Dude, Where's My Car?

It's become an almost weekly ritual: hanging out on my balcony with Dagon, totally blazed, beaming with pride as yet another SUV or jalopy, absent the moron who owns it, swiftly disappears into the night.

Ode to MET-Rx Bar

Crunchy gooey sweet
Infusion of isomers
So satisfying

Dissed...

By my supposedly best friend DAGON, for whom laying pipe up some random ASSHOLE is apparently more important than making good on his commitment to work out nightly—no ifs, ands, or BUTTS—with yours truly =(