You may be scared the internet
Is written by a Russian bot,
But what you should be frightened of
(And probably are not)
Is that, if Russian bots can write
These posts (and if they do)
That a cold, mindless automaton
Is more informed than you.
You may be scared the internet
Is written by a Russian bot,
But what you should be frightened of
(And probably are not)
Is that, if Russian bots can write
These posts (and if they do)
That a cold, mindless automaton
Is more informed than you.
Filed under Poems
Some may think it’s pretty neat,
But I just think its’s strange,
That there are people in the street
Protesting climate change,
Demanding that reality
Conform to how they view it
And thinking politicians
Have the tools with which to do it.
Meanwhile, folks RSVP’ed
To commit a federal crime
Via Facebook, storming Area 51.
(This stanza ends with a rhyme)
I think that this September
Is as dumb as a month can get,
But then I smile and remember…
It hasn’t ended yet.
Filed under Poems
If you try to stalk someone
And eventually fail
It would be worth your time
To work some retail.
Filed under Poems
A Ferrari costs 301,000 dollars.
A fleece blanket costs $4.99.
So would you trade 400 horsepower
For blissful fuzz ’til the year 62339?
Filed under Poems
I asked how much it costs
To get one’s pubic region waxed.
They said “A Brazilian dollars,”
At which point I relaxed.
Filed under Poems
The Tyrannosaurus Rex
Was stalking the jungle
And feeling incredibly violent
When, soundless and yellow,
Urine hit the fellow
For the Pterodactyl’s pee is silent.
Filed under Poems

The colored leaves of Autumn
Were sweet, naïve, and tame
But all of that changed
When the leaf blower came…
They shuddered and whispered
And were blown like a flag,
Then they wiped themselves off
With the maple leaf rag.
Filed under Poems
“Black guys play the black card.”
That’s how white people said it
Before they made the Master Card
And gave themselves the credit.
*This poem contains no mention of American Express because I couldn’t think of a good “Underground Railroad” joke, and also no one uses American Express.
Filed under Poems
Take the number of roads
A man must walk down
Before he can be called a man,
Then multiply that by negative 1
And you have the number of roads you need walk to be called trans.
Filed under Poems
After the date, I told her
“I want to see you
“As often as I see
“Google search, page 2”