Once on a harried and hugely depressing winter day, Baby George III’s mommy read him “Oocyte” by the Fence poetess Joyelle McSweeney.
When Baby George III looked up “oocyte” in the dictionary, he didn’t like what it meant.
But he did like the poem.
It’s is another stupid Wednesday in America.
This is what Baby Joseph’s thinks you should do…
I don’t like you or your count.
When I grow up, you’re not the kind of girl I hope to be like.