Satired

Area... oh, never mind.

We peel away the skin and find
That it's the same one layer down
(A bit more moist, a bit less roun')

Until we're at, at last ond once,
The center, where, with sobs and grunts
And tears resulting from the fumes
That waft about (which one assumes
Come from the object we attend
As we its epidermis rend) -
With grunts and sobs, I say, we see
The center... and it's substance free!

It's empty, hollow, nothing there,
But don't just gawk and gape and stare.
Make something useful; make some things
That use its nice concentric rings.
Deep fry that sucker. Hear it fizz
(It's circular like logic is).

Our word which wet and empty fumed
Are quickly and with ease consumed.