by Hot Lizard Boy

Is this brie?
I recognized the stench when I crossed your threshold
Do you think I am so smitten with you
That I will give my stomach second place?
What possessed you to lay this curdled aristocrat's sludge 'pon the table
And feign tears to ridicule my prolitarian roots?
This pasty, coagulated pudding
That has rotted in fetid skin
And rivals the stench of a man's corpse
By no means begs me for the eating
I will eat a man's cheese
even if the French make it
Not this crumbling, melting, colorless slime
Christ! Even now it slides toward me
Almost like a live beast

Oh, my. It's not brie
It's your.. er, mother, you say?
Good to meet you, ma'm
Yes, I can certainly see where your daughter gets her good looks

Copyright 1999 by Hot Lizard Boy

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