Happiness is a Filthy Llama Launching Spit Projectiles

Sit, stare, watch the morons

Pointing with their mocking fingers, their children

Eating snowcones that melt into sugary water and

Crying out for balloons

Causing a little vein to pulsate on a father’s forehead

Winning a mother’s exasperated capitulation

“Mom, what’s that?”

“Why, Timmy, it’s a llama.”

“It looks stupid.”

No response.


I aim an assailing spitwad at the little brat

Bing!! Right between the eyes

That’s right, cry you little bastard

At least I can see my cage

My bars are made of steel

When you finally see yours

You’ll bawl until your eyes look bruised

Just like your parents probably did

Stop crying…

What’dya expect from a llama, kid?

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