Shitty Poem Sunday

In the spirit of Wordless Wednesday, I've decided to create a little blog tradition of my own: Shitty Poem Sunday. In a previous post I waxed poetic about the joys a shitty poem can bring. I did a little digging in my journals and found the perfect shitty poem to commence my homegrown tradition. I hope you enjoy it as much as my husband enjoyed his guilt free lap dances.

Strippers

I finally understand
what's so great about a stripper
no woman is worth looking at
unless you have to tip her.

She dances while you drink your beer
her breasts are bigger than the planet
she won't get mad if you call her Sue
and her name is really Janet.

She tells you that you're cute
she says your jokes are funny
and she probably really means it
as you hand her all your money.

You don't have to see her in the morning
or when she's cranky and she's sad
she never does a single thing
that hurts or makes you mad.

However...

She doesn't worry when you leave
that you'll make it home okay
or offer you a back massage
after a very stressful day.

She won't take care of you when you're sick
she won't miss you when you're gone
she won't curl up with you on a cold night
or go down on you at dawn.

It's cool that you like strippers
just don't lose sight of me
because if you want some real loving
it won't cost you 'cause I'm free.