Tag Archives: Funny

I Tried To Write A Blues Song…

If the fact that night’s black

Somehow strikes you as racist,

If you’ve slacked off on the lotion

And your skin has a cray cyst,

If you drink green smoothies

And fly “coexist” kites

You may not have the blues

But you’ve sure got the whites.

When your three-year-old son

Tells you “Daddy, I’m gay”

And your instagram buddies

Say “Hashtag-OMG-yay!”

If you’re upset you don’t need

To fight for your rights

Then I’m sorry my friend

But you may have the whites.

If Samuel L. Jackson’s

Your “number one bro,”

You think its fine to say “moron”

But not to call someone “slow,”

If you think the dragon’s

Misunderstood by the knights

Then give your friends sunglasses

‘Cause you’ve got the whites.

But if you’ve got the whites

There’s no need to be sad.

It’s not your fault your existence

Makes everything bad.

One day we won’t judge people

Based on sex, race, or fat…

If only all the fat rich white males

Could understand that!

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Live and Learn

Your face in my vision

With such precision,

A sight I’ll never forget;

How your eyes met mine

At 12:09…

The feeling’s not left me yet.

I realized two truths

That night in Duluth

As to your house we started walking:

The telescope seller was good,

I fall when hit by a block of wood,

And legally my actions could be called “stalking.”

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21st Century Music

There once was a popular band

Whose singer was pretty but bland.

The sales started to fall

Until for one and all

She showed off a mammary gland.

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Seriously, Look It Up People!

Nixon heard of the Laffer curve

And thought it was a joke.

Reagan heard of the Laffer curve

And said “that’s why we’re broke!”

Obama heard of the Laffer curve

And asked “what did you smoke?”

Trump heard of the Laffer curve

And said “this is bigly woke!”

Most of you heard of the Laffer curve

For the first time just now,

You don’t know what it is

Or how it affects your chow.

So please look up the Laffer curve

So as to be better informed

And we can get to fixing

All the folks who’ve been social-normed.

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Flowery Thoughts

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

Yet a more valuable fact

Is less cited as true:

They’re symbols of waste,

The decay of one’s youth,

Yet one must buy flowers

To prove that you’re couth.

For every blue violet

And red rose you eschew

The longer the doghouse

Shall be fate for you.

So for my fellow rebels

Who see trees but not forests…

When we kill all the lawyers

Let’s also kill florists.

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Sounds From The Palace

Close your eyes and hear the rain,

Which sounds like water, wet and plain.

It sounds a bit like falling tears

But bigger and much less salty.

Some hear it on metal roofs fall,

Like little elves playing basketball.

Some hear it on a rubber tarp,

Which, let’s be honest, probably sucks.

Some hear it on roofs of wood.

Better than a tarp, but still not good.

But to me it sounds like my laughter

At a bunch of damp blind people.

Now you probably feel dumb

For closing your eyes

And listening to freaking water!

Lol… peasants.

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Thar’s Lookin’ At The Bri’ Side!

I went to bed at midnight

And woke at 5:00 AM

Happy, peaceful, prepped to seize the day,

“But its early” I thought

And so I hatched a plot

To sleep a few more hours anyway.

Now its just about 11:00

And I’m achy, sick, and bored

Wondering what the heck went wrong.

Now I’ll get dumped and buy a gun

And call up Brooks and Dunn

And maybe this day can be a country song!

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Lady and the Tramp

She was a Sagittarius

Who played a Stradivarius.

I was a Virgo

Who played the trombone.

She spent her days

Reading music and plays

While I played Tetris

Beside my pet stone.

She was a sommelier,

Who perused cassoulet

And to whom piquant tinctures

Were je ne sais quois.

But down by the lake

I jumped out of her cake

And I’m pretty certain

That she noticed moi.

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Here’s Where “All The Good Men” Are Going

They said I could dance if I wanted,

But I didn’t pay them no mind.

I said my friends don’t dance

And since they don’t dance

I’ll happily respond in kind.

They said I could wink if I wanted,

Use my privilege as a white male,

But if the non-dancers

Spew their postmodern cancers

Then I’ll probably end up in jail.

The jail guys dance if they wanna.

They’ll dance with convict behinds,

And since they’re “oppressed”

They don’t second guess

To ask if their partner minds.

So thanks but no thanks to the dancing.

I’ll enjoy my private gloom

‘Cause I don’t want the event

Of past-tense non-consent

To be my freedom’s doom.

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The Perfunctory New Years Poem

I’m flummoxed to fathom

The bourgeois congregation

That congeals in Times Square

For the New Year’s celebration

While I would reconnoiter

To avoid such a populous crew.

If you’re a sympathetic introvert

You likely share my view.

Whilst others massed in public

I hibernated at chez moi.

It was an evening of simplicity

And I needn’t venture fa’.

And as I awoke this morning

A eureka I did hear.

Hence I’ve vowed to simplify

My vocabulary this year.

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