There I was sitting, my mandolin tuning, with my buddies Britain and the European Union, when the Union said, "Britain! What's that on your face?" And Britain rushed to the washroom, flushed with pomp and grace.
We went to bed angry, my honey and I. She wanted to hang me, but I wanted to die - and in a bed like that, nobody wins. You sleep in opposite gutters, no one grazes the pins.
I wish I was back at the thinker's salon with Slavoj Zizek and Alain de Botton. O, they would load me up with such tweetable quotes! Then I'd be someone to follow. Then I'd be something of note.
My honey once told me I was her first pick, but when she sold me, that's when everything clicked. Number One, alright: first step in the plan to trade me up for a car and a rugged young salesman.
The widow's just famous for being rich, but you can't blame us for watching this when she's got such opinions, from race to minimum wage. She says, "What's the problem? I'm paid pretty swell for my age!"
My honey decided she would love me still. She said, "Have me brided?" and I said, "I will!" But apparently those were all the wrong words. So she went searching for them, and I'm still waiting for her.
Yes, here I am sitting again on my rump, shaking a mitten at Donald Trump because Donald told me my costume don't fit. May he slip like a tongue back down the American pit.
My honey returned with a basket of fruit. She said, "You know what I learned?" I said, "Shoot." She said, "I learned everything that you'll never know." Didn't know whether to kiss her, or tell her to go.
Young soldiers are waging their wars in the East, and here I am aging in the West like a beast. My tusks grow longer. My belly gets full. But when we're dead, what's the difference in our skulls?
My honey was hungry. I brought her some food. She suddenly stung me. She said I was rude. I said, "Honey, for once in your life, could you give me some clues!? Because I understand you like I understand the news."