C'mon Gimme A Botox Smile!

Before you engage in bacchanalia
with this sixty four year old,
married Caucasian male,
who resides within the parameters
of Perkiomen Valley, Pennsylvania.

'Pon bing asked by spouse, while she didst dock
and pooched herself abed
handily at nine o'clock
to see "handsome" pedigree dentastix
dog face of yours truly, me no Kid Rock
yea just a chip off the
ole likeness ice sculptured block,
a sharp pain inexplicably
shoots thru left shoulder blade
generating painful electric shock,

especially after said missus
threw smelly sock
afflicting this muttering chap, where deadlock
partial paralysis analogous to rigor mortis
holding frozen designated
bleep within his flesh bound paddock
(as pop sic hull), non dominant side
of mine body hard as bedrock
(spoiler alert, I write with right hand),
despite best college try, could not extricate...
hell no, this ain't no poppycock
yea, this longfellow felt bewitched by a warlock,
which affliction froze botox smile
engendering gladness to celebrate bajillion
years of blissful wedlock
believe that and I will another truth,
how this lame rhyme stir, he makes buttock
of himself, nonetheless an
oar regional non Jew bull ant debtor,
sans courtesy Shylock
still prone to bouts of flibbertigibbet
ranked as more than schlock,
(no doubt, ye beg to differ)
with mine chock
lot of badinage, basically self mock
curry verging on persiflage, he
freely types what occurs within raw bitstock
of ma noggin akin to babbling
stream of consciousness
initially intending to divulge aftershock

when wife coos this kook
spewing wry verbal
(barley comprehensible) feedstock
as she mimes deadly smooch
inflicting plastered smirk ad hoc
showing pearl white dentures
aiming to entertain, while listening awk
chilly (inspired to contrive
potschke and pastiche) rendered
(if still alive) by P.D.Q. Bach.