No Dentist Required: A Poem

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Why does this stick of butter smell queer?

Oh, because I’m attempting to smell it through my ears.

Drugs are good, drugs are weird,

I took a tab and now I’m drinking a beer.

Hold up:

I have a made a discovery,

That’s kind of silly and kind of whacky,

That alters my perception of this stick’s genre of creamery.

 

This isn’t butter at all, at all:

It’s a block of cheddar, huzzah!

It might be Welsh, it might be goat’s milk,

Either way, here’s what I think:

The walls are spinning,

Charlie Sheen stopped winning,

I hate Instagrams with the caption, “Twinning!!”—

 

A second revelation has just made me feel- chagrining.

(And I know that’s not the right tense of the word,

But here yee, here yee, my senses have taken yet another turn.)

I thought that block of cheese tasted odd,

But now I know my eyes deceived me into this fraud.

It was never cheese, but alas: a bar of soap;

Now I’m just some doped-up-soap-eating-dope.

 

Crabtree & Evelyn:

Triple Milled,

Twenty-Six big ones billed.

My stomach:

Less than thrilled,

But my high, never killed.