Short The Dork. - Poem by hazel jackson
He was short.
He was a dork.
He smelled his boogers,
He ate them with sugar.
He ate with his hands,
He was one nasty little old man.
He snorted at us holding a fork,
I couldn't stand that nasty little
He was always mean and never nice
That little old man, until he came across this dorky old gal.
She blew his mind with a price tag sale.
What a clever, clever gal.
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