The White Trash Palette

Blogging is challenging because, not only do you have to write well, but you have to engage your audience.

I wrote this poem for my husband not too long ago. I, of course, thought it was HILARIOUS.  And then I asked myself, I said, “Myself, does anyone really care that my husband is worth his weight in saturated fats?” Probably not. But today is our 13th wedding anniversary. So this one’s for him. And if you like it, that’s cool too.

Oh, and don’t try to tell me I’m not romantic.

Some husbands got money,
Some husbands got talent,
I think I landed me the best,
When I got the White Trash Palette.

Don’t need no GPS for fast food chains,
He knows just where to go,
If he don’t know the locations,
He sniffs them out with his nose.

It’s like the golden gates of heaven part,
When we step inside,
Cause he’s the White Trash Palette,
And he does it deep fried.

He’s eaten more burgers,
Then the Earl of Sandwich,
Burger King is his servant,
Ronald McDonald is his bitch.

He’s hanging with Carls Jr.,
And he’s getting macho,
With Jack in The Box,
And upper management at Del Taco.

Don’t need to ask how to take my meals,
I know that he’s the boss,
He’s the connoisseur of french fries,
And he gots the special sauce.

And when it comes to lovin’,
We take that magic ride,
Cause he’s the White Trash Palette
And he does it deep fried.

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Las Vegas, NV 4/28/2001

 

Napowrimo Entry #9

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