As I approached, I thought twas a dimple,
On closer inspection, I spied was a pimple,
Not knowing her well, thought best to ignore,
Rather than say.... How's things going Igor?
She was rather pretty, except for the zit,
I did have to wonder, the sheer size of it,
That if it would burst, what mess it would be,
And hope to dear God, none got splashed out on me.
How could anyone forget such exquisite and meaningful poetry?
Texaco's calling, to drill for some oil,
In uncharted depths, of mountainous boil,
She's coming much closer, Saints please protect us,
The pressure is building, she's Mt. Vesuvius.
(hanging head in shame he would resort to such poetry... hehe)
[This message has been edited by Mike (edited 12-30-1999).]