Beefy Fridge Funk Surprise

A precocious reply to this WordPress daily writing prompt:

Woke in sleepy fog today,
With fuzz in all my cracks.
Gushed a gleeful golden spray
So that part could relax.

Bolted down a cup of black
To get my engine started;
Backfired from a fuzzy crack
Whence sulfur cloud departed.

Hoping no one heard the din,
I sought another room,
Before the vapors burned my skin
And deepened morning gloom.

Woe betide the next poor sot
Who ventures into kitchen;
And if m’lady smells the rot,
There’ll be no end of bitchin’.

But what, you wonder, will I do tomorrow
When comes again impending threat of sorrow?
What remedy when I’m about to burst
And change the air from morning-blessed to cursed?

That’s easy, though it sounds like sacrilege;
I’ll just make sure to fart into the fridge.
Whoever opens that Pandora’s box
Will surely be knocked over in their socks.
But if I’m lucky, they’ll assume the funk
Is from leftover beef and not my trunk.



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