The round nostril openings of Henry Waxman's nose make me wax nostalgically for a U.N. elite form of European, intercontinental tax
“Protect us from danger, Toby Runt ******,” everyone cried today,
but Toby Runt ****** couldn't protect anybody because he was gay
& sad & down in the dumps & over the moon & cool as a death ray
Toby R. burned ill, burnt feelings on the floor contextually just like
a brilliant Mexican makin' it inter-departmentally with a sike-a-****
whose sick sike-a-diking made psychedelic-hiking dikes **** a hike
I shall inject myself into ***** electro-magnetical fields that I do not
belong in so that I may drop dead after a statically-charged moment
which'll be followed by new elderly toe-tag-tying toe-taggers sent to
ask insane great-toe-tag taggers where my amputated great toe went