“What do you think of daddy’s friends?” you’ll ask your
daughter, who will grin up at you through boxer’s teeth.
“Cocksucking muthafuckas I wuv all a dems!” she’ll coo. You’ll pat her on the head and write just
what she says, occasionally pausing to ask her questions whenever she stops
responding to Yo Gabba Gabba with intermittent and unintelligible curses.
“Daddy, I hate you fuggin’ ass why you inneruptin’ mah show,”
she’ll mutter at you at one point, which will be the perfect line to end this
particular poem.
Two weeks of this and you’ll have enough material for a new
book which you, with a wink, title Babeland. It’ll be appalling dross, just a bunch of
random curse words strung together, but that’s apparently what sells nowadays
so hey, whaddyagonnado?
Congratulations World Renowned Poet!
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