So yesterday, I was splitting a scorpion bowl with a friend of mine at a tasty Hibachi place.
About halfway through the meal the alcohol went to my head–and by the end of the meal, I was slurring a bit. Naturally, my decision at this juncture was that I should pull out my phone and begin texting my partner about Mr. Junior–his penis. This was not an unusual gesture; drunk texting his penis has become a bit of a tradition between us, a form of affection. Yet yesterday I had received good news that put me in a particularly inspired mood, and I decided that the regular cock compliments would not suffice. This time, his penis needed poetry.
The following texts were what ensued.
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Thu, May 30, 2013
8:28pm
…I love your penis. And scorpion bowls.
8:33pm
A limerick:
I met Mr. Junior one day
and asked for a roll in the hay.
Mr. Junior said no,
and called me a Ho.
Since then I have been a clinically diagnosed alcoholic.
8:37pm
Haha! I joke. I’m not an alcoholic. I just cry and fap a lot.
8:52pm
Haha! I joke again.
8:53pm
It’s mostly crying.
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There was no immediate response. Forgetting it a while, I went to a friend’s house, watched a terrible movie, sobered up, and went home.
It wasn’t until the next morning that my partner responded, asking me if I’d had a fun night and expressing his belief that as a poetry blogger, I had a duty to share the whole debacle with the internet. I hope you found this enjoyable.
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The Iniquitous Forge 
