Dr. Strangelove 2, Or How The Bomb Stopped Worrying And Learned To Love Herself

I wanted to ask a guy to the prom

But alas I’m a thermonuclear bomb.

Were I to go out in a pretty pink dress

I’d make the whole world feel considerable stress

And instead of the dancing and sighing and kissing

Everyone would shout “Hey, there’s a warhead that’s missing”

And before I’d say “Chill guys, you’re all being dumb”

They’d put me back with the uranium.

And so in my bunker I cry and I dream

Of a man who will see me for more than I seem,

Who’ll sweep me away for one memorable night

Even though afterwards the world won’t be alright…

But maybe a man cannot make me complete

And instead I’ll be happy as radiant heat?

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