If I had a yeasty codpiece
That was trolled through mud and sludge
And then ground into a powder
And baked into a toxic fudge
That was fed to pigs with cholera
Who shat it into a vial
I’d rather take a shot of it
Than pay you to e-file.
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Filed under Poems
Tagged as America, Black Humor, Gross, Humor, poems, Poetry, Postaday, Taxes, Travesty, Truth
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