Racking up the self esteem points
In a desperate flamboyance
Featuring the buoyant backside
That nobody but her husband should see,
A marketing machine
Has bobbed into our lives again
As a crack once limited
To that channel surviving only
By the graces of those made up faces
And over developed personalities,
Errr, proportions

Could we invent an “ASP”
A piece of mobile technology
That will allow us to block
That asinine family from our internet feeds,
Cable television, and vernacular
So that they could live
As freely, and in whatever
State of agitation or nakedness,
Suits their their needy butts
Without exposing us to their
Rotund and cheeky
Posterior parading for attention

The November full moon
Has nearly arrived
Which seems to mean
The deer are in heat
But the lunar eclipse that gave light to my lunch
Took all passion away
From a delicious meal.
In the cramped confines
Of a family diner
The elastic was waning
From a man’s boxers
Exposing his plumber’s nomenclature
To those fortunate enough to be cursed
With such a view
I was reminded
Of the rule of fashion
Stating something about modesty
And leaving them wanting more
Well this peep show
Did not need a telescope to see
The man in the moon
For he
Must have eaten the cow
Full of whole milk
Storing it all in his prominently positioned ass
My problem was not the girth
My problem was the lack of consideration
For his exposure was no more appropriate
Than woman grossly over advertised
By too little fabric
A time has come
For people to stop thinking
Only of themselves
We are responsible for each other
And decency should prevail
In language, manners,
And fashion
Whether cleavage or crack
So please
Mr. Apollo sitting on the big stool at the counter
Your lunar landing left us nearly engulfed
By your very own black hole
Could you either wear better underwear,
Buy a belt,
Or just pull your pants up?