Fuck this fucking shit
An angry, profane doggerel sparked by a simple mishap. This poem unleashes a torrent of frustration against societal decay, religious hypocrisy, and everyday annoyances.
5/17/2024
Holy this, I stepped on shit, not dry,
And now not pious at all, anything.
Not goodly also my mood,
I want to quickly justice bring.
Must be the man with no pan,
He shits wherever he wants to.
The worms in the feces biting my toes,
Must not god find the responsible who?
In this land with cunts awfully bland,
I, a celibate old man good,
Can't even walk now, the fucks,
Either shit or greedy for more food.
Who knows when the writing pen,
Will tell us of the end of hindoo days.
Go fuck yourself, you jaywalking shitter,
May surya light your ass with his rays.
Otherwise I a man with humor very dry,
Will lift my dhoti and rip your ass apart.
By the dicks of the many headed gods,
I swear to bring your face to my fart.
Who knows when that cornish hen,
Cloaca for a cunt she said all she had.
Since then bad luck and stepping on shit,
Bloody stool with farts that stink so bad.
I now think it's just god dressed as stink,
Trying to get through the nostrils of men.
That must be it, my farts are a terrific fit,
I ignore this calamity or that fucking hen.
So fuck this fucking shit, that's it,
I am too holy to be broken like a twig.
Brahmana lives inside me, a bengali,
Plus through the fart as god—a bigwig.