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 fiancées’ 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.