Unfinished Melody for Righteous Fathers
I began composing a poem for Father’s Day and midstream decided against it. For some reason, I simply got bored and decided to work on a commission instead. If you’d like to finish the poem for me, you can: Our father, who farts in our den, Hallowed be thy game. By halftime come, Thy will be done. The score is zip to seven. Give us this day our daily beer And give us backstage passes… Oh, and many apologies for…