Found scrawled in a notebook on the desk of Ken Hidaka and posted with glee on the fridge by an unscrupulous person or persons who have yet to be identified but for whom vengeance approaches on swift black wings….
It pains me that the schoolgirls say
That me and Omi are both gay.
I just don't get what's so appealing,
'Bout the thought of two men feeling
Each other's dongs and other things,
And doing stuff that prob'ly stings
Without the proper lubrication
Of parts designed for defecation.
I mean I guess there's nothing wrong
With guys that like each other's dongs.
But what do girls find fascinating
'Nough to send them masturbating
Like bonobo apes in heat,
'Bout me and Omi 'neath the sheets?
I still don't know who starts the rumors
That spread faster than a colon tumor
That we have lots of paraphernalia
Relating to male genitalia.
I mean I have a wiener, sure
But for that there is no cure
Except for things that aren't so nice
And would involve a kitchen knife.
I don't like ass, or balls, or cock
Or other stuff I would think rock
If I were into other men
Because I'm not, I've never been
A fan anal penetration.
I must stop the wild dissemination
Of the crazy schoolgirl propaganda
That exists throughout the fandom
Of our little flower shop.
I'm telling you, it has to stop.
Just because we share a house
It doesn't mean we like to dowse,
Ourselves with lukewarm cocoa butter,
The way the creepy schoolgirls mutter
And then strip down to nakedness
To touch each other's manly bits.
I think the fact that's lost them
Is that I'm not into doing men.
A fact that I've set out to prove
By locking myself in my room
And watching porn for three straight days.
Straight, of course, since I'm not gay.
The first, of course, "Hot Buttered Elves"
And then "How Women Love Themselves"
And other films of ribald nature
With vaguely naughty nomenclature.
But alas, I've been maligned
By roommates who are unaligned
In my fight for perfect straightness
And would undermine the greatness
Of my swanky porn collection,
With flawless scripts and great direction.
For they've replaced the classic "Throb"
With a film called "Bob Me, Bob."
-Fin-