The Jest

Here's a half-assed sonnet inspired by a fictitious event I half-expected to occur this week.

The Jest
By: Michael T. Flanders

A violent death awaits him tonight.
Awakened from my slumber, I'm distraught.
The douche is bedside, attempting a fright.
Now in my backyard he will sit and rot.
Granted, I may have overreacted.
But you don't mess with a man and his rest.
A horror scene getting reenacted.
Oh shit, it was just a perverted jest!
Looking back, it wasn't a snake in his hand,
But rather the half-inch stick he plays with.
It's still not my fault his head's now in sand.
Now I'll go down in history as myth.
A man who killed his friend over a small prick,
but it's still funny he died over his dick.