The piping on my pants is made from fondant.
My tailor said, “It’s cheaper than nylon.”
“What about cotton?” I foolishly asked.
He said, “Why not wear a damn pylon?”
I said, “Wow, what an odd nonsequitur.”
He bellowed severely, “How many times
Must I explain to you assholes—
I’ll say anything as long as it rhymes!”
With that in mind, I suggested a meal
Perhaps something involving an orange.
“Oh, you sassy son of a bitch!” he cried.
And threw me out of his shop.
sporange