bout losing losers,
That make losers say they’ll rape her.

No, she says, I’ll not lie down,
I’ll not suck this shit or swallow,
I’d rather a hedgehog with a bomb on its back
Nestle within my hollows.

Our loser once had cancer,
And what a shame it did not kill him,
So he shoved himself into his wife,
And his wife did bear him children.

“What does your daddy do?”, oft they’re asked,
When they are at their school,
“I’m fucked if I know”, they might reply,
“I’m told he’s a bit of a tool”.

I did not read his words today,
I’d better things to do,
I scanned the page, then flipped it,
Thinking, “What a fucking tool”.

I will not say this losers name.
You can find it at the link,
But if you read his words this day,
You may think, “What a fucking prick”.