Bloke's Bladder Sick
A short, scathing doggerel that satirizes blind faith and religious authority. Through profane and visceral humor, the poem critiques the gullibility of followers who mistake a sick man for a god.
7/27/2025
Goodly holy I am, upon a hill ma'am,
Piss path a pious parabolic dick pick.
The mob downhill dim wits they think,
I a god, not a bloke's bladder sick.
So you drink a fellow's yellow stink,
And choke on stupid holy-ass hokey hope.
While deep up your arse I shove the gift,
The head of the dead dud duplicitous pope.
Rejoice? Yes, my fucking arbitrary choice,
You, with your mother and father too!
Yes, up to you, how many heads fit there,
It's your asshole—I don't have a clue.
So toodles and eat all my shit noodles,
And yes, do draw deep inside, my fart down.
Come part those legs you bitch-ass cunt,
Your god is a fictional fat-ass clown.