The foul creation
of crushed tomatoes and shit.
How dare it exist in my time,
I long to destroy the creator of ketchup.
His corpse shall lie broken in
the depths of Hell.
Where the smell of ketchup forever lingers.
Each day the hatred grows,
like a fire licking my soul.
It will burn forever until it is
extinguished by the destruction of
Heinz and all like companies.
I'll smash the container, and watch its
kroovy flow.
I shall hear its cries of anguish and
laugh as I smash and destroy.
All ketchup will be gone!
And I will be free!
No more will the smell haunt my dreams.
Author notes
As you can tell, I hate ketchup. But aside from that, the word kroovy in the poem came from a clockwork orange, and it means blood.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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If not for ketchup. What would we drown thine food that taste like crap in? Haha.
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Your comment was not funny. -
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I'm Sorry.
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