The Cupid Culpability Theory
(or why I wear fashionable black)
Cupid, I demand a refund.People say that there's nothing
So fine as young love,
But they lie!
They lie, lying bastards!
And you know what, Cupid,
Or Eros as you call yourself
La de da
It's your fault they lie.
You've put rose colored glasses
On a bunch of people who
Merely end up speaking out of their asses.
Why did you have to tell them
Love is so great?
Love doesn't pay your student loans,
Or put food in the fridge
Or leap tall buildings in a…you get the point.
All love does…all it does….is make you
Feel all warm and squishy inside.
Raw calf's brains are warm and squishy, too,
And they never call you drunk
In the middle of the night, neither.
Love is like being tortured by little men with pointy sticks;
Like finding the Indo-European roots to native and borrowed
Words while all of academia laughs at you for confusing *b and *bh1;
Like being smacked in the face with a wet herring;
Like falling into a deep hole and having a wagon full of pudding
Dumped onto your poor stupid head while walking on hot coals,
Naked, and juggling three poodles and a microwave;
Love is like being taunted by clowns doing a bad
Jimmy Stewart impression while mailing condoms to your mother.
Damn you Cupid,
Maybe I am bitter,
But why haven't you made him call me yet?
-srw
