I got a bitchin' laptop,
But scraped my car on wall;
I bought the Cobain notebooks,
Baudrillard, MAD, Foucault.
I got my dad to help me patch
And sand and fill and paint the scratch;
And then, when things were gettin' started
To Mitchell Island we departed.
First place of automotive doom bade well—
Found gas tank door, an instrument panel;
But when we went to pay for that
The salesman was a giant twat
And I have judged against that purchase
Though by and by the price was righteous
So to the second place we set
To find us 'nother spare Chevette.
Of those found two we, with some luck
And I paid only them ten buck
For th' gas tank cover, and departed
(Though with the dashboard we have parted).
You see, a problem unconcluded
Is the gas gauge, which is deluded
To think it's empty when it's full;
So philosophical 's its bull.
Arrived we't one Canadian Tire,
Alas, 'twere out of "BLUE—BLEU PALE"
We racked our brains then for a bit
How in the hell to use that shit.
So we arrived at 'nother store
And - lo! found "BLEU AVIGNON,"
Which matched precisely (more or less,
Fourth shade of blue, I must confess).
We fixed more items—spit and polish,
Than I this morning did demolish:
The gas tank door we painted blue
It fit quite snugly then—par dieu!
My father, quick he on the handle
Attached a new side-window handle,
So it does not not-work or rattle
Like spears of devils 'fore a battle.
Finalement, politely and 'thout fail,
Mother of homestay girl from Nippon hails,
Brings me four Animes as present
And I, tired, happy at the present,
Retreated to my chamber, dark and deep,
To write a crooked verse, include what wit
Wasn't already sucked from my bis-cuit
(Due to my four uneasy hours of sleep),
And alles spontaneity ahoy—
Now you, too, know the taste of this alloy.