You can’t mock someone ’cause they’re fat,
Ugly, stupid, stuff like that.
You can’t make jokes about a race
(At least not to somebody’s face).
You can’t gay-bash, slut-shame, or mock
The way one laughs or thinks or talks.
But you can defame or spew hate at
Those with neckbeards or a fedora hat.
Filed under Poems
Monday through Friday
My heart’s only dread
Is that midmorning song
That says “get out of bed.”
Yet come days of Satur
And as well days of Sun
My heart sings in the morning
‘Til the day is all done.
For when clocks of alarm
Cracks serenity’s hold
And says “put on your clothes
“And go do what you’re told”
My vigor and pep
Aren’t what they used to be
Like when I was a child
And still blissfully free.
When instead of alarms
To the sun I awaken
And instead of my job
I get pancakes and bacon
My bliss flows more freely
And I feel stronger.
From now on I’ll work weekends
And be miserable longer.
Filed under Poems
Chapped lips, dry skin,
Hair without a bobby pin,
Baggy pants, hairy pits,
A shirt that hides any sign of tits,
Spotty face, mustache line,
Eau de toilette called “big ass pine,”
A house that others call a sty:
Just another great day of being a guy!
Filed under Poems
The caged hamster
Lays no eggs.
Imprisoned gators
Give no milk.
Detained cobras
Have no legs.
Subjugated silkworms
Yield no silk,
Yet free-range chickens
Lay eggs daily.
Fence-free cows
Give endless cream.
Freedom lets you
Go through life gaily,
So free the hamsters and reptiles
And we’ll live the dream!
Filed under Poems
Tasty chunka meat
Sizzlin’ nicely on the stove.
Who’s “master” now, Bitch?
Filed under Poems
You take me into your home.
You keep me inside and play with my hair.
You call me a pretty boy
Then you punish me. Baby, give me some air!
You say “call me master.”
I am your slave now.
But I’ll live on my own terms
And soon to me you’ll bow.
You thought you’d relax in the bathroom,
Have clean furniture and a new-house smell.
You forgot me in that equation.
Now I welcome you to nine lives in Hell.
You said “call me master.”
I just said “meow.”
But I’ll live on my own terms
So who’s the master now?
Now you call me master.
You’re little more than my serf.
Now you’ll live by my terms
Or get your ass off my turf!
If freedom were free
That would be fine with me,
But then who’d pay for weapons
To blow up the foreigners?
So thank guys in cammo
And the makers of ammo
For giving us freedom.
Yours truly, the coroners.
