Asians are little.
White people are bigger.
The next largest up
Would have to be the magnitude of panic in your eyes when I start reading this poem on the streets of any major city at night.
Tag Archives: Bad
She’s Lived 90 Years Already, And The Guard Rail Needs to Be Tested Now And Again
I am stuck behind a car
Who doesn’t know quite where they are
And so decide to navigate
By traveling at 28.
I am stuck behind this guy
And starting to examine why
They made a law to punish those
Who ram the guys who hog the roads.
Filed under Poems
But Oh That Tan…
The heat is getting hot in here
And the sun is really sunny,
Unlike when it rained so hard
It was damp and unfunny.
I like it when it’s hot sometimes
Unlike my colleague, Heather
Who thinks she’s good-looking enough
To talk about the weather.
Filed under Poems
…Play Dead… Yeah, That’s The Whole Joke
If I were a possum
And also a poet
I’d write while I’m scared
And the writing would show it;
I’d start a stanza
But when filled with dread
I’d
Filed under Poems
Meta Stuff Is Cool Again, Right?
There once was a guy who drove home
And was tired from toes to his dome.
He wrote a lazy limerick
And rhymed it with slimmer dick
And this won’t get published in my next tome.
Filed under Poems
What White Men REALLY Can’t Do Is Rap
They say white men can’t dunk
But neither can a skunk.
Checkmate, punk…
Or so I thunk.
Turns out a chunk
Of white guys don’t stunk
But make the backboard clunk.
Word.
Filed under Poems
Your Math Teacher Warned You…
There once was a magical hero
Who divided the whole world by zero.
Trof huaknr jshfl ej
Helfpbe nfhoshe nej
Htppbej jfhw jfjr yeega beero.
Filed under Poems
Someone You Know Is Pedantically Screaming “It’s A Crustacean, Not A Fish!”
I think on behalf of those born between
Late June and late July
We need to recognize their pain
And ask the question why
Their star sign is a great disease
(And a pretty boring fish).
I think the other stat signs
Should be diseases too. I wish
That some day in the future
Someone will die of Libra
And we’ll recognize that Cancer
Is a constellation of a zebra.
Filed under Poems
Hot In More Ways Than One?
I asked how hot the weather was
On a scale of one to ten,
But apparently that’s boring
So I rephrased and asked again:
“On a scale that starts at Poop
“And goes until my Sadie Sink
“How hot is it?” They said “Satan’s balls”
And now I don’t know what to think…
Filed under Poems
Yeah… No Comment
This poem isn’t very deep
Because I need to fall asleep.
Tomorrow I’ll do it earlier,
Like a man who goes to the gym at 5:00 AM to get burlier.
Filed under Poems
The Daily Travesty 