Weekend Odes to Vice

A few years ago, after a bunch of nasty terrorists blew up the building across the street from my office, I was sent to New Jersey to work. This is a running theme in my narrative, so please excuse me. While we, the relatively thin New Yorkers, were there, we witnessed the feeding habits of the natives in the cafeteria, which included much noshing on massive carb-heavy platters and grease-laden buns. We started to go insane in the suburbs and to relieve ourselves we started a haiku contest about the experience, which I won.

But, fair readers, I am not here to brag. My haikus were much too insider-basebally to get into here. But I shall always remember, and always have a belly laugh, about my good friend Sophie's entry about the natives:

The wide wide fatties
Eating the sausage patties
In supportive shoes

In honor of Sophie and to spark all the creative genius that I know exists out there, I want to start a new poetry contest.

Starting this weekend, I will post Odes to Vices. I will begin with my own; send yours to me via erinschulte AT gmail.com. The best ones will get posted, anonymously or with your name or your BRAVE ALTER EGO'S NAME, whichever you desire. Give me a haiku, a limerick, some prose. But it must -- MUST -- be shameful.

I'll begin. This is certainly not my worst vice, but it's my most constant (in haiku form: 5-7-5):

My shoulders relax
As you slip into my mouth
Oh, Nicorette gum.

(Dirty reader, what did you think I was talking about??!)

Haiku for Nicorette:

Just four milligrams
Is not enough -- I need to
Learn how to mainline

Haiku for "Upscale" Box Wine:

It's shameful to buy
Two bottles at once. Yay for
Two-liter boxes

Your turn. Give it your best shot. Unload.