How the Big Mac Got the Gherkin
Once upon an ancient time,
in long gone languid days,
when distant misted myths bechanced
in lovely rhym'ed ways,
when time was so much freer,
less allotted to the minute,
‘twas then the mighty Big Mac got the gherkin in it.
The night was one made fit for gods,
and stars made white the sky,
and drunk, dylsexic old McDonald
sang Oh Eee, Oh Eee, I.
His greatest yet creation
sat on his barbie plate,
it was the mighty Big Mac with no inkling of its fate.
McDonald thought the pattie lacked
a certain...
Il ne savait pas.
He decided what he'd give it was this green thing from a jar.
But Big Mac cried out, ‘Hang about!
I like the way I am!
And I think that what I need the least is a prostate gland exam.'
McDonald growled, ‘Don't be a sook!
It's not gonna hurt a bit.
Just close your eyes and grit your teeth and keep loose where you sit.'
Big Mac firmly grasped his bun
and held it really tight,
he had Phallicvegiephobia and would resist with all his might.
But McDonald was too smart by far,
Big Mac was not his match,
the old bloke snuck up from behind to by surprise him catch.
Beneath an unsuspecting arm
he gave a little tickle,
the burger gave a little laugh and got a little pickle...
So the Big Mac we all know today
was born of subterfuge.
And although the gherkin in it aint really all that huge,
remember that it's only there
by the skullest of skullduggery,
and that bit we discard's the fruit
of midnight burger buggery.
Copyright © Red Omara | Year Posted 2013
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment