I was shitting straight vinegar
When I declared in my heavy sweaty head
Van Holten's full of it and
I'm full of you. You
Who claimed to tart and tang me.
You did. But
Don't think
I don't know your
Pickled plan of sour destruction.
Sat your lumpy keester on
a bottom convenience shelf,
Inconveniently catching dust for two
Years stewing up
A pickled pinch of
heavily salted Hulk huge revenge.
Every bite dripped with your bitter anguish.
Weighing in at a serving size of five,
You took the expiration date
To the acidic hell I
munched and crunched you into,
Etched it across my innards
And put me in my porcelain Priam privy.
It is fool's mate, Trojan pickle,
I resign.
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