Pissing on the Sun

Written April 4, 1995


Awoke at six and forty,
A bit pissed off and bitter,
I cursed my clock and scratched my ass,
And ambled to the shitter.

The floor was cold and sticky,
Just like its always been,
But I found out the seat was, too,
Much to my chagrin.

I finished up and said a prayer,
And watched the watery spiral.
Feeling sick and rather faint,
I hoped it wasn't viral.

Washed my face and brushed my teeth,
And then I combed my hair.
"Today I'll wear short shorts," I thought,
And then applied the Nair.

My mood was grim and rather foul,
What could be the matter?
Perhaps it was the dream I had:
I dreamed that I was fatter.

And then it hit me, like a pimp
Whose whores won't get undressed.
"OH SHIT!" I cried as I walked outside,
"I've got a FUCKING test!"

I ran and ran to the dining hall,
As fast as my legs can,
Filled up my coffee cup and then
Scarfed down some Raisin Bran.

Went to my class, awaiting doom,
I knew that I was screwed.
"It could be much worse," I thought,
Then realized I was nude!

The test was rather difficult,
I could not concentrate.
My eyes blurred up, my throat went dry,
I had to urinate.

I finished up, went to the can
To relieve my special friend,
My humor's running low right now,
And so this poem I end.

*This has been based on a true story, except I wasn't nude. I was wearing my short shorts.*


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