Yesterday was Valentine's Day. I was there. Those not currently found in my ward won't know that we played broom hockey with paddle broomsticks, on slippery ice, with naught but our shoes on (and our clothes, too), after eating pizza, with the passion of St. Valentine's Day so thick on the ice you could cut it with a knife, for a ward activity. Yubtub. I slid all over the place, but was pretty much the best one out there ever. So let's poem it.
with fierce joy I whack the ball--it's here!
is wet; I fell on my rear.
The masses swarm to get the ball,
I must not let my team down!
Swing my stick with hurricane force,
tornado spin round and round.
Point after point I score!
For each one, in my stick I carve a notch.
First one, then two, soon ten, then twenty!
My points are earned with whacks to the enemies' crotch.
Fallen bodies lay strewn about;
the rage of love courses through my spine.
deep runs the passion of St. Valentine.
This poem I dedicate to my fallen teammate Blake. Blake, your sacrifice will not go unavenged. With cat-like ferocity and prowess, you stood tall and pounced upon the ball. You gave it your all, and I salute you. I will be systematically injuring every single player on the opposing team, and probably half of our own team. Traitorous scum who deserted us in our time of need. I'll make them pay... I'll make them all pay.
This next poem is dedicated to Molluver. Baby I'm your \.
Lover' turned \. Boy turned into Man.
Gas cloud--dark and cocoa-ey;
vehemently it escapes my lips.
Gooey, powdery it explodes;
the remains of which still cover my chest and hips.
no air can find its way in to my cocoa coated lungs.
Throat and nose are burning;
by the toxic cloud of dirty brown dust both are stung.
The three of us dry heave--the man next to me doth spew;
It is worth every ounce of suffering, to prove my manhood to you.
Happy Valentine's Day! I love you all! I can prove it.