Grossgusting

In your fat cheeks, there lies a hidden mystery,

Wrapped meticulously like a fish within a foil paper,

Smeared painfully by a variety of condiments. 

I feel you like the back of a chair—a supporting element.

Something which cannot be seated upon but something which is of utmost importance.

Like a portico you stand upright preserving the roof of my intelligence, my existence.

Oh! I do not mean the intellect that comes only upon reading a tiny piece of shit,

Something which you can Google or something you can copy-paste merely by using those keyboard shortcuts. 

To write a single post on blog, I needed to traverse a long distance,

From one city to town whose name is not obscure at all

Yet, the foolish majority fails to understand.

I expected shaved ice dishes being tossed from one stall to another but there is nothing in here.

Yet, there is a kind of solace.

Sometimes staying oblique really helps.

It's like you are the most sarcastic person in the face of the earth and you are kind of forced to stay shut and digest the bad humour!

Grossgusting!

It's because the person on whom you have been wasting your precious sarcasm needs to be sharp enough to understand. 

Cracking a mere joke is not sarcasm, my friend.