A Poem

My husband wrote this for us:

Just as I was begining to recover,
Another Idol marathon begins anew.
Hoping it won't be so sad to discover,
this year I still have nothing better to do.

I lay awake scared, of new stupid Picklers,
of retarded Yamins, of Soul Patrol Hicks,
of Paris & 9 yr old teddy bear ticklers,
of guys named Ace & their love of their dicks,

Of Katharine McPhees and her shit eating grin,
plastered up everywhere like we somehow cared
what skin cream she wore. So please if you win,
please, please don't tell us, we know how you fared.

And please don't sell yourself out for every magizine stunt,
or dive for every nickel, like that awful, awful Katharine McCunt.

Curly has nominated him as Poet Laureate of American Midol. I second.