Monthly Archives: October 2014

Fun-Size Anarchy

On this costumed Friday night
Prepare for that horrific sight
Of children walking down the street,
Threatening those who give no treat.

They’ve covered faces so you can’t see
Who are the ghouls you must ID,
And if they wear a “Frozen” dress
There are too many kids to guess.

So I placed upon my lawn
A maw to gape and a portal to yawn
To terrify all children who
Thought me a target of their coup.

I thought my safety was a sure thing.
Then the doorbell gave a ring.
‘Twas the Fantastic Four
Minus “the Thing.”

I thought to tell them “go away,”
But I knew TP would be my pay,
So I opened up my chocolate stash
And let the heroes loot my cache.

The sun had set, the clouds were gone
And the mob raged on and on.
Soon I’d no chocolate to give,
And I prayed that through the night I’d live.

Then eight soft footsteps reached my door
The doorbell rang, I knew for sure
My time had come, my fate was clear
As I opened the door for a herd of deer.

“Trick or Treat” the children shrieked,
As their loot bags bulged and noses leaked.
I handed out four boxes of floss,
And resigned myself to serenity’s loss.

What I didn’t know was just how fast
That heard of deer got the word passed
That the beige-house-guy on the grass knoll
Was some sort of a dentist… Mole.

And thus the mob departed fast,
And I had my peace at last.
I fall asleep and dreams appear
Of the toothbrushes I’ll give next year.

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Sorry for Welcoming You

Whenever that old writer’s block
Come upon my head to knock
You get a poem like yesterday’s
“You’re Welcome.”

After which poetic guilt
Covers me like the Nile’s silt
And I feel like I need to raise
Some Hell-come.

So I wrote this poem today
In my un-artistic way
To compensate for the shortness of
“You’re Welcome”

By challenging my self
(Though I didn’t do very welf)
By rhyming every ending line
With “Welcome.”

The Daily Travesty published one “poem” every day.
Tune in tomorrow for the poem,
“I’m sorry for apologizing, and this time I rhyme with ‘orange.'”

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You’re Welcome

I can cause you pain
With two memorable words:
Yellow Submarine

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Portrait of the Fuehrer as a Young Man

“Look, a bird!”
The banker said
As he pointed high
Above my head.

There was no bird;
It was a ruse.
That’s probably why
I hate the Jews.

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Polite society demands
Knowledge of useless things
Like how to dress and shaking hands
And “Red Bull gives you wings.”

But in the woods we socialize
In much more pleasant ways
Like cooking meat over a fire,
Not showering for days.

We sleep in tents upon the ground
And wake up with the sun.
We fight off bugs and bears and stuff.
We think that’s really fun.

When our trip ends we must return
To home and cubicles
To learn again our lot in life:
To learn to love the lulls.

But I won’t do that anymore.
I’m staying in the woods,
Where I can sing among the birds,
Free from the world of should’s.

And so I did ’til I ran out
Of beans and other tack.
Now back to home to better plan
The day that I come back…

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Finally, A Use For It!

Six months since I finished college,
Four years wasted I reckon
For I can’t remember what I “learned”
And waitstaff openings beckon.

So one afternoon in protest
I went to my front door
And laid down my diploma
Right upon the mudroom floor.

That autographed piece of card stock
Was not very useful at
Getting a foot in the door,
But it makes a good DiploMat.

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The Observers

There once were some NSA agents
Who wanted to start a band.
They dreamed everyone would watch them
Across their secure homeland.

One of the guys played the data bass,
And another tapped all the drums.
One filled out forms in the corner
And the boss just twiddled his thumbs.

And so formed the band, “The Observers.”
They lacked talent, but had admins galore.
They became a huge thing overnight,
Perfect for the news to ignore.

They sang of bureaucracy’s beauties
And of what you did in 2005.
They had mosh pits called “internet forums”
Wherever they concerted live.

The Observers still play on the weekends;
It’s a sensible thing to do
To get them pumped up for another week
Of the best show in town (which is you).

In unrelated news, I’m enjoying my stay on the “do not fly” list.

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One Ounce Lighter

Some called me “Alpha,”
Some called me “Spot.”
The spot-callers betrayed me,
And joking I’m not.

I went in the Mazda,
Promised a w-a-l-k,
Not once thinking of
What they soon took away.

Some called me “Alpha,”
Some called me “Spot.”
Some days I woke up horny.
These days I do not.

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I put you on a canvas,
Though a small one, I’ll admit.
I paint the oily background
Behind where you do sit,
And I say “parlez fromage”
And you smile a little bit.

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Life is cosmic Costco,
And we’re waiting in a line
To buy experiences on sale
And prepare for when we dine.

We nibble on the samples
And buy what we bought before.
Thus ends this slightly cynical
Wholesale metaphor.

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