We gush about our renal failure, check
The chart for errors, and assess our kitchens
For spiders: giant ones that start the trek
Behind the egg sacs, raising toasts to Hitchens
While gulping (Johnny Walker Black, of course)
And cursing God for cancer. Maybe we'll
Deport; our border policy is force
And babies in the back yard. They'll appeal,
So check their scientific class -- the fang-
Less ones aren't Oxford commas: they got legs
For miles, an asset if you're gonna bang
'Em with a shoe, but daddy likes his eggs
Imagined. Flip the gender: ladies will be boys
And fellahs ma'ams depending on the noise.
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