She's forgotten how to manage time.
She's half deaf and three-quarters
blind.
In school, she made low-average grades.
For her cooking, no one throws parades.
She moves as if she has the gout.
Her memory's in constant doubt.
Her beauty's twenty years past faded.
Her singing voice is overrated.
I hear her yards off when she breathes.
Never insult her in front of me.
I really like this, but I generally am terribly attracted to tragedy.
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