That One Time, With the Pizza Chick

Dear Penthouse

Once upon a midnight dreary, drunk of rum, eyes a-bleary,
Over bent a porcelain god, praying o’er days of yore.
While I wretched, body sapping, suddenly I heard a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my hotel door.
“’Tis the pizza guy,” I muttered, “tapping at my hotel door;
Online order, $10.24.”

Hand firmly held on toilet bowl; catch my breath to slow my roll.
Unsteady feet, shaking hands, slowly rose from tiled floor.
Try to keep room from spinning, sanity fight, booze is winning,
Karmic penance for my sinning; another knock at hotel door.
“Hold yer horses,” I did implore, and made my way to hotel door.
Check my pocket, bare before?

At that moment my heart did stop, I spent last dime at porno shop.
On the bed a paper bag, filled with colored toys galore.
“Sir,” said I, through a crack, “I have no cash, I know it’s whack,
Spent my load on paper sack. Filled with toys at porno store.”
To my surprise, opposite surmise, was pizza girl at door.
She pushed in, and went for score.

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