Ode to Titty Milk

O blessed milk of nature’s tap,

First treasure on the hurricane map,

Before the bread, before the gas,

Before Jim Cantorey hits the grass.

While lesser men buy beans and rice,

And fight for plywood at inflated price,

The seasoned poster knows the drill:

Fill every jug with titty milk.

When pressure drops and models shift,

When doomcasters detect a westward drift,

When cones grow wide and nerves grow thin,

The titty-milk reports roll in.

“Should I evacuate?” a newcomer cries,

As satellite loops fill reddened skies.

The board replies with practiced skill: “How many gallons of titty milk?”

The generator may cough and die,

The shingles may begin to fly,

But courage lives and fear is stilled

Where freezer bags are fully filled.

O creamy guardian of the coast,

Of all storm supplies, we praise thee most.

Let Euro wobble, let GFS tilt—We shall endure on titty milk.

So raise a cup as thunder nears,

To hurricane threads through all the years:

To spaghetti plots, to panic, to filth,

And the everlasting strength of titty milk.