Cleaning out my bedside Drawer Of Shit, I came across this poem. A poem for me. A poem written about me. A poem written about me by someone called Jo.
Thing is, who the fuck is Jo?
It mentions my purple Turkish poncho, so the poem must have been written in late '06 or '07 after my Turkey trip... and I'm really hoping it wasn't written any more recently than that because I really don't remember Jo.
Getting more Sherlock on its arse, it has to be a doof Jo because I only wear my purple Turkish poncho to outdoor parties. So it was a winter doof (can't have been this year then as it's only winter now). The only doof Jo I know has really short hair and always looks at me suspiciously, like she knows I'm up to something and even though she doesn't know exactly what it is, she's on to me. There is no way she would write a girlycute poem about me being lovely and cuddly.
I think where the author says the bit about "a kool friend forever till the end", they must have meant till the end of the party. Or the end of the poem.
Baffled, I am.
8 comments:
So, maybe the author's name wasn't actually Jo and you just called her (or even him) Jo because you WERE off your dial and as a result, "Jo" signed off as such.
It's plausible.
Maybe suspicious Jo said something about you to a friend and the friend wrote it on her behalf or to play a joke on you.
Or maybe it's suspicious Jo herself, she has secret girly talents, also, a secret likin' for you.
It was slipped into your pocket or pants when you weren't looking.
That is funny, Mothership. And plausible. But it's not what happened.
And that didn't happen either, GG.
I remembered who the Jo was and I'm happy to say she is one of the most devastatingly gorgeous people I have ever met. She is beautiful and not a doofer (yes, I have worn my purple Turkey poncho when not doofing), and it's a bit funny that she wrote this pome.
That's so lovely. Wish I had a nice poem about me somewhere. :)
Erm...
There once was a girl called Kat,
Who liked it when spiders went splat,
She didn't like pigeons,
Not even a smidgeon,
And that's my nice poem about Kat.
There ya go.
Haha! Thanks. :)
You're one lucky fella!
I know it, GG. My Steve McQueen self delusion is a lucky, lucky thing.
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