I'm not sure why, but this snippet of bad poetry recently popped into my head:
In the pie chart of your affections,
Is there a slim, thin slice with my name on it,
Or am I lumped in the "Other" slice?
Isn't that awful? I had some whiskey this weekend (which tastes like burning, by the way), maybe that's where this came from. My hope is that by unleashing this snippet here, it will not develop into something worse-like a full-blown Bad Poem.
