What’s the word for when you have a baby but instead of it coming out of your baby hole it comes out of your butt hole and instead of being a person it’s poop? Cuz I just had a baby like that.
A few years ago, my friends Kelly and Tobe got married. I decided to write them a poem, but I didn’t want it to be about the usual “marriage stuff.” So this is what I gave them, on parchment in a beautiful wooden frame:
I had sex with Mahatma Gandhi
It was years ago on a business trip to India.
He was in the midst of a hunger strike
But he wasn’t on a sex strike — that’s for sure.
I met him in a hotel lobby
About 8AM, I was just checking in.
Someone behind me said “Nice suit, buddy.”
He was really thin — with barefoot, calloused feet.
He took my bags and climbed the stairs
I thought he was the bellhop, boy was I wrong.
He shook his head when I tried to tip him
“No money or possessions” — like my main man Christ.
He took my hand and led me inside
He said the liberation of his country was at stake.
He ripped my shirt as he pulled me to him
Such a peaceful guy — but he sure liked it rough.
A half hour later the dream was over
We lay on the floor and drifted off to sleep.
When I awoke, no sign of “Skinny”
Just a simple note — “God be with you, you were great.”
I called room service and ordered breakfast
Too bad he couldn’t stay for some steak and eggs.
When I look back, I can’t help but smile
At that morning I had my ass reamed by Mahatma Gandhi.
I shot a Verizon commercial with Mr. Can You Hear Me Now. It took place on a campsite, and they glued actual dead mosquitos to our faces. My life is awesome.