“I’ll call him Bobby,” Lizzie said,
Of the creature she discovered sharing her bed.
No living thing, irrespective of size,
Was allowed any access to our Lizzie’s thighs.
You see, although Lizzie was nearing thirty,
She thought that sex was just plain dirty.
As punishment she imprisoned Bobby in a biscuit tin,
A lingering demise; the reward for his sin.
With no food, Bobby’s death would be slow,
But the creature proved a formidable foe,
He could survive nuclear wars and decapitation.
He wasn’t going to be done in by mere starvation.
After thirty one days Bobby hadn’t scuttled
off this mortal coil.
His refusal to die was making Lizzie’s blood boil.
“If tomorrow this roach hasn’t left for his grave,
I’m gonna finish him off in the microwave.”
I don’t like roaches, but Bobby’s punishment was hell,
So, as Lizzie slept, I liberated him from his cell.
The roach wasted no time on thanks or goodbyes,
Instead, he crawled onto Lizzie’s face and ate out her eyes.
Based on a true story – sort of