Ode to Chuck's Dirty Dishrag

I was inspired so much by Good Husband, I thought I would write a poem.



Ode to Chuck's Dirty Dishrag
(by Buddha Bubba, edited by Sparkey)


Oh, have you heard about Chuck's Dishrag?
His dirty, dirty dishrag?
He talks about it around the clock,
And why he uses it for his cock?

Have you heard about this dishrag?
The dingy, desecrated
Dishrag for Chuck's dick?
And how it does make me sick?

The idea seems quite gross to me,
To shoot into a piece of fabric you keep.
When was it last cleaned, today or yesterday?
I'm not sure, it's hard to say!

He uses the same one,
Over and over again.
Like a child with his favorite blanket.
But with this, he uses to yank it!

It is his friend in time of need,
And his lover in time of lust.
He spews his load into this piece of cloth.
Shoot on his stomach? He is no sloth!

Yet, he does not take care of his friend.
For it is always lying around, sitting around.
Crusting and flaking in a corner unseen
Smelling a bit like garlic and chlorine

Its putrid loneliness reaches out:
"Save me, save me from Chuck's touch!"
Will Sue find it while he's writing his blog?
Perhaps it'll just be eaten, by a stray dog?

I'm sure the thing could stand on it's own!
Not just in stiffness, but actually cum to life!
To walk around and scream:
"Hey, I'm Chuck's rag full of cream!"

It would walk outside, and look at the stars,
And think about its own existence.
Filled with sorrow and grief,
Realizing tonight, he would feel Chuck's beef!

During this time, Chuck was inside,
Searching for his favorite love toy.
He looked everywhere for it, even his closet,
So later tonight he could make a deposit.

Yet, this disturbed, depressed, dishrag
Was traumatized by Chuck's masturbation
And wishing for death and eternal peace,
Threw himself in traffic so his life would cease.

He got on the curb, and made himself ready.
Had his last thought, took his last step.
The car's tire tore him to shreds!
Yes, oh yes, Chuck's dishrag is dead.

When Chuck heard the sound of the dying rag,
He ran outside with all he had!
He saw the shredded remains and choked,
"Good Lord Almighty, my hanky has broke!"

With his friend in his hands,
He gives him a last kiss goodnight.
And holds the rag to his face,
For one final, sad embrace.

Tears pour down Chuck's cheeks
He knew what to do before he buried him
So one last time, he got to his feet,
Shoved the rag down his pants and went * skeet, skeet, skeet *



Yes boys and girls, skeet, skeet. Skeet, skeet, indeed. And come by my place for more borderline schizophrenia.