Dear readers, I am sad to say
(Not actually, otherwise I wouldn’t be writing this, but pretend it’s a genuine concern)
That commencing tomorrow until this Sunday
(Unless I decide to start earlier, in which case please disregard this post altogether)
I will put on hiatus these travestays
(For sake of the rhyme, spelling may have been altered)
‘Cause I’m tired, and could really use a va-
(You know what comes next).
Hope you understand, and I’ll be back in the plural of day.
Filed