Tag Archives: Dating

Not Based On A True Story At All…

Here I am and in my prime,

No need for fear, no lack of time,

My IQ’s high, my flaws are few,

But there’s one foe I’ve yet to slew.

Somehow I feel my knees go weak

If, to a stranger, I must speak.

I can solve equations in my head

But not control the sense of dread

That spreads from pate to waist to toes

When I must speak to Jane or Rose.

I know Shakespeare, Austen, Keats,

But not wherefore my heart so beats.

Perhaps I’ve read too many tomes

To mix with non-y-chromosomes?

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False-Rape Culture

The marriage rate is going down

And many tears are falling.

The good men left and left behind

Some eyes bloodshot from bawling.

Men no longer mentor

Any women that they pay

Because they fear the power

Of what said women might say

And smart men will no longer talk

To strangers in a skirt

‘Cause they’re one false “j’accuse” away

From sleeping in the dirt.

Cats think that this circumstance

Is surely heavensent:

They live with 30-something women

Whose exes pay the rent.

Meanwhile the men rebuild themselves

From fighters into monks

And leave the chasing women

To the inner-city punks.

The West now walks on eggshells.

There is no doubt about it:

The feminists have made their beds

And now they lie about it.

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I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For

I brought a dozen roses,

A diamond, and a kitten

To serenade by starlight

The lass with whom I’m smitten.

I sang “Every Breath You Take”

To my very special girl.

Then she locked me in her laser sights

And sang me “Goodbye Earl.”

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Oops! I meant “Perfunctory.” Wait, No…

“Pusillanimous”

Was how I described my date.

I did not get laid.

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Plenty of Fish

He stood on the granite cliff

Screaming hoarsely

Over the roaring black ocean.

From one of the shores beyond

An echo returned to him:

“Citygal17498 has blocked you.”

But mostly there was silence.

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Maybe It Tasted Good A Few Years Ago?

I want a sandwich

With clams, beets, and garlic

Sprinkled with liver and thyme

Topped with two scoops

Of pistachio ice cream

And the zest of a two-week-old lime

All smeared on a loaf

Of gluten-free flatbread

Served on a hard rubber plate.

You get it when you order

A nice BLT.

I call it “The Internet Date.”

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She’s Lying…

Everything’s fine.

I won’t get mad.

I don’t care about your exes.

I’m almost ready.

I’ll call you right back.

I don’t mind you buying that Lexus.

I really don’t care.

I really don’t mind.

I really (insert anything here).

No, I’m not jealous

And if we get married

I’ll never make you watch Shakespeare.

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