Monthly Archives: August 2012

The Breakup Dialogues

“Darling, I want you to quite your job

As a women’s fitness guru.

I don’t like you being around those skinny women.”

“With some work honey, you could be one too!”


“I really love this video game.

I really really do!

It’s unlike anything in my life right now:

It’s makes me feel like a dream came true.”


My wife told me a joke today.

“What’s purple and wears a bra?”

I answered with the first thing on my mind.

“Could it be my mother in law?”


“Why honey, it’s time

For me to give you thanks.

I had the orgasm of my life today

When you drove me to the sperm banks.”

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When Inspiration (Doesn’t) Strike

This Happens

(Continued in Tags)

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A cloud of partially frozen testosterone wafts across the ice,

A mist of legends past and present.

The fans sit, digesting grease and salt on uncomfortable seats.

The timer starts, the buzzer rings, the announcer screams,

And the teams emerge from the limbo beyond civilian comprehension.

The goalies go to their nets,

The captains to the center,

And they sing the anthems of allied nations,

Friends amidst the competition.

Then the rink explodes!

A flurry of sticks, pucks, and teeth without homes.

Lights flash, buzzers ring, plastic shatters and jerseys tear.

This repeats three times,

And the losers exit loudly.

But the winners stay.

They stay, and whether it’s their first or last time

They experience that fleeting joy

That lasts forever.

The joy of victory.

The joy of hockey.

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I wrote a limerick for you

About apathy, but I didn’t care to

Post it today

So in my quite lazy way

I’m not posting it here, so boo hoo.

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The Real You

(G)                              (C)

I do not like those other girls

(D)                            (G)

Who wear their hair in silly curls.

(Em)                 (C)

I don’t like other girls like you,

(D7)              (G)

I only like the real you.


(G)                    (CMaj7)

I don’t like other blue-eyed ladies.


I don’t drive cars that look like a Mercedes.

(Em)                                      (C)

I won’t take periwinkle when I can have blue,

(D7)                     (G)

And I only love the real you.



So if you look at magazines

(F)                              (F7)

And think you need that dress or jeans,

(C)              (G)

Think again. You’re fine as is.

(D7)                   (G)

It’s the real you I want to kiss.


Bridge:  G, DMaj7, CMaj7, Em, B, Em, A7



Every morning I wake up,

(G)                         (Em)

I take a sip from my coffee cup.

(G)                        (AMaj7)

I’ll bide my time and hide my blues

(G7)                    (D)

Until you’re mine: The real you.


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Your Mom

“I’d like to give a fuck,” he said

As he looked me in the eye,

“But I’m afraid I used my last one up

On your mother the other night.”


And so I asked the fellow,

“Why does it make you proud

To look me in my eye right here

And announce unto the crowd


That you expended a limited sex drive,

and, if I might ask, why in Hades

Would you be so very proud

To score with middle aged ladies?”


And so he slunk off quietly,

And to those who know folks like him:

Do the world a favor,

Just find the guy and spike him!

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How to Enhance your Boredom

Every now and agin,

When entertainment is thin,

We human beings get bored.

But why must it be

That if bored are we

We cannot have fun?  Oh my lord!


For instance if you’ll

Be bored in a pool

That means you’re water board.

And if you find eating dull,

And your food brings a lull,

Then alternatively, you’re fodder bored.


If you’re bored with computers

And can’t define transmuters

Chances are you’re circuit board.

And if you want to have sex,

But you’re bored and depressed,

Go ahead and just furk it bored.


When you go on a sailboat

You’re boarding a ship.

When your date is boring

Just give them the slip.

If you’re on rollers or ice

You could be skate board,

And if you cannot be early,

Be late bored!


And finally if a lion

Who live out in Zion

Whose name is Ford, has roared,

Then it’s quite possible

That specific sort of dull

Is to be as lion Ford roared bored!

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Super Sweet Blogging

Today I thank a fellow man

Whom I have never met.

He goes by Starscraper99

And I am in his debt

For he has nominated me

(And a host of other blogs)

For the “Super Sweet Blogging Award,”

Which really turns my cogs (in a good way).


So here’s my application, I guess

To be eligible for this award.

I must list off several bloggers

Whose material strikes a chord

In the heart of this here blogger,

And answer some questions too.

So here we go: These are my picks.

Congrats if one is you!


For gamer types, there’s Greywulf’s Lair (

And “Blog of subdued excitement” ( for those who air

Their private lives upon the net.

And “A soldier’s perspective” ( for civilians and vets.


Now onto the question portion I go.

The first goes like this:

“Cookies or cake?”  I must say

I can’t choose, and thus plead the fifth (Although it’s cookies, but that didn’t rhyme).


Next they ask “Chocolate or Vanilla,”

To which I must reply

That chocolate is better in all departments

Except ice cream, where vanilla reigns high.


What’s my favorite sweet treat?  I don’t have one.

As long is it’s sweet, then I’m good.

When do I crave sweet things the most?

I guess whenever I’m in the mood.


And finally if I had a sweet nickname

What on earth would it be?

Sweet Travis T.  It’s a good moniker.

That’s a few sordid facts about me.


So if you were nominated, here’s what you do:

Thank me in a post on your blog,

Nominate the blogs that you love to read

And answer the questions.  Hurrah(g)!


So keep blogging my friends,

I love what you write!

Have a sweet afternoon,

And after that, a good night!

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Guest Poem – The Duel at High Noon



The crowd draws in its breath,

Watching the tournament of death

On the green grass of Saskatoon

At the dread hour of noon.

(High noon.)

That’s right, it was time for the duel;

The two men had eaten their gruel

And were ready to fight

If not to the death than at least until night.

(Well, the dark is scary!)

In the heat of the day,

An golden eagle flew away

Screeching his terror and fright,

While the gunsmoke was still light….

(There were no guns.  Don’t fret.)

The man they called Tiger teed off

With a birdie which no would did scoff,

But a man they called Harrington,

An Irish lad all the way from Paddington.

(Which is in England, but rhymed. More or less.)

The day became hot and they needed a drink,

So suspended their duel with a clink

As their caddies put the clubs away

To cool off for later that day.

(Golf is very hard work.)

But with a few more shots

And sand traps in spots,

The intrepid duelers prevailed,

But with results were not availed.

(It takes time to tally golf scores!)

(ANTICIPATION! Or maybe you don’t care….)

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I look at myself in the mirror

And at those that I call my peers

And I wonder how this generation

Got so messed up in so few years.


Then it hits me like Big Uncle Louie

And the things he would do with his knee:

It isn’t our fault we’re how we are,

It’s the fault of the films of Walt Disney.


Girls have been told since Snow White

That it’s fine to share a home

With seven short, gem-mining strangers,

And to trust only dwarves, never a gnome.


We’ve been taught that marriage

Is right for anyone who

Is beautiful, and is most unacquainted

With their spouse to be.  Love is a coup!


And finally they showed us that filthy “Toy Story,”

Which features “Woody” and “Buzz,”

A cowgirl, a slinky, and a kid-hugging bear

That smells like strawberry fuzz.


So if love doesn’t last for our lifetimes,

It’s assuredly not our fault.

It’s the films, meant for fun, that have scarred us.

You can blame our dysfunctions on Walt.

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