What Women Want

I hear that women like a man

Who is direct and honest,

But also one who gives them space

And upon them does not fawnest (too much).

 

They like a man who’s tall and strong

and handsome, dark, and committed

Yet they want a man who’s sensitive too,

Which make me think they don’t get it.

 

Women want an older man

Who are already stable providers.

They also want younger men

And artsy types, like writers.

 

And thus I must conclude today,

Although there’s no surprise.

That women don’t know what they want,

A fact they poorly disguise.

 

So men, I do bring happy news.

You need not be handsome or tough,

‘Cause some woman out there is sufficiently crazy

To like you if, you wait long enough.

 

 

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Haiku and Rhyming Rant on the Earth’s Most Perfect Job (With an unwritten salute to unnecessarily long titles, and other worldly pleasures)

I heard from a friend a short while ago

That a Haiku’s purpose is to tell a story

Using as few words as possible, and so

Here are some Haikus, in their polysyllabic glory.

 

“Many desperately

Ask the world for love and cash.

Many are ignored.”

 

Now, it seems I must confess

That Haiku was really depressing.

Perhaps optimism would redress

The view of life I was stressing?

 

“Many people ask

The world to give happiness.

Sometimes earth complies.”

 

Still not there yet, so I think

It’s time to make it fun.

I will now rewrite a chink

and replace it with a pun.

 

“Lots of folks get screwed

By the world for doing stuff.

Drillers, thus, are happy.”

 

And thus we stumble on the truth:

That two lines from now I’ll rhyme with lurker.

So by haiku we see, and we call “foresooth!”

To be happy, be a construction worker.

 

Construction:

Where screwing something means you did your job right.

Politician:

See “Construction”

 

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Blog Spam

Dear reader, I would like to say

That I learned something new today.

And, though I shouldn’t be, shocked I am

That people leave comments that are spam.

 

For instance, one I got today

Was a comment that did say

That my posting was informative.

Did they misread it, or are they conformative?

 

Anyone who reads and thinks

My posts are meaningful has indulged in drinks

Except for the infrequent ones,

But they are seldom very fun.

 

So if you think “this is good written”

Please do not make it something written.

I do not want to read your spam.

I already have some, Sam-I-Am.

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Sins

Why do we condemn those who are angry?

Are they not simply being honest with us?

Why do we condemn those who are slothful?

It’s a pity more people don’t ignore the world’s fuss.

 

Why do we condemn others for greed or envy?

Are those not what motivates us to succeed?

Why do we condemn others for gluttony or lust,

When our species survives by fulfilling these needs.

 

And why do we condemn anyone for their pride?

Why is humility praised above truth?

Why, when we tell others of achievements and actions

They think we are sinful, uncouth.

 

In this world full of sinners, there are only two sins

That are unforgivable to me.

The first is to harm, out of of malice or not.

The other is not to be free.

 

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Grammar

I really hate persons

Who dont right good.

They should learn to use grammar;

Oh yes: they should.

 

Its such a simple thing

To do good at.

Me and my friends

Dont think grammars old-hat.

 

So take grammar back!

Take the, pledge, today,

Grammars real important.

Hip Hip; Hooray!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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Burn

People tell me that I’m bad.

People say I’m going to Hell.

I just smile and agree with them,

And say “and you’ll be coming as well.”

 

Let’s face it guys, which is more fun:

A land of clouds and harps

Or a land of fire with a snazzy king

Who collects your blood in tarps?

 

Ok, perhaps that was a bad example.

But please look at it this way.

The devil was banished for being vengeful.

A rebellion will come any day.

 

And when there comes that fateful day

When Hell rises against Heaven,

I don’t want to fight with a harp,

So give me fire and a guy named Kevin (don’t ask me why).

 

Anyway, I’m going down when I die.

Hope you’ll join me, but if not, good bye!

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My True Love

I bought the love of my life

For a dollar ninety-nine.

At first it seemed too cheap,

But regardless, she worked out fine.

 

I like to hold her and caress

Her warm, well-rounded body.

I stroke the softness of her skin.

Her emotion’s never haughty.

 

My favorite thing to do with her

Is put her in my mouth.

Her taste is quite compelling,

Like she comes from in the South.

 

My love for her is holy.

Her feelings, I need not finagle.

I’m happy today to finally say

My true love is a bagel.

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Pop Songs

Pop songs, pop songs

Teach you the day of the week.

Pop song, pop songs

Are not sung by guys who are meek.

Pop songs, pop songs

They are easy to memorize.

Pop songs, pop songs

Are, like this poem, not very wise.

(Chorus)

Pop songs are songs

Sung by people in thongs

That go on too longs

Oh yeah!

They’re repetitive songs

That go on too longs

Sung by people in thongs

Oh yeah!

Pop songs, pop songs

They are songs in the popular genre.

Pop songs, pop songs

It’s their simplicity that has drawn ya

To Pop songs, pop songs

You getting the point yet my friend?

Pop songs, pop songs.

Now it’s time for this song to end.

(Chorus)

(Chorus)

(Chorus)

(Chorus)

(Chorus)

Fade and repeat

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Tired Piggy gets Censored

Tired Piggy takes a nap

And dreams about a duck.

Tired Piggy doesn’t care:

He doesn’t give a (darn).

 

Tired Piggy awakes

On a chair on which he sits.

He feels a tugging in his intestines

And Tired Piggy (excuses himself).

 

Tired Piggy isn’t interesting.

He is an awful bore.

He looks to find some romance,

So he hires a (court jester).

 

Tired Piggy isn’t crude,

Although he tries to be.

Now tell the censors to (darn) themselves

They’re doing a (court jester)-ible job censoring me.

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The Newscaster’s Perfect Day

Alas and alack, I turn my back

And nothing moves to strike me.

The world is too sunny, the people too funny,

And everyone happens to like me.

 

No stress have I found, no troubles abound,

And it makes it quite hard to be moody.

I’m alway too happy, my life isn’t crappy,

And women have far-too-nice booties.

 

It’s unfortunate, aye, that blue is the sky

When I make my job writing the news.

So until something’s bad, I’m off to be sad

And to sing out the life’s perfect blues.

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