Constipated Couch Potato

He sits all day just watching shows upon the TV tube,
If you were to look at him he’d hardly seem to move.
Spending all his time just eating popcorn, dips and chips,
The biggest muscles on him are the ones upon his lips.

His girlfriend gripes he didn’t used to be a man this way,
He’d pamper her all night and he’d work throughout the day.
But now to lift a finger takes an act of Congress passed,
She wishes he’d get off his lazy no good fat ole mass.

She’d like to go and dance a bit, have some fun and cheer,
Sadly all he thinks about is finding his next beer.
The smells he makes are noxious and they chase the dog away,
An odor lingers ‘round his couch, in the foulest way.

He whoops and yells at silly men who chase some stupid ball,
The neighbors are not happy and they bang on the thin walls.
Now he never gets to bed because of his big pouch,
Instead he falls asleep and snores real loud out on the couch.

Worst of all he has complaints and becomes frustrated,
Because his lack of movement made him very constipated.
The moral of this poem is that you better get a life,
Before you end up on a table under doctor’s knife.


by Rodney Alan Crater
Copyright ©2007 Rodney Alan Crater