Be Bemused. Like Lars.

(I wrote this piece of juvenilia for a Bad Poetry Contest Reading I entered in college, which I won, which kind of defeated the point.  At any rate, I was reminded of it recently and thought perhaps it was appropriate for Valentine’s Day.)

I thought of you while I was urinating
As all those beers I’d drunk were evacuating
And I heard the sounds of grunts and grating
From a nearby boy who was defecating

I thought of you while I took my piss
It kinda smelled like beer and sounded like thissssssss
I pictured your face that I wanted to kiss
I stopped paying attention and I started to miss

I thought of you as I heard that sound
As my urine hit the pisser, as my urine hit the ground
That noise indeed came from all around
I opened my eyes, noticed, stepped aside, and frowned

I thought of you and tried to clean up the mess
I never noticed the pee on my pants, I guess
Cuz I came out and hugged you and dampened your dress
I didn’t know what to say so I blurted out, “P.S.”

“P.S?” you screamed, and almost burst a vein
“P.O.S.” you must mean, “You walking latrine!
Look what you did! Get lost, you stain,
Unless that ‘P.S.’ you right now explain!”

“Listen, my d-d-d-darling,” I said with a st-t-t-t-tutter,
I knew I needed to be slick, like 10W-30, KY Jelly, or butter,
“I love you more than a lonely, thirsty farmer loves the warm early morning utter,
More than Gumby loved Pokey, more than Booboo loved Yogi,” I continued to mutter

“Aw, that’s so cute,” you said as you started getting weepy,
“but that whole covered-in-piss-thing is still kind of creepy
so let me know now, cuz we’re all getting sleepy
what the f is the deal with the P.S. and pee-pee?”

I guess at that point I started to blush
and I slowly realized I was being a lush
And the pee in my shoes was starting to go “squush”
So I summoned my courage and answered my crush:

“When I was just peeing, before I could flush
all that beer-piss I had really started to rush
and the P.S. I said had to do with that thrush
cuz P.S. sounds like psssss which was just like that gush

that flowed out of me so fast and so strong
that it was like a river of love for whose current I long
to swim in with you, babe, while we sing this song
you’ll be my screaming Paula, I’ll be your Donkey Kong

and all of this piss is like holy water from my river
your blouse is its mouth, the tributary’s my liver
so I hope that you’ll calm down and be a forgiver
because in peeing on you it’s my love I deliver

it’s like the UPS man with a package on Valentine’s Day
it’s like a postcard from Paris when your sweetheart’s away
it’s like a nice street-corner lady (if your willing to pay)
think of my gift of love-urine in this kind of way

yes my love for you is like a yellow Niagara Falls
for you I dripped in the bathroom and flooded the stalls
and while at first glance my urea appalls
I’d like to steal a quote that was once Charles DeGaulle’s

and say, ‘France has lost a battle but France has not lost the war’
as you know DeGaulle was a pisser himself once or more
and I’m sure Yvonne, his chou-chou, didn’t get all that sore
cuz if there’s anything the French know, it’s amour

So, to wrap up, the “P.S.” I let slip
refers to the abbreviation for a post-script
at which a deeper meaning of the above might be tipped
in this case it’s ‘I love you, and I’m sorry I dripped.’”