I Am Having A Huge Asexual Torque Catharsis Over Miley Cyrus’ Hardcore Christian Death Metal Nipples

(My onging project is to write a flarf poem every day. And I've been pretty good -- I've actually done a poem a day for about a month. I'll post them in backwards chron order until I'm up to date, but here's today's poem ... )


E=mc2 means very, very little to me.
On the other hand, Miley Cyrus’ nipples
lay down some nasty good beats for “The Man,”
and sound like the Eagles playing Christian death metal
while filling prescriptions and feeding livestock.
I used to not be able to dance in tight pants,
but the bong-rattling bottom crunch of Miley Cyrus' nipples
filling prescriptions and feeding livestock
made former Christian middle child Jim Morrison
“look at me.”

It could be argued that Miley Cyrus —
small-time criminal and fan of plastic surgery —
purposely picked up a chainsaw and wrought destruction on
Jim Morrison in an attempt to pay homage to ice cream distributors.
But did losing her virginity have to hurt my whole
pubic shaving template download party?
Miley’s nipples' wicked famous “Funeral Poems
for Death of an Uncle During the Spring Break PA Drivers License
Writing Awards” delivered the death blow to a bull
at the end of a stadium fight.
Hopefully this will prove once and for all that Scientology causes
torque arc fatigue in Spongebob.

On the quality of life scale for dogs.
where do Miley Cyrus’ hardcore Christian death metal nipples fall?
Answer: in the cloudy urine of a preschool’s pet boar
that leads people to dig through sewage sludge
for Baby Vogue knitting patterns.
How much does Miley Cyrus weigh?
As much as four simian brother organs
in full body alchemist mode.
Or a young dick through skimpy material
during teenage virgin birthday sex, and hiking afterward in a skirt,
while a rogue gust of violent wind tears Miley away
from Sandra Bullock in a bikini.
Next question.

Question: what happens when,
on the hunt for Miley Cyrus underwear,
you fall right onto gay guys fucking to old granny porn?
Answer: if you answered “glorious Hitler death for
heavy metal enthusiasts” you would also be partially correct.
Miley Cyrus’s apple-y lostness appears creekside in Palo Alto
on the “Zelda Fitzgerald Hunt for Best Guru in a Subaru Map.”
I've been told masochism can be cathartic, especially when
making myself pregnant with my own very hot glove
while speeding toward or away from some asexual cosmic vortex
where Miley Cyrus's own special version of “Fuck Off”
(as an homage to the comedy version of the Tet Offensive)
is played on Princess Diana’s trance radio station.

Like a hawk, Miley Cyrus’ nipples are not hatched but “disclosed.”
They are “reclaimed” not tamed, and they are not trained
but “made” or “manned.”
And, of course, they are never actually ill — rather they
“suffer from ungladness.”
One thing is for certain, though:
I could never be Miley Cyrus’ ER nurse,
filling prescriptions and feeding livestock.
A man's gotta know his limitations.
Plus I never read “My Body, My Self,” so I don’t know anything
about my body or myself.
But I do know that a guy refrained from shaving his face until a new
Metallica album was released in 2003.
The painful recovery?
I can't even go there.