Monthly Archives: January 2017

What Is Humor?

The quality of being amusing,

A mood or state of mind,

To comply with someone’s wishes

Or, to kids, the word “behind.”

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Match.com Self-Summary

Some men are boob guys.

Some like hair and eyes.

Some seek butts from all across the globe.

Some go nuts for feet,

But what I think’s neat

Is a lady with some really nice earlobes.

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When You Don’t Fit In

I wanna be a henchman.

It’s  been my only dream

Since I popped out o’ mommy

And I made the doctor scream.

I wanna test inventions

Not safe for normal folks,

To be the head o’ suicide missions

And the butt of all the jokes.

I want a friend named Igor,

Or a dozen, or a horde.

I want to live a life that is

Too short to ever get bored.

I want to be a henchman,

A minion, grunt, or goon,

But I failed my test for Hensa

And couldn’t be certified as a buffoon.

Hence I am a villain,

Respected, hated, feared.

I still hang out with lowlifes

But my henchmen think I’m weird.

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Sex In A Pool

My heart skips a beat

As our bodies intertwine,

Her hands on my shoulders,

Her lips locked in mine.

Somewhere a small voice

Says “you can’t do that here,”

But my eyes meet my love

And away goes my fear.

Our clothes are all gone

And we get on our way.

The little voice speaks

But I shove it away.

The air fills with moaning,

With screams of my name.

Our love is the water,

Our passion a flame!

After what seems a lifetime

Our forms pull away.

I hope the rec center

Will let us come back some day.

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Mr. Toad Can Only Get So Wild

I know I’m frustrated,

A little bit mad,

Both happy and pouty

And yet somewhat sad.

I’m also ecstatic,

Romantic, and weak,

Like my heart is an ocean

With a slow drizzly leak.

My head spins like the plate

In a microwave oven

And I feel so unwelcome

Like Christ in a coven.

Somehow these feelings

Keep bubbling inside

When the UCLA intern

Says I’m too tall to ride. 

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The Evening Following Fido’s Emancipation

Tasty chunka meat

Sizzlin’ nicely on the stove.

Who’s “master” now, Bitch?

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A Very Factual Excuse

A monstrous weasel murdered me

Yesterday around 8:00.

It was rather inconvenient

Which is why this poem’s so late.

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