O Dinner! Why doth thou torment me so?
Thou art full of guile and unused pasta,
Mocking mine consciousness, so barren of ideas.
The loathing in mine heart knoweth no end, for thee, O Dinner.
Thy sneering countenance doth make my blood boil.
I perceive thy callous taunting,
Thy ridicule, in regard to mine own poor planning.
But I shall prevail!
Bested by thee, O Dinner?
It shall not be so!
'Tis not the chopping, the cutting,
The basting, nor the broiling that plagues the five o'clock hour...
But the PLANNING!
O, to be a planner!
I shall groweth in mine capacities.
I shall strive and stretch and amplify mine talents.
And then, O Dinner, Bane of Mine Existence,
It shall be YOU who laments!!!