Ode to the Pants Dropper
The unlatched leather belt
Swung open, and the
Pants fell to the damp swamp-like ground,
Amid gasps from egocentric
Thespians and inaudible chants from
Sexual starved disc jockeys.
Between the fake smiles and the
Blinding flashbulbs from
All the unshaven Canadian photographers,
He prematurely dropped his
Tweed pants a second time,
Quicker than Janet's erotic
Nipple twist, and seven times
Louder than a dozen hungry
Crickets swarming around Southwest
Texas in early July.
The legless taxi driver sped off into the
Desperate night, while obscure
Sounds of Classical music
Drowned out the crass traffic sounds and the
Animal like grunting of the lustful young
Teenagers humping in the
Back seat without a
Condom.
The tweed pant's man screams, and he tickles
Janet's boobie. As the old lady in
Sioux City called to complain, and the
syphilis ridden Pastor from
Sanity, Alabama cursed every
Member of the Jacksons while some
Zit-faced teen from central
Florida with TiVO whacked off forty-seven
Times into an empty Gatorade bottle
And sung N'Sync songs while his
Tattooed finger pickled his dog's sloppy
Wet nose.
He sold his semen on eBay, and a
Kinky lumberjack, lesbian from Nome, Alaska
Forked over forty-eight dollors for his
Sample in a jar.
The lucid girl with the lemons
Cried the other day when a
Letter from an ill relative arrived
Three weeks late from Bosnia.
The loud squeals of Drag Queens soaping up
Each other in the shower
Made the pants-less man shrug
His rugged shoulders.
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