'Mitchell' Review
(To the tune of 'Some Enchanted Evening')
Some unpanted heaving
Surges, full of danger,
From a brain dead stranger
Like gushing, noxious fuuuuuuuuuumes.
No need to make sense,
It's just flatulence,
And we are pulped by sonic booooooooms.
When you see a sticky
Slob with feeble hickies,
A crashing, sleepy boozer
The Knight of Sag has stirrrrrrrrrred.
Our brains intuit
Swift love for suet,
And joy that his close-ups are all blurrred.