Let’s have some Greek escargot, garnished well with lobster tips.
we ordered kosher pizza though it’s never touched my lips.
Let’s have a garden party once I text the dog a bone,
then all of us retire to the balcony, alone.
The stereo is oozing out some sad John Mayer tunes,
a few Adele, Dave Matthews and Death Cab for Cutie, too.
We’re swingin’ in Hilfiger, Abercrombie, Fitch and Gap,
the men drink single malt and chase it down with room temp Schnapps.
The gals pretend to talk about the things that matter most,
but mostly compare boobs, and think they’re better than the host.
We spent the afternoon at Starbucks just so we’d be seen,
my forty something ass looks tight in these designer jeans.
The holiday in Aspen skiing down those magic hills,
we stayed in Porsche’s timeshare and took weight reduction pills.
My faith has wavered some in my investments this past year,
for all those lazy bastards without jobs I’ll shed no tears.
And now one last Shiraz will go down sweetly on my lips,
those seven Dos Equis have left me sorely needing sips.
When next you ask about me I will need to ask of you,
to use the servant’s entrance and to please take off your shoes.