Nothing like the NFL
To use their helmets to tell
That the one-percent lacks
Empathy for the blacks
And are violent towards them as well.
Nothing like the NFL
To use their helmets to tell
That the one-percent lacks
Empathy for the blacks
And are violent towards them as well.
Filed under Poems
I’m not the kind to boast too much
But I attract those of feminine form.
I now propose a toast to such
In the hope such becomes the new norm.
There’ve been times in my past when companions are sparse,
Even times when there haven’t been any
But if one commits some subtle financial farce
A billfold makes none into many.
Never before have I seen such excitement
Or felt less akin to a dunce
When they paid for my patented eating utensil
Which is fork and spoon both, but at once!
Thus is my secret to wooing the broads.
Whoever would even have thought
That inventing the spork would improve my odds
Of females considering me hot?
Filed under Poems
Yesterday, I swore
To put in the work,
In no effort fail
And in no duty shirk,
With hopes that what came
Would be “awesome and clever.”
I fulfill that promise
This evening. However…
I spent the afternoon
Teaching and gaming
Then followed that up
With some Pokemon taming.
Now with just 32
Minutes to go
‘Til what is today
Becomes what’s tomorrow
I write out this poem
With many a rhyme
So that reading it all
Will take you a long time,
The idea being
If you must work hard
You’ll think me more effortful
And, thus, a good bard.
And if you stopped reading
Before that confession,
Having been turned off
By your own first impression
Or else by the length
Of the stuff with no point
Then you, with the title
Of “dude,” I anoint.
Alas, as I wrap up
These meaningless stanzas,
The latest of many
Poem-stravaganzas
I shed but one tear
For the non-finishers who’d
Feel so happy knowing
I’d anointed them “dude.”
Filed under Poems
Tomorrow it shall be
My sincerest endeavor
To compose some light verse
That’s both awesome and clever.
Tonight my endeavor’s
To not lose my clout
While I promise you good stuff
That’s yet to come out.
Filed under Poems
If you want the very best
Be a fan of the New York Jets.
That rhyme didn’t work quite right
And neither do they.
Filed under Poems
I’ve worked hard the past few days
But this is not my work that pays
And thus I write one stanza here.
Go read the stuff I wrote last year.
Filed under Poems
I awake to a nightmare. The heat is infernal
Here in the land of damnation eternal
Where I was born, and where I can never die.
My homework is done, my chores are complete,
My collar is starched, and my bedroom is neat,
And yet there’s my dad giving me the evil eye.
I’d like to have breakfast in silence,
But the demons are having a feast
On faith, hope, and love… oh, and entrails…
Here in the domain of the beast!
I’m just a kid! I did nothing bad!
I’m just down here all because of my dad!
Eternal strife’s just a day in the life
Of Stan, Satan’s son.
When people sin or they touch themselves
They end up here, or so says the Bible.
I have done neither and yet somehow here I must stay?
I never knew who my mother was.
Who would make love to the Prince of Hatred?
For all I know Lucifer might just maybe be gay?
I’m born of spite, empty of light,
Nine layers deep and yet still I do right?
Why is this glee deep within me,
Stan, Satan’s Son?
I am the precocious instead of atrocious.
I always say “thank you” and “please.”
I can’t help but bother my nefarious father,
Who you call Mephistopheles.
Up in the sky, when the blood clouds part,
I feel in my decomposed heart a leaping,
Picturing worlds with fresh air, vegans, even romance.
Then I’ll go early to torment school,
Pausing to clean up a pool of lava
Hiding in alleys to sing hymns and, sometimes, to dance.
It’s been a while since I saw a smile.
It has been eons since I’ve had fun.
Why’s this my fate? Why can’t I just hate?
Love,
Stan
Satan’s Son
P.S. If you’re in Hell
Be like me: Rebel.
(Organ plays “dun dun DUN!)
Filed under Poems
Roses are violet
And violets are rose.
That’s what they said,
So I guess that’s what goes?
Filed under Poems
How to be Successful
When I was a young lad of about three hours younger than I am as I write this, I dreamed of becoming the Tetris World Champion. Shortly thereafter I realized I was bad at Tetris, didn’t really like Tetris, and was already very good at being a broke, shut-in virgin who writes poetry for a living.
In less than a day, I accomplished more than many people do in their entire lifetimes: I gave up on a stupid idea and moved on. That being accomplished, I realized my true calling is writing self-help essays for a few dozen people on the internet who think I’m occasionally funny (and my parents).
The text you are reading at the moment has been written, stared at, erased, rewritten, sneered at, re-erased, and so on many times, so I’ll just get to the point:
The best way to be successful is to be marginally better at some common things than someone else.
Read it again, but in bold:
The best way to be successful is to be marginally better at some common things than someone else.
