If I were in the army
Instead of throwing grenades
I’d throw bottled beverages
Like juice and lemonades
And while our foes are hydrating
And their smiles reach their eyes
That’s when I’d throw my grenade.
#ElementOfSurprise
Tag Archives: Bad
Scandinavia
Somebody was like
“What if we wrote ‘SKJ’
“And pronounced it like ‘sh?'”
And another guy was like
“When Hell freezes over.”
And I was like
“Nor way man!”
Also hockey, socialism, and vikings.
Filed under Poems
That’s Why My Nickname Is “Fish Lips”
My dad has the heart of a lion.
My mom has the heart of a gnu.
Sure, my dad has better taste
But they’re both banned for life from the zoo.
Filed under Poems
Somewhere, 1.923% Of My Readers Just Pooped Themselves (The Other 98.077 Need To Reevaluate Their Fetishes)
Find a deck of shuffled playing cards.
Pick a random card and write it down.
Then think of the number of letters
In the name of your favorite town…
If you subtract the number you thought of
From how often you think of French maids
You’ll find that the card you have written
Is in fact the seven of spades.
Filed under Poems
Autobiography, Chapter 1
Writing lousy poems
Is really not that hard.
It doesn’t take a lot of work
To be a blogging bard.
The only bit that’s difficult
Is deciding what to write,
Thus my meta-poetry
At 10 o’clock at night.
Filed under Poems
When You’re Not Picky About Who You Befriend
My friend has 70 statues of legs.
I don’t know how he got ’em,
But I know if he ever spanks a statue
He’ll likely hit rock bottom.
Filed under Poems
White Men, 2019
One day someone was looking
At a girl with diamond earrings
And thought “hey, those are pretty
“But why not use frisbees instead?”
Thus was the beginning
Of the now-frequent appearings
Of those with earlobes larger
Than the brains inside their heads.
Filed under Poems
She’s Also My Muse (And The Reason This Blog Exists)
My Mom’s the bomb!
Her name’s not Tom.
She deserves much great aplomb.
She’s older than a CD-Rom.
This poem’s bad, unlike my Mom.
Filed under Poems
It’s 11:48 And I’m A Horrible Person
Today I cut onions
And everyone cried.
Onions was a good dog;
It’s a shame that he died.
Filed under Poems
A Song For All Seasons
The hills are alive
With the sound of music
And by “Sound of Music”
We mean wildfires
And by “The hills”
We mean California.
Filed under Poems
The Daily Travesty 