Tag Archives: Happiness

Heaven Is Real

This world of ours has beauty

Hidden where you’d least expect.

There’s a chance for redemption

In every life that ends up wrecked.

In every gray face on the corner,

In every drop the clouds can cry,

There’s a way for you to heal

If you only choose to try.

So when the sun stops shining

Take comfort in the shade.

The beauty in the pink of dawn

Is equal to when day fades.

Eagles think they’re falling

When they first learn how to fly.

Love is all around us,

Not just in some beholders eye.

The world has many faces.

Close your eyes, the faces stay.

Whatever you think of the world

It doesn’t change its way.

Regardless of what you may believe

The truth is always true.

If you don’t believe in Heaven,

Heaven still believes in you.

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Hint: I’m Burning The American Southeast In Effigy

It’s my birthday.

The Seahawks lost.

You may or may not draw

An accurate conclusion

Of my happiness (or lack thereof)

Based on that information.

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A Better Deal Than Gas Station Sushi!

Imagine for a moment a world in which the typical person lives about sixteen years before being enslaved by corporate overlords and enduring fifty years of ever-increasing toil simply to stay alive. 

In this world there is an individual who has escaped the never-ending cycle of despair, and each day he renews the hope of a few hundred people via moments of free, digitally-published, frequently-rhyming silliness. He is a beacon of cynical optimism, a daily reminder that you don’t have to be perfect (or even reasonably good) to make a difference.

Would you be willing to give 6-12 seconds of your wages to keep the beacon of hope alive?
OF COURSE YOU WOULD!

Well, I have a confession: The in-no-way-a-metaphor-for-this-writer protagonist in the suspiciously-similar-to-real-life fantasy world is actually me! (M. Night Shyamalan, feel free to use this as inspiration for your next film’s inevitable plot twist).

I’ve been thinking about monetizing this blog for a while. I hate ads, and I will never willingly force you to suffer through ads to access this content. Instead of that, I want to give you the chance to financially support me as much or as little as you want via Patreon.

For those of you unfamiliar with Patreon, it’s a membership platform that makes it easy for creators of great stuff to get paid, and gives you (the patrons) some fantastic rewards for your generosity.

This blog has just shy of 900 followers as I write this. If each of you contributed fifty cents a month (less than two cents a day), it would pay my rent for the month. If each of you gave one dollar a month it would almost double my annual income (actually true). [Yes ladies, I’m single]. So if you’re willing to help keep the light of silliness alive in an increasingly dystopian society of “those other guys” for less than the cost of gas station sushi (financially and otherwise), please consider supporting me via Patreon when it launches on September 24th.

Humanity thanks you, as do I.

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If The Shoe Fits…

I lived a life of luxury.

I thought I had it all

Until I met my true love

At the climactic royal ball.

Her dress had such a shimmer,

Like her slippers made of glass.

Her smile moved a mountain

And OMG dat ass!

We danced ’til past eleven

Before she fled into the night

Leaving my heart in tatters

And a slipper in her flight.

I picked up the glassy remnant

Of the girl who once was mine

And tried it on. Who would’ve guessed

We both wore a lady’s size 9?

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The Quest For Common Sense (And A Wonderful Resource For Those Who Fail It)

I tell this tale and sing this song;

‘Tis neither short nor over long.

It is the tale of whom I met

When towards the darkness off I set.

I ventured to a fright’ning spot,

All at one both cold and hot,

And in its center stood the tree

Of personal responsibility.

And beneath that mighty central birch

I met a figure on its perch,

A lovely human, clean and bright

Yet I stood only half its height.

It spoke to me with radiant voice:

“To you I grant this single choice:

“To leave my grove, still safe and dense

“Or to eat the fruit of common sense.”

I looked again at the dreadful tree

From which grew apples, light and free

And with the hymns of wisdom fair

Filled joyfully the grove’s clean air.

And then I looked beyond the wood

To whence I came. Alas, still stood

Where man and beast were much the same,

Obsessed with power, sex, and fame.

To the glorious figure I did ask

What treachery hid within my task,

What fear and pain accompanied

The fruit of logic and its seed.

“No pain at all,” the figure said

Extending apples, smooth and red.

I knew not what was wrong nor right

But I grabbed the fruit and took a bite.

No longer was the forest bleak.

I couldn’t hide. I needn’t speak.

Where once the darkness clutched my heart

I only saw the world’s true art.

Where once I begged, now I produced.

Where once I guessed, now I deduced.

Where once had stood the figure bright

Now stood a mirror to my sight.

And yet the place from which I came

Sat glumly, still the very same.

I stood in brightness, stared at black,

And knew I never would go back.

So if you wander, wondering

Why you’re not pleased with your new thing,

Why your whole life seems second best

I summon you to join my quest,

To seek out forests rank with fear,

And from them soon there will appear

The brighter, lighter, clearer you

That knows and does what’s right and true,

Who looks at worlds of smog and spite,

Yet does his best and smiles despite.

Eat the fruit and so commence

Your brand new life with common sense!

But if back home you would return,

If common sense you seek to spurn,

If you treat dumbness with aplomb

You’ll find your kin at Facebook.com

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Logic, American Dream Style

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.

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Life Without Makeup

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!

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