I weep. I thrash.
My teeth I gnash.
My clothes I render into trash.
My soul I damn, my self I fasch,
My hide breaks out in angry rash!
My Macintosh I nearly Crash!
And to new heights my wrath I lash,
And mutter "Sufferin' SUCcotash!"
And "So's your father's old moustache"
And floors and doors and tables bash
ANd walnuts crush and taters mash
And beef cows render into hash
And precious poems reduce to ash
While wasting precious piles of cash
And flailing absent style or dash,
While all around me Titans clash
And bleeding hearts I cruelly gash
Praying the MOAB gain panache
Recover now her long-lost flash!

Flash Gordon
First Boldly Goer