The folks who say #AllLivesMatter
Are undisputedly wrong,
And apparently have not met
Joffrey Baratheon.
Tag Archives: Evil
J-Pop Songs
They could be singing
Of murdering puppies
Or of the great pleasure
Of wringing your neck.
They could even be singing
“Go Panthers go!”
But sing in Japanese
And it’s catchy as heck.
Filed under Poems
Starcrossed Nemeses
She was like a James Bond villain:
Charismatic, certainly,
And she had a pool of sharks
And talked nonstop to me.
That suited me just fine.
I’ve also got an evil brain,
But I’m the type of bad guy
With bad teeth who gets thrown off a train.
Filed under Poems
…Until You Fall Asleep
Is it evil to hate those
Who collide at high speed
And slow down the traffic
On your way to work?
If you type “Lol”
When you mean “I hope you bleed,”
Is that being human
Or being a jerk?
If somebody pokes you
And you grab their head
And crush it with gusto
In an industrial vice,
Or set them on fire
And chant “Presto Combusto”
Is that so wrong?
Ok… I’ll be nice…
Filed under Poems
My Mornings
When I wake up, I fill my bath
And my lake of boiling acid.
I brush my teeth and poke my sharks
To stop them from getting placid.
I make my bed and shine my button
(The red one that says “die”)
Then I stroke my pet and eat paté
‘Til the heroes come on by.
On Saturdays I watch the news
And write something for my blog,
Then I go for a weekend drive
And swerve to hit a dog.
On Sundays I like to sleep in
And skip this whole routine.
After all, it’s hard to be
So consistently mean.
Filed under Poems
Superman Gets A Clue
We triumph over evil
And restore justice all day,
Yet evil and injustice
Never go away.
So I’ve become convinced
By the style of all these crooks
That someone’s sponsoring evil
In order to sell more books.
Evil needs money too
I filed for evil bankruptcy
Just the other day.
Changes is technology
Have driven business away.
No one buys poison apples
Or spinning wheels in any form.
When they want to put a princess to sleep
They just use chloroform.
Filed under Poems
Whipper Snapper
Timmy was a cheerful slave
Who snapped his fingers all day long
He could not sing or whistle or dance
But his walking and snapping were their very own song.
Paul, he was a slave driver
Who snapped only his whip.
He didn’t want to hear music
Nor any back-talking lip.
Timmy and Paul were rivals of sorts,
Trying to out-snap the other,
Paul whipped and screamed, Timmy snapped and dreamed
And neither cried “Uncle” or “Mother.”
And Paul’s arm got tired
Of all the abuse
And forced the whipper
To stop its use,
But Timmy’s hands
Never wore out
For his snaps gave him strength
Paul knew nothing about.
So which man was the slave?
The snapper serene
Or the whipper, obsessed
With the need to be mean?
No man is a slave
If he choose not to be,
For the consent of the oppressed
Is what makes a slave be.
Filed under Poems
The Daily Travesty 