I told my family that I’m gay.
They said “No problem, that’s okay.”
I told them next that I do drugs.
They said “Let us give you hugs.”
I said I like to eat poo.
They said “We’re always here for you.”
I told them I voted for Trump.
They said “Kill yourself you nazi asshole.”
If the words of a total stranger
Can cause great offense to you
Then I have just one thing to say
And that is whoop-dee-doo.
Like a printed photo album,
A collection of CDs,
The World Book Encyclopedia
Or watching things live on TV,
Like “Internet Explorer”
Or a brick-and-mortar store
Or carrying dimes to make a phone call
I don’t need you anymore.
I started a band where we’d play
Stuff other folks played first. OK?
Then I did discover
Such a band’s called a Cover,
And thus I named our band “Duvet.”
One thing about which I’m keen is
To write a bad poem about Venus.
That’s not really true…
I just wanted to
Justify ending a poem with “penis.”
Within the next 26.07 fortnights
My predominant aspiration
Is to perpetuate the convention
Of heightened lexicon inflation.
Be not perturbed if reading this
Is an arduous endeavor:
Aspirations are ephemeral whilst
Prose-prevarication is forever.
Next year my goal
Is to learn new words
But I’m also lazy
And learning’s for the birds.
Me like words with lotsa letter
But me like to sleep-in better.
Here’s to the year
That’s drawing near
(Or, depending when you read this,
Is already here),
I year where the queer
Have no need to fear,
Where we can steer clear
Of those who would sneer
And our get-in-shape goals
Can go get back in gear.
May your pain disappear
In the upcoming year
And if you partook of beer
Of deer may you steer clear.
I hope that my well wishes
Have thus been made clear
For this poem, readers dear,
You will find endeth here.