Oh, O lethargic blimp lumber of Namath,
Job, drunk on Bethsheba, beats his magazines
Full of pink where plenaria, plummeting with prunes,
Prod you. Wrench yourself, greased porcupine,
From fretful fiancĂ©es’ fatuous yet flavorful fronds!
Wedding bile and sheetcake, prevaricating pulchritudinous Priapus
Inserts perfumed plastics (purring over brandied texts)
Into his Siamese simian, whose rancid peaches, scored and grilled,
Furnish badly-needed gruesome batter.
Familial ingots gawk; sandwiched betwixt warring succubi,
Infamous scrimmage inflicts piggish troughs to furrow
A soiled expanse of puzzled cantaloupe.
Fuming appetites mirror incurred estrus
Of bronzen Mary, milking curious curd;
Deified meatloaf exudes odiferous pheromone,
Honored guests crucify cravings that defy carnal yams.
Jesus! Spread the gifts, the burnished buns,
And taste scrod upon the tarnished nuns.