She saunters over to the maroon computer chair, long, dark hair flying as she shakes it from her face. She puts her two small hands on the seat of the chair, trying to climb in like a cat, without moving the chair from the desk. She trips into the seat, banging her left knee on the desk, and collapses sideways in the chair. "Graceful...is...me," she grunts.
Ah, yes, and if you liked that, I have more. I write like James Joyce, Ernest Hemingway, and Francine Pascal, all in one. My riveting words are painted on the page artfully, like cheap tempera paint mixed with glue.
So enough with the sarcasm already. Here's a parody of Full of Grace by Sarah McLachlan Real lyrics to Full of Grace
Full of Shit (The Rich Tourist's Prayer)
The water here's warm and bitter
It tastes like moldy cheese
Every time that I take a breath
It comes out in a sneeze
I feel just like I'm leaking
And I claw for the toilet seat...
There's nothing growing in this dry land
I didn't know food could taste this bland
In the darkness I cannot see my hand
Oh civilization and good Western values
Come and take me from this pit
I know there are places much better than this
Full of shit
"It's pretty this way," you say,
Having seen this place before
But I can't see what you're talking 'bout
You stupid, liberal whore
It's just that I've stayed too long
In the same old dirty shack...
There's nothing but skinny children here
I clutch my purse, run away with fear
And for God's sake, doesn't anyone have a beer?