There once was a man past his prime,
Who thought therapy’s just a scam, a crime.
With podcasts galore,
He preached, “I want more,”
But ghosted each girlfriend before dinnertime.
He claimed that he felt very deep,
Yet his chats were as woke as sleep. 💤
A “guru” in his jeans,
To girls in their teens,
His wisdom? Just red flags on repeat.
He’d sip from his weird-looking brew,
Say, “Commitment? I’ve paid all my dues.”
Though his age neared forty,
He dated only the sporty—
Fresh grads with no bills and no clues.
“I’m old-school,” he’d proudly declare,
While brushing his graying chest hair.
Yet somehow forgot,
While dodging the growth he sought—
That’s why grown women just wouldn’t care.
