Ah yes, the abominable sweaty armpit,
Satan himself!
seeps through seam in
poly/cotton blend;
sends forth his silent
stench
upon this Christmas
feast.
Would that our Heav’nly
Father
had thought to turn down
the thermostat
before giving us our
daily bread!
Agh, it matters not.
For wherever God is
Great,
Satan is sure to show.
Wherever the Almighty
walks
a Fiend’s fever follows .
. .
ever-plucking bit,
breadcrumb, and
bone
from the Lord’s table.
And so, we dine with the
Devil tonight!
Not one single deodorant
stick in sight.
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