theodore

A Valentine's Day poem of sorts:

What do I think of Theodore Pink, that scum-bag who lives right next door?

Well, first off, he's crazy, pretentious and lazy, up-tight and an infinite bore.

Each time that he passes, I put on sunglasses so he will not stay to converse;

For Theodore Pink, who really does stink, smells like a wet dog—but worse.

Some call the boy Teddy; I call him Spaghetti 'cause his hair is a noodle-y mess.

Some say he's a saint, but I say he ain't—that he's wildly evil's my guess.

I hate, hate, hate, hate people saying he's great; it makes me want to shove him.

That Theodore Pink, a detestable fink, I actually think I might love him.