Here’s an example to illustrate what I mean:
Say you’ve just had a long day. You’re tired, hungry, cranky, possibly sweaty, and definitely just want to go home, eat empty calories, and masturbate while you watch true crime shows. As you’re walking down the street, you come upon a person who is standing neutrally and doing nothing in particular. This is a person with plentiful free time, a lack of unattractive blemishes, seemingly-effortless nonchalance, and you hate them.
Imagine now the same scenario, but the person you see is fat, ugly, extremely rich, and kissing your significant other on the hood of your car (which has been destroyed in a freak forklift accident while you were blinking). You hate this person too, and will likely be physically or verbally aggressive toward them. The nondescript person nearby has not even drawn your notice, and has thus been upgraded from an object of hatred and derision to a not-unpleasant bit of scenery.
The nondescript person has achieved tremendous success not through their action, struggle, inherent virtue, divine mandate, or any other exclusive or difficult condition. They achieved it by being less bad (and therefor marginally better) at something common (existing) than someone else.
Alas, we are not often so fortunate as to be constantly in the presence of public displays of romantic infidelity and simultaneous realization of property damage when faced with unpleasant people in our lives. To compensate, I suggest any of the following tactics.
Tactic 1: Hang out in unpleasant places.
Most people like to be happy and comfortable. Most people, while in unpleasant places, are not happy and comfortable, and thus will leave. That said, there are enough people who hang out in unpleasant places with such frequency and consistency that these places garner a reputation for being unpleasant.
Imagine then that you, being one to frequent these nasty niches of the world, invite a friend (or just happen to encounter someone, for those of you with no friends) to join you in your unpleasant meeting place of choice. Your hypothetical acquaintance joins you (likely a person of poor taste, given you’re still reading this), and would normally be inclined to think of you as a person of poor taste. Then they see a mostly-nondescript-but-slightly-unpleasant-in-a-”can’t-put-my-finger-on-it”-sort-of-way person violently assault a second party who was displaying amorous inclinations on an abandoned vehicle. Your hypothetical acquaintance suggests you find a new place to meet, you agree, and you are no longer considered a person with questionable tastes. In fact, you are someone agreeable with whom your hypothetical acquaintance shares something in common.
Tactic 2: Shut Up
If someone is talking, they are having a good time. Sane people speak when people are present, and generally to engage with another person (creating a pleasant atmosphere) or break an awkward silence (avoiding discomfort). If you are talking, other (sane) people are not, unless you are arguing, in which case your fellow arguer likely does not think of you in a good light. If you are silent, someone else will almost certainly begin to talk, which makes them happy. If you continue to be silent, a third party will probably speak. Now you are part of a conversation between happy people who (being sane) will immediately recognize you as the root cause of their happiness and shower you with praise (to which you should not respond, obviously).
Tactic 3: Read bad poetry, and encourage others to do the same
Let’s assume things that are good are good, things that are bad are not, and things that are neutral can sometimes cause irrational rage if not accompanied by gratuitous sexuality and automobile wreckage.
All in agreement? Good!
Given our assumptions, reading bad poetry will make you feel uncomfortable or unhappy, which will make otherwise insignificant things that might otherwise cause you stress to be ignored. You’re used a pawn to capture a rook, so to speak.
Now, having eliminated many minor stresses for one large, rhyming one, you share some of these bad poems with a friend (or hypothetical randomly-encountered individual). That individual, if sane, will think you a person of poor taste, and never contact you again. After several repetitions of these events, you will be entirely alone, therefore eliminating most reasons for talking. When you don’t talk, you will by necessity shut up. When you shut up, people will like you. When people like you, you can invite them to join you in unpleasant places.
Need I say more?
In conclusion (as University has taught me I must declare before ending an essay), being successful can be achieved quite easily through a few counter-intuitive tactics. Any lack of success on your part can be eliminated by being less happy, less comfortable, and spending more time and money consuming bad poetry. If all else fails, make friends with people in troubled relationships and buy (or steal) a forklift.
Filed under To the Reader
Let me show you my nest,
The place I rest my head,
Full of feathers and down,
The protection we shed.
We’ll regrow them in time.
They adorn my haven,
Nothing but sticks and mud
And a home for a raven.
My nest’s in a tree.
The tree’s made by rain.
Rain makes my wings heavy
And makes flying pain.
If the sun comes around
And then refuses to set
I’ll have no tree or nest,
So I pray to be wet.
Bugs and worms fill me up
So I may keep eggs warm
So my nest will be full
With a small raven swarm
Who complain of the rain
And fear losing a feather
And I don’t mind their kind
And I treasure “together.”
Soon they’ll be showing
A tree with their nest
And “together” is gone
And it’s all for the best.
Filed under Poems