Three hundred and seventeen donkeys named, MELVIN.
Yes, it’s true, every ******* one of 'em.
Starlight crammed so far up their lovestruck **** prolapses
that Dolly Parton herself couldn’t write another song about it.

Ghandi kicked himself in the ***** while wearing red shoelaces.
No shoes, just the laces.
We all do the truffle shuffle in the end,
and Melvin, well, there will always be a Melvin.

Won’t there?
Just there, beyond your reach.
Laughing.
And here you thought you knew about mashed potatoes.
but your love poems are worse than a blender full of hamster toes.
please for the love of God , learn self respect and self control.
Okay, MELVINS ?