If you gave me a penny
for every time I wanted to choke
whenever you came into 
my field of vision,
I'd be a billionaire.

If you gave me a cow
for every time I cringed
at the sound of your nasal voice
or at that strange bleating
that I later discovered to be your laugh,
I'd have more than enough beef
to feed the known carnivorous world
and their pet dogs,
and even the stray dogs 
in every city pound
on the face of the earth.

If you gave me a pair of shoes
for every time you looked my way,
thinking that maybe 
I'd be looking at you,
fat chance-I'd rather be blind,
I'd have more shoes
than I could ever dream of
and Imelda with 
her three thousand pairs
wouldn't be any contest.

If you just gave me
the pennies, 
the cows 
and the shoes,
I'd be happy
even if it meant that
I'd have to suffer you.

But since you can't give me
any of that,
you just might as well
disappear.

Got that?


geronimo | bad mood at an outing