I need to let it go.
Stop staring at those giant horse balls.
But, when I obsess, I go full-on batty.
The stupid statue has me in full thralls!
(Get it? bat? ball? hee hee hee! Hey, that craptastical poem is no worse than the stinking tripe the New Yorker features each week.)
I don’t know why I felt compelled to revisit the horsey. My fellow government attorneys who frequent EP have told me that they have never noticed the giant horse reproductive parts on the statue. They were all like, “Ann, what are you talking about?” when we were @ Home Slice on SoCo (how hipster of me! that’s me being hipster-y!!) last week.
Okay, doesn’t this look kinda porn-y, like human porn-y? If I just posted this, you’d think it was a dude, right? A dude hung like a stallion. (bwahahahaha!)
Is that a little veining? Because I might just yack.
Part of me must be a 13 yr old boy. Because, omg, look at that giant weenie. Hee hee hee! Just look at it!!! that horse has a huge schlong. Huge.
Well, someone is mighty proud of their horse’s genitalia. A little too proud. Scarily so. Stop rubbing it in my face everytime I leave the airport, you pervy-von-pervester!