The Throne

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“Picking up grudges like hammers and axes, your temperature rises, your anger waxes.  Chop them all to pieces, slam them into cakes, have you never yourself made a mistake.” He shrugged his shoulders and said.

“Why must I let it be?  I feel you are disrespecting me.” She coughed.  “My girlfriends are coming over.  This counter, this table is messy.  Don’t you know It all reflects on me!” 

“Your voice is all horse, from all the screaming of course.  What has you tied into such sorts?  Good grief!  Life is too short.”

“If you really wanna know, let me get my charts out to show.” She said. “You haven’t done what I asked you to do.  You missed number nine-hundred and ninety-two?  Why can’t you be dependable, I require perfection from you.”

“You’re kidding me? You’re shitting me.  This is what we’re arguing about?  I think I hear the bathroom singing to me.    I think something just moved up in priority, that I need to go sort out.”

Be our guest.  Be our guest.  Sit on the throne for peace and rest.
Inside these four walls, you’re the king, we’ll treat you like the best.
Cold and hot water, working plumbing, go ahead put us to the test,
Soft-seats, always deoderized, we’ll never treat you any less.

Be our guest.  Be our guest!  Sit on the throne for peace and rest.   It’s your next move.  C’mon, let’s resume, our lengthy game of three-dimensional chess.

Be our guest.  Atomic dog, room spinning, push it down or let it bust, but moderate your time spent with us, or hemorrhoids are sure to follow, trust.  Please avoid too much toilet lust.  Be our guest.  Be our guest.

by malakhai jonezs
(c)Copyright 2017

If you are sharing your living space with other individuals, you get this.

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