Here's a poem.
I was up all night having diarrhea and I'm not in the mood to write a fucking poem.
That poem was called, 'Fuck Off Thinking You're Important'.
I've got an idea. Why don't you send me a cheque, and then I'll use my most refined skill to do your idle bidding? Make sure it's a big one.
Short Answer: I think I might actually have a diarrhea hangover. It's like a regular hangover, only I don't have fuzzy memories of giving a sloppy blowjob and getting stains on my crewneck.
Note: Okay. Now I feel a bit bad. Here's your poem:
Roses are brown.
Violets are brown.
I spent all night on the toilet.
Get royally fucked, asshat.