Good times here in Salt Lake City. I have some crazy rash all over my chest, neck, and back. It itches like hell, and I’m saying silent prayers that it doesn’t creep up to my face. My bedroom is torn apart since it is taking me at least three weeks to finish painting it, and my lower back has decided to act up like a dirty Ke$ha on steroids. Like I mean it’s painful. PAINFUL. Yesterday was spent on the couch with an ice pack. I want to tell that slutty Ke$ha to get her ass outta my house and take the rash along with her. I’m sure it will fit nicely in her neon purse.
So since this weekend has just been crappy with a capitol C, we are gonna have some fun.
That’s right, I want you to write a poem about poo. Your poo, your kids poo, dog’s poo…doesn’t matter. Because we all poo, and poo is funny. And when you are a parent or a pet-owner, sometimes much of your time is consumed with poo. Best Haiku will get a prize from my closet of madness. YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT YOU’LL GET. It might be jewelry, it might be an ear cleaning kit! But you have to enter to win!
Remember, Haiku is three lines. 5 syllables, 7 syllables, 5 syllables. You don’t have to rhyme. Stranger is better. GO AHEAD, MAKE MY DAY.
And don’t think just because I’m writing about dookies on September 11th I’m not thinking about the 9/11 anniversary. I am. I just need a little comic relief. Maybe you do, too.
Raisins, prunes, fiber-
rich. When you can’t poo, life is
really quite a bitch.
My baby’s diaper
is deadly. Like a landfill
on a hot June day.
My GI doctor
once said there might be five pounds
of poo in there. Gross.
cunning ghost poopie
I know you came out and fell
you crafty hider
Click on the comments link under this post. Leave your poo Haikus. Good luck.