Recently, the Center for Disease Control cleaned out an office area and found vials of live small pox, decades-old. Pretty insane, eh? So I wrote a poem to celebrate.
I cleaned my apartment and what did I find,
Smallpox, Ebola, and things of that kind,
Oh, rat scurve, Oh malaria, and plague so bubonic!
For one oh so healthy it was sadly ironic,
And who so did plant this fatal gooey trove?
Operatives of the still functioning Bohemian Grove?
And what horrible symptoms will I come to possess?
Hair loss, cow tongue, incontinent mess?
My time on this coil has come down to this,
Hours, perhaps minutes, till I drop off the abyss,
So I bid you goodbye, farewell, au revoir!
Oh! my eyeball just popped out while driving my car!