Water is a beautiful drink.

It makes me plink.

Blink blink

The light are flickerink

Bros got the overbite of a salmonink

Ricky dink

Give me back my kidneys monohallsink

The river is endlessly flowink

Who spiked this fruit punch with fentanylink

Zoom zoomink 

The ink is plunkink

Insert cash or select playment typeink

This poem is so deep I’m having an existentially driven panic attack I need medical attentionink.

Gloop glopink

Crossiat.

*Crosaint 

**Cross Aint 

***Crosswint

HAY MALE THAME DOHICKEY WND WINT INK FIX THATFN RIGHT NOW!!1!!!1!11!111

We are at war. 

The Pancake Nation has invaded our homeland of Syrupson. It’s a horrible battlefield. Soggy pancakes and waffles litter the floor. Syrup splatters the walls and covers our blades. 

The cries of our men, and the weeping of our women only add fuel to the fire. “I am going to WAFFLEND you!” General Belgian Waffleson III cries, as he stabs the blueberry pancake right in the center with his Dutch Baby Longsword. The pancake slumps to the floor, defeated.

But that blueberry pancake has one last thing up its sleeve. The pancake stabs the general in the back, with his Crêpe Dagger, taking the general down with him.

The syrup pools around the two warriors… Our resident healer, Nurse Pandan, picks up the general, and performs some stitching, using long strips of butter, to help ease the pain, but… it is too late.

The general… is gone.

Without a general, the warriors of Syrupson surrendered to the Pancake Nation. We became slaves for the pancakes, working in their blueberry mines, and harvesting their butter plants. 

But, even after all of that, I still have hope. I believe that one waffle can get us out of here. I believe that we can defeat the pancakes.

I believe… that Syrupson will be reborn.