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Q
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Hey, C'Mon, Sometimes Even a Busboy Needs an Ego Boost
I
hey, c'mon, sans un nom,
the guy liked it,
we all liked it,
deep-down inside you liked it too,
when you did it;
II
we all know this regrets game,
don't we,
boys, girls, and screamin' monkeys;
we all agree,
'cause we know "je regrette" is but two not more than two score
words in iowan, italian, and californian (baja o sur)
and most places like our chambres a coucher for example
it's not a word,
it both sucks
and is unnecessary (at least half the time),
if you're on a winning streak
(even though, remember, streaking's illegal,
except in Iowa, Italy, California (sur), Oregon, Vermont and the Loop (but only before 8:30 PM (but it was too cold and windy anyway i'm sure somebody knows);
III
the winning streak ain't over
until the fat singer sings during the losing game;
we're still streakin', see;
the year ain't over until the clock at St. Peter's strikes zero
in your local air pocket;
still there's time
to regret the regret;
and give the busboy a virtual virtual,
are we being clear here?
IV
c'mon, sans un nom,
he rubs so hard when he's blathing, he's raw;
you saw it;
the poor boy, like every boy,
needs a boost for his ego,
once in awhile;
once a millenium would be, well,
better than nothing,
a couple times a day would be better,
after 8:30 PM's okay too, even in Vatican City;
it's okay to give the guy a gift;
he won't care if it doesn't come from your heart
or go to your toes;
it's the thought that counts.
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991231
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