If you were a mother and became a zombie
And started a life with you lil zombaby
Unlife would seem great when you lurch from the hearse
‘Til it’s time for the zombaby to nurse…
Tag Archives: Black Humor
The Racist Test
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.
Filed under Poems
Two Jobs That Make Six Figures But Nobody Respects
I heard a job ad this afternoon:
“Need a change in career?
“Get a class A CDL
“And drive a big rig here.”
The company that advertised
Was “Johnson’s Gas and Lubricant Shipping”
And I figured it was close enough
To my current job of stripping…
After all, I already know
How to handle giant hardware,
How to move lube on the night shift,
And stopping traffic isn’t rare.
I load cargo in the backdoor
And handle massive logs
And I’ve known my share of pigs
(As well as cows and dogs).
I’ve made a living dancing
But now I just can’t wait
To sit all day upon my butt
‘Cause I know my butt is great!
Filed under Poems
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
I Was Going To Have A Punchline About Skin Cancer, But This Might Be Even Worse
The sun is hot and bright today
And shared with me a warming ray
That made my pale indoor body
Turn pink and gold and very gaudy.
No matter how it made me feel
In a week that flesh will puff and peel
And I can throw the flesh that peels
At passerby. How good it feels!
Filed under Poems
An Important Choice
If I were a chess piece
I think I be a rook
Because I sit in corners
If just to read a book,
I like to walk in long straight lines
And don’t think it’s a hassle
When somebody mistakenly
Refers to me as “Castle.”
I’m not pious for bishopping,
Too smart to be a pawny thing,
I lack the boobs to be a queen
Or the balls to be a king…
So it’s either rook, or else a knight
Who’s called a horse sometimes…
Actually, I’m not hung like a rook…
I’m changing my choice. This line rhymes.
Filed under Poems
But If A Doctor Says “Die Jew”, Historians Make A Whole Thing About It…
I don’t know if God is real
But when I went to the doc
I found my religious beliefs attacked
Which was a nasty shock.
He drew some blood, and so I asked
“What’s it called when you do a test?”
Doc said, “Diagnostic”
And I ran away (that seemed best).
Filed under Poems
Multipurpose Tool
A shiny new piano
Is a beauty to behold,
And music can bring life and warmth
Despite the rain and cold.
Every key and inch of wood
Brings harmony, dear reader…
Especially when dropped from the 60th floor
Onto the appropriate world leader.
Filed under Poems
Dirty Old Sailor Describes A Fond Memory
You’re nervous when you look upon
Her soft, humid curves.
You want nothing more than to
Give all that she deserves
And even as your fingers shake
When you touch her humid walls
The warmth deeper within her
To all your instinct calls.
Trembling, you go inside
And hear her many sounds
As wave and wave again
Against her body pounds.
You know whatever happens
You must not be seen…
Some of you thought of your girlfriend,
But this poem’s about a submarine.
Filed under Poems
For A Very Tolerant Mother On This Auspicious Day
My mommy was a mother
Since before I was a brother
To my sister, and she kissed her
And tucked her into bed.
Then my mommy had another
(That was me), and then no other;
She was done, and though now I’m fun
Back then we cried ‘til fed.
And feed us well my mother did,
Both me and that darn other kid,
And I’ve attested she never rested
‘Til we kids were satisfied.
Then we got bigger and less cute;
One could walk and one could scoot,
After baby-proofing and pillow floofing
She probably wanted to hide.
Alas, we found her hiding places
And made her wipe our snotty faces.
She loved us still, despite the thrill
Having long since departed.
And then we started going to school,
Which meant less time mopping our drool.
With phlegmless floors she still did chores
As we laughed and said “I farted.”
And even when my sister was bad
(I never was, just ask our dad)
With grace and calm she’d slap her palm
Anywhere but on our faces.
When we got big and pubescent
She gave us the finest present
Like love and stuff, always enough
Yet gave us private spaces.
And oh the years of meals she cooked,
Though overworked and overlooked!
Oh the the years and sweat and tears
Endured by her for us! She
Will be remembered evermore,
For all of this, but even more:
She inspired my art. She’s old, but not a fart.
I end this poem thusly.
Filed under Poems
The Daily Travesty 