An itty-bitty poem

A friend of mine used to have these really neat Christmas Eve parties, at which people would be asked for a performance. There would be singing, juggling, music, and what I usually did was write something I hoped was funny and read it. It was a good time.

Anyhoo, I came across this little poem in my hard drive, so I thought it made an interesting addition to this blog. ("Interesting" being my way of saying, "Shut up and read it.") A bit of background: In the gay community, young, tanned gym-polished blond boys are known as "twinkies", because they are short, golden-brown and cream-filled. I know, ick, but it's kind of important to this poem. Here goes...

If I Were a Twinkie
If I could have a wish from a genie or ring
It wouldn’t be for money, for cars or anything
World peace would be nice, and ending world hunger
I just want a body that’s blond and tan and younger
Hostess they make a bunch of nice cakes
Little Debbie, and Entenmann’s, and Carvel and Drake
But if I could be a twinkie I’d be so much better
I’d go from man-repellent straight to a guy-getter
As I walked down the street I’d be the first looked-at
Instead of coming in second to garbage and dead cats
At bars I’d be the center of all the attention
I could take the blue ribbon instead of honorable mention
When I stepped out my door in Spandex or tight jeans
I’d inspire admiration, instead of gross horror scenes
If I were a twinkie they’d fight to be with me
And I’d be called “hottie”, instead of “neato” and “nifty”
Of course, sometimes twinkies are dumber than dumb
In jeans they are beautiful; above the neck, numb
They may get the glances, the stares and the sighs
But they can’t write a good werewolf story like mine
Besides, when the bombs drop, and the world almost fries
Smart guys will build shelters. The twinkies will die
Sure, steroids keep them from gaining an ounce
But steroids ruin performance where and when it most counts
You know, I’d rather be short, brunette with no tan
Than be a gym-buffed blond twinkie with brains made of sand

I could go to the gym, and be kinda dim
I’d be pretty as hell, even though I couldn’t spell
I could turn any trick, I would have a big car
If I were a twinkie

(Remember that this poem was meant to be read aloud, so the last part is alot funnier. Or so I tell myself.)