The fid's poetry slam

ODE TO POTTED MEAT

Oh how I sing the praises of potted meat
Paté of the gods, aroma so sweet
I long for the post-consumption rectal burn
Oh beef byproducts for thee I yearn
With that delicious sodium erythorbate
My hunger will never have to wait
Cooked beef fat tissue solids and beef tripe
Its not just a bunch of hype
Eat it like the pig you are
Just pray that a toilet is not that far!

My brother and I used to play a silly little game of "hide the potted meat" in our now departed cousin's car. We would open a can of the meat and put it under the seat, or up in the dash, or in other various hidden places in his car. It usually took about two days for him to figure out that he had been potted.

My brother also put the leg from a freshly dead deer in his brother-in-law's truck underneath the driver seat. It took about a week for the poor bastard to figure that one out.

My brother is evil. I am pure and perfect.