Well I went out to get some fast food with my wife
“Hon, don’t get the milkshake tonight,” she said.
But it’s too late.

I chugged. . .sent a brain freeze to my head,
My hands palsied, and they shed
The shake, and then it splattered,
It splattered on her brand-new pinafore.

Looked like I had wrecked it; she was sore.
Her epithets expressed not “honey.”
Raging, she stuck greasy fries in my ear
Then called me a fool—it was a she fit.

Yelled out, oh yeah, yelled out things not polite
In polite company; the slightest slight was “dummy.
If you’d listened to me—no plight!”

She flipped her lid, then BM,* and it landed in my lap.
With napkins on her pinafore,
She looked like a mummy thus arrayed.
I sniffed—the milk weren’t fresh today—
’twas as if lactic acid, as it lactic acid streamed from her pores.

The stench was real wretched, like albacore
Left on a bench when it was sunny.
And so I inquired: “What can I do, dear?
I feel like a fool—let me help you clean it.”

“Smell out, milky stinky smell out, will make it right.
This wretched pong, you see, aggrieves me and isn’t funny
This retch-prompt stink on me. . . .”

“I don’t think it’ll be so bad.”

She’d blow again, but she’s sad.
She said, “I think there’s bad whey in it.”
Then she said, “Figure out how to lave it—go, go go go!”

Except diaphragm, I helped her get undressed,
Gave her diazepam to get her unstressed. . .
Tossed togs into what I thought was Cheer®.
But I was a fool—it was TSP.** Shit!

Shelled out quickly, oh yeah! shelled out (to cure my plight)
For haberdashery to placate my irate honey
And fetched it to her—BJ tonight!


*Big Mac
**trisodium phosphate