An ode to graduation:
Dear cap and gown:
Thank you so much for signifying all that my education has been worth:
50 bucks and years worth of ass-sweat deeply ingrained.
Worthy of a piece of paper suitable for framing,
And surely not a token gesture of fleeting fancy, like a lower-back tattoo.
Some people like to go au natural beneath the folds of the gown, but not me:
I prefer to keep my penis from grazing against chafe-ready nylon blends.
Also, you can masturbate through the pocketless slits, and if I do, I don’t want the evidence to show.
As for you, Mr. Cap: no, the rumors are not true. I would certainly not rather be wearing a Mets hat. Nor am I upset that you don’t include a radio, MP3 player, DVD screen, or any legitimate purpose in our modern age. I’m simply happy letting you rest on my pate, clogging my pores and helping me form pustular acne in a ring on my forehead.
Yep, cap n’ gown, I’m pretty psyched you’re going to be in my life for this one day. It’s too bad it’s going to be so short… but then, like the McRib, it’s the limited time you’re in our lives that lets us know just how special our stolen moments together are.