Watchmen's been out for a good few weeks now, and here's the final part of a trilogy of poems about the film. Well, related to the film -- the first two were rather tenuous, whereas this one was composed by my good self in the wake of the film... and the Internet discussions about it, which seemed to focus around one particular member of the cast.
When it was normal-coloured he
had trouble getting laid,
but then there was the accident
which changed its fleshy shade:
No longer was it ugly, pink
and changeable in size,
but now a constant, hanging there;
pleasant blue to the eyes.
His fascinating phallus lets
him have it his own way:
he can have any girl he wants
('cept Silhouette -- she's gay).
This is the first instance in a long time where I've posted a poem of my own composition. Just because I'm writing more doesn't mean this will be occurring more often.
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