Hey punk,
You with the ring in his nose
And stapled ear
Who looks like a cross between
The Laughing Cow
And the loser in a fight
With a collating machine,

Watch Out!

With Viagra and Botox
To level the playing field
Your prettiest women
Will succumb to the allure
Of my beach house
And my bloated IRA.
Don’t entertain the thought
I’ll check out early.
In case you haven’t heard,
Forty is the new sixty five.
When I finally expire,
A world-weary Struldbrug
Of a hundred twenty five,
You may pry
A meager inheritance
From my cold, manicured hands
But my burial plot shall occupy
The choicest real estate
With the most exquisite view.

(originally published by Hobo Pancakes)