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toothy dude - a poem

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The following is loosely based on an actual individual


toothy dude

Hello to you toothy dude,

you OCD man who cannot

keep his hands off anything,

who always much touch especially

that which does not belong to him.

Going into people's drawers

and cabinets and papers,

the way your wife gossips

about other's people's business,

incessantly, not able to catch a breath

which probably explains her

high pitched and annoying voice.

Toothy dude, who needs to sneak

into other people's privacy.

Play with your puppets toothy dude,

mind your own business and stop being tired.

Always thinking that other people

are up to things.

Always jealous of those who

are better or quicker or smarter than you.

Never able to admit your own faults.

Arrogant. and a typer who thinks he is writer.

Termites have devoured

more sheets of paper with

more grace than yourself toothy dude.

Toothy dude, who plays with puppets

you penis puppet man.

You pick up sewing machines

and drop them on your own head

do you toothy dude.

You crybaby, you whiner, you feel sorry

for yourself because you should you

TV Man and there it is for

you in black and white and Technicolor,

read all over just like the newspaper

you toothy dude journalist.

Keep feeling sorry for yourself never mind

the workers in the fields who sweat

so you could stuff your hairy face and balding head.

Forget about the pow wows you want

to go you toothy dude.

Someone might set a stake in you

and set you on fire.

Toothy dude

Hannah Barbera and the banana splits

for you

drool over that steak,

warm your hands to that fire.

Take your puppet and stick a needle

in it's head

but don't drop any sewing machines

I know what you did last summer

and the summer before toothy dude

I hope you get yours even though

you already did.

Day after day, and night after night,

like the moon following the sun,

so why don't you stick this

where the sun don't shine.

Go back to the land before

flying sewing machines,

back to the land before fire,

back to your cave

lined with ice.

© 2017 Fin

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