A birthday poem for Yossarian.


There once was a young man named Yossie
Who was a God on E2, with a posse

He borged all the bitches
And made ' no more, please' pitches
Till the users all thought him quite saucy.

...But let me tell you more about Yossarian...

He's a self-proclaimed world-renowned badass
(But don't just trust me: take his class!)
He's so thin he looks dead
He let Jane shave his head
And magnets all stick to his ass.

...But let me tell you more, still more about Yossarian...

He's the very best tour guide in all of New York
Be it music or " theatre" or a knife and a fork
He knows the best place to eat
Or to just have a seat
Or to buy a CD by Bjork.

(Hey, it rhymed….)

...No wait.
You see, that's not even the beginning of Yossarian.
Let me try again...


He has the most beautiful dreams that I ever have read.
He writes love in new ways I could never have said.
His words can be subtle and mystic and wise
Or sweet, kind and simple, and full of surprise
… But the next time you look, they'll mean something else new now instead.

No, wait.
...Wait just a second.

(Good.)

Now let me really tell you something about Yossarian:


He's one of those couple, those incredible few:
He's the friend that I knew I could turn to
To laugh or to cry
Or when I needed to hide


So Yossie, what I'm trying to say … is just thank you.



(That and happy birthday, you old camel.)

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