The Hangover

F

FUCK THE POLICE

911 EVERY DAY
The Hangover
By: Nobel-prize winning poet laureate of the world Watermark*

It is oft
In the dark abode of those many sided
Nights speckled (with illegal colors)
I find myself perplexed
Afterwards, in the morning
I feel numb; humanity drowns in a terrible vortex
And there is nothing to me but strange heartbeats
And the cold, eerie sound of god
I ask myself
“Why the hell did I take that last shot?”
Then darkness pursues
And the cows eat at my flesh
The laughter of children annihilates me





*Some awards mentioned in title may never have actually been granted
 
Sort of.

Modernism was an art movement in the early 20th century, so the people after it had to develop an oxymoronic title to continue. Postmodernism is nearly impossible to understand (I've said for sometime, I don't think the authors ever intended it to be understood, they just make vague statements for other people to attach meaning to so they'll seem wiser than they actually are). It also jumbles up grammatical conventions by, for instance, putting parentheses in places they don't belong. The point of this poem was to emulate that sort of pretentious, self-important, overly dramatic air that these poems often have, except this poem actually has a point. An utterly mundane point.
 
"The Last-Shot"
Prequel to the Hangover.....

How can I,
see where this stream is going.
I can't even see my dick, it's blurry.
When I get back there, I'm getting
One last shot,
It will be tasty, ever so,
Hopefully I get laid with this dance,
moving so smoothly. Oh yeah,
I'm still pissing, get me a beer,
Mark, marxist, watermark, whatever your name is.
Wait, why are you in the stall with me?
Cause I'm pissing in the closet, and...
Get away from my weiner!
 
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