My yearly birthday ritual
Is something to behold,
Though it’s tasteless and repugnant
I am very often told.
I start the day by flossing
For the first time in a year
For you are just what you eat
And the data’s all right here.
Then I right down my wishes
And goals for the coming year
Which flow so much more smoothly
After a quart or two of beer.
Then I take a nap
On the floor beside my couch
After which I try to do some squats
That end up as a slouch.
Then I might contact all my friends
And tell them of their flaws
Or drive to the police station
And break some petty laws,
And as no one posts my bail
Thus ends my birthday drill.
Now the year’s worst day is over.
From now on it’s all uphill.
The Daily Travesty 