I met a dudester from a partyin' land
Who said: Two dented and well tapped kegs of brew
Lie in a front yard. Near them, on the porch
Face down, an 'effed up Brohim sprawls, whose groans,
And shallow breaths, and lack of normal response,
Tell that this Brodzilla ill his intoxicants gauged
Which yet afflict, stamp'd on this wasted Bro,
The drool that seeps out and the breath that reeks.
And under the breath, these words decried:
"My name is Brozymandias, Partying King
Look on my binges, ye dorkwads, and be awed"
Nothing more is said. Round the face
Of that besotted bro, rancid and foul
The pool of dried up puke spread far away