“What's for supper?” I asked my mommy who often provided food.
“Garbage! Mounds of it!” She duly replied not even remotely rude.
“Holy Moses!” I moaned havin' recently had useless surgery again.
“Shut your cake hole!” Barked she harshly like Barbie does to Ken.
“Well, your lousy food's worse than what a bad dog gets in a pen!”
“I shall **** you,” she said, “till you are rendered completely dead!”
The 9 pantry moths in the spaghetti I will ignore in order to be fed,
& the rat snake eggs, carp guts & everything Granny served to Jed.