Even if there were only seventeen syllables left in the universe, I still don’t think The Mythical Mr. Boo would write a haiku. Especially not if those syllables were groups of “oh,” “no,” “ah,” “ouch,” “ugh,” “eek,” and “shit!

“If a man was choking, what would I do? Well, I’d remove my penis from his throa…”

“I want to knit myself a skin-tight sweater, made out of human flesh.”

“4 am—if I’m ever up that early, it’s because I’m up that late.”

“She had breasts that sagged to her knees. But that's ok, because when it got co…”