Sometimes I eat my snacks,
I always eat my treats.
Sometimes I eat my blazer,
and one time I went on eating spree and ate
all my underwear.
My mom was mad;
She said I should have washed them first.
I have been forbidden to possess a dresser.
Sometimes I do not eat my tasty edibles,
While often I bake cookies out of pure Crisco.
Sometimes I bathe in pure lard.
I purport to make a banana fruit cake,
but I eat all the ingredients
(mainly raw egg and uncooked beef).
Sometimes I stuff my pants with roses,
I always digest Digestibles.
Sometimes I get truly delicious cookies,
Other times I sneak into the bakery at Safeway
the cookie batter off the floor.
Who am I but a paucity of fervour,
like a giggly beast who tickles his tervour.
I am illimited to fruity yum-yums,
I consummate my dream of eating tums.
I am a consummate master of Smith-Kline Beecham.
I purport to leave a septic tank
in my kitchen.
But I am being deceptive when I affirm that I am
I obfuscate the truth. I have a donkey.
My donkey loves my bedroom.
I ejaculate ridiculous words.
Who am I to ejaculate, but a man?
The pit of my stomach turns to ice,
perhaps because I am breathing pure liquid nitrogen.