ah...freshly washed and dried clothes

alt tear knitted title –
how I i.e. Cinder Fella spent thee better part of January 4^th 2018

hey yo' Donald, one suggestion

to make America great again,

would be to groupthink, draft,

and assign a domestic accord,

where the man of the house (or bachelor)

spends hours applying elbow grease

to scrub vigorously any stubborn stain

using a handy dandy blues clues wash board,

and during faux pas, sans station identification

give this John Doe (while taking –

while he and ye take a knee),

applauding, displaying how much he iz adored

thence demanding,

(while he gets handed a mop and pail),

plus hire spongebob square pants

if Yukon afford

(the competitive fee he requires),

or roughly equivalent payment, where gourd

(takes the place of precious metal

as legal viz edible tender)

traced back to fore fathers and their horde

of wives, whose reverence idolized

via husbands infatuation

(and secret crush) toward

singer songwriter Lourde

dez, who at a young age scored

major deals

with prominent recording studios, and toured


across the webbed, wide world

receiving many an a ward

which Australian “Queen Bee”

put pep in the step

of house broken good fellas forced

to grovel for Arthur Treacher's fish and chips prithee

re:

garding being an outstanding kitchen helper

buffer hitting the sack (of potatoes)

on the menu for every Fry day cooking spree.