Today is the day of the Secret Santa scrimmage!

Today is the day of the Secret Santa scrimmage!

I knee-to-chest crouch up field, crotch squeezed too tightly.
But, I forgot to go through puberty. Yup, nearly nightly.
I pick on grass, offense, no yield,
attack, gather presents for the defense.
What up Team B, our presents are two tense to be defended.

"Destroy something beautiful,
and scratch the blood of your victim,"
In the Middle East Field,
the beast claws at the genitals of a beautiful brown penny.
Vicars and victors pour their pickled plums into crankshaft shit gun legs.
Aimed right at my left cleft philtrum, the pellet rifle sprays come.
I lick them off, coughing,
my coffee stained teeth reveal my tongue,
black with oil, packed with vitamins,
soiling
my water, bottle plastic pumped through adamantium.
So many spotlights illuminate bottle caps,
that we don't have to see the tops.
Black light casts dark shades into hidden unmentionables.
Black fuel gargles in the throat of a combustion engine.

I gargle a combustion engine's fuel to intimidate the other team.
The referee doesn't see but he looks over suspiciously.

I charmed some Fearful American boys,
I pierced a piece of periodontal peace with one a those Teeth Hose toys.
Breached with a guttural rumble, their bubbles broke out.
Meanwhile deflated snakes squirmed beneath each waist
low above the dentists' chair.
Chastity is wasted on rotten dental hygiene.
Puberty never reaches men of plates.

It's too late for bass.
White. MAN?
White can stand alone for butter bread bland.
Those who seemingly mean only to carry out old worthless shitty plans
for war against toasts and phantoms
tripping ancient booby-traps in the holy middle lands, are Pus White, yes,
but they're not Men.