When my team is 8 and 6
And my fantasy QB gets sick
You’re the RB1 I start
And throw to when the ground is slick.
You’re the treadmill at the gym
In front of the TV
Where I can watch the Yankees lose
With nobody in front of me.
You’re someone I never thought
Was real, but here you are!
Like a white guy who hates frisbee sports
And never tried to learn guitar.
When I hold your hand I feel
Like I am good at math,
And if you asked me nicely
I might even take a bath.
I think you’re pretty naked
Or in a muumuu, though
I doubt there is a clothing item
That could dull your glow.
I would window shop with you
On our anniversary,
And when you sleep, on the toilet’s edge
I aim so you don’t hear me pee.
You smell like guacamole
And when you hold me tight
I forget to pull my belly in
And I know the world’s alright.
The Daily Travesty 