We make jokes about things
That make us uncomfortable
Like excrement, sex, farts, and lawyers.
I’m inclined to question
Why there aren’t more jokes
About child birth, plastic chairs, and employers.
Perhaps it’s because
We can’t get the jokes out,
Or they’re just a pain in the ass
Or maybe it’s that,
Though your skills are impressive,
This time they’re going to pass.
I can think of many reasons
That Friday is the king of days.
It comes before the weekend,
Which are the only better days.
But if every day were Friday,
Then weekends would never come,
And if every day were Saturday
We’d only work weekends, which is dumb.
If every day were Friday
We’d just have to call it “day.”
Perhaps the week is fine
In its own obnoxious way.
Means nothing to you
But it means a lot to me.
It means that my mind
Was so full of ycjfrdnkigfgi
That I found it hard to write poetry.
So if your not inspired
Take my example
And turn “nothing” into anything at all.
You choose the meaning
Of the nonsense you see,
Which I think is pretty darn tlpwgueall.
Udders and spots and bells and poo:
These are the things that remind me of you.
And whenever I miss your voice or your smile
I drink some milk and remember a while.
Most people I know are selfish;
Not greedy, just focused on “me.”
What they don’t understand is the concept
That there are other fish in the sea.
Moreover they try to persuade
By saying “this would help me a lot.”
But unless you’re in love or in debt
Help the other guy, your thing does not.
So think when you ask for a favor
“What is in it for them.”
It will deflate tour head for a while,
And from small heads do all good things stem.
*This absolutely is.
Today we honor those who died
By doing what they would have done.
We barbecue and drink a few
And hopefully sit in the sun.
And perhaps you visit some graves
And leave your flowers, coins, or tears
To remember the brave who served
Over many hundreds of years.
But we also ought to recall
The causes that lead to each war.
Ask if the state of our nation
Was what all those headstones fought for.
Tepid was the water,
And I sought to make it hotter
So I could relax beneath the stars.
Thus to complete my mission
I tried nuclear fission.
In hindsight I may have gone too far.
But I warmed the lake quite well,
And the neighbors will never tell
Cause they all are radioactive and dead.
Still, my relaxing has to wait,
For it appears to be my fate
That these Mothras keep flying around my head.
I met a man in an alley,
Seven feet tall, 400 lbs.
He’d just finished his UFC event,
Winning after 19 rounds.
So sure, I look like a pussy
Compared to that guy of seven feet,
But what can I say? At the end of the day
You are what you eat.
I took a shot
At being hot,
But let’s just say
I still am not.