They said in school that GDP
(Or Gross Domestic Product)
Was a measure of economic power.
But this makes more sense to me
(For Gross Domestic Product).
Please excuse me as I go take a shower.
Tag Archives: America
Gridiron
Gray steam rises from the sod
Obscuring the outlines
Of eleven men who would be God
If their teammates become so first.
The sky is darkness no one sees
Behind the lightning wall.
The crowd is warm despite the breeze
And bravado shields a heart’s true thirst.
A coin is flipped, a ball is thrown,
And bodies slowly shatter,
A ring is forever. A broken bone?
A pittance to the undying.
And so they fight, part man, part boy
So does decay commence.
They’ll either bottle tears of joy.
Or else just end up crying.
Here we see the warriors die,
Although they call it play,
Our voice is one great battle cry
To lend the few our will.
No longer are our swords so deft,
But fantasy’s alive.
Long ago the dragons left,
But here there’s magic still.
Filed under Poems
Mr. Infallible and the Plague of Other People
In a very distant city
In some un-noteworthy land
There stood a shabby little shack
Which housed the one all-knowing man.
The man was very happy
Because he knew how to be so,
Yet he had a common problem
And away it would not go.
The problem he experienced
Was, despite his knowing all
The people who surrounded him
Would never heed his call.
A wolf would eat a neighbor,
A child would lose its way;
To the second he’d predict these
Yet the man still had no say.
He knew of no solution
And, knowing all, he knew no hope
So he lived a life of nothing
As a shack-dwelling all-knowing dope.
Yet the answer to his problems
Had been with him all along.
‘Twas the one thing he could not accept…
That, maybe, he was wrong.
Filed under Poems
That’s Pronounced “She-it”
Apparently my teachers were wrong
And there aren’t boys and girls.
Turns out gender is “representational,”
Or so the new story unfurls.
Seeing that sex doesn’t matter
To whether you’re he, she, or other
I think we need a singular pronoun
That applies equally to one another.
In the past we were male and female
And likewise called he or she.
Apparently the gender-neutral
Is also important, so they tell me.
So I have an unbiased option
To represent them, me, and you:
We can just say humans are SHeIt.
It has all three pronouns, and also is true!
Filed under Poems
Why I Love Football
This month we will experience
The NFL’s preseason
In which millionaires hit each other
Deapite the lack of any reason,
And we the fans will cheer
To kick our team’s rival’s posterior
Because we can’t play ourselves
Since we’re genetically inferior.
We’ll sit and eat and fart a bit
And somehow manage to sweat.
At the end half of us will sob
While half say “best preseason yet!”
Then we picture our team’s victory
And order larger pants
With the logo of some other team
That actually has a chance.
Filed under Poems
Dear Internet: Why The Exception?
You can’t mock someone ’cause they’re fat,
Ugly, stupid, stuff like that.
You can’t make jokes about a race
(At least not to somebody’s face).
You can’t gay-bash, slut-shame, or mock
The way one laughs or thinks or talks.
But you can defame or spew hate at
Those with neckbeards or a fedora hat.
Filed under Poems
Logic, American Dream Style
Monday through Friday
My heart’s only dread
Is that midmorning song
That says “get out of bed.”
Yet come days of Satur
And as well days of Sun
My heart sings in the morning
‘Til the day is all done.
For when clocks of alarm
Cracks serenity’s hold
And says “put on your clothes
“And go do what you’re told”
My vigor and pep
Aren’t what they used to be
Like when I was a child
And still blissfully free.
When instead of alarms
To the sun I awaken
And instead of my job
I get pancakes and bacon
My bliss flows more freely
And I feel stronger.
From now on I’ll work weekends
And be miserable longer.
Filed under Poems
USA, November 2016
Roses are reds,
Violets are blue,
These are both valid points, and I’ll address them in a moment, but first…
But does anyone stop to comfort the violets in their sorrow? Even once?
No!
You know, depression is a chemical imbalance and has many dangerous side effects. But when it becomes a part of ones identity, as it has for the violets, it transcends its mortal debilitation and becomes a blight on the very soul.
When I’m elected, I’m going to make violets purple again! And not by adding rose colored glasses, no. Not by that. Who needs all the thorns roses bring anyway? No, I dream of a garden where honest, hardworking violets can grow bigly without the radical redness of roses!
In other words, f*** you roses.
Let’s Get Pruning ™
This poem brought to you by Goldman Sachs.
Filed under Poems
Getting Out Of Anywhere
I’m driving down the interstate,
The freeway, highway, expressway.
I see folks who don’t want to wait,
Folks who sin, folks who pray.
I see lines of cement, concrete
Cutting green and yellow squares
Through fields of grass and corn and wheat,
Driving right through anywhere.
I pass by Costco, Sam’s Club, Joe’s,
Past rectangular white houses
Avoiding eye contact from those
Who wear jeans and shoes and blouses.
Then I take exit one-o-eight there
Past the fence the cows broke through
And I say goodbye to anywhere
And say hello again to you.
Filed under Poems
New Releases, Same As The Old Releases
The plots of every video game
Turn out to be exactly the same:
An underdog becomes more skilled
Until the villain can be killed.
I created a game of my own
That you can play without a phone
In which a group of Demon Lords
Present you with various rewards.
Some give freedom, some give wealth.
Some guarantee you perfect health.
Some will make the world at peace
Or let you meet the cast of “Grease.”
Your character has just one year
(Minus time for sleeping, work, and beer)
To help your choice of Demon Lord
Get the power to give you your reward.
And after all is said and done
Whichever Demon eventually won
Will not give you what they said.
They’ll do what’s best for them instead.
How many of you think “sounds like fun?”
Oh really? I guess that’s no one…
The name of the game is Election Day.
It’s coming in November to the USA.
The Daily Travesty 