Avengers, Butt, and Fart

Ah, yes, at long last, a poetic subject worthy of my sore, sore fingers, here in the twilight of the afternoon, on poem...not 22, but 23. Listen, I could look down my nose at something like butts or farts, but one of those seems to make the world go around where Miami and are concerned—or at least the men—and the other formed some not-insignificant part of the romantic letters of James Joyce—one of the greatest authors—and his beloved Nora Barnacle, who he monikered his "little fartbird"....so...yeah. Maybe I'm landing a little flat on the flatulence front, so let me turn my cheek to a rounder, more bodacious topic here towards the posterior of this poem: the Avengers! The good ole Captain America, Iron Man, the Hulk...oh jeez, I just thought about what the Hulk's farts must be like...maybe it'd be better for Thanos to take me out with a snap, I feel like I've become the butt of some stinky joke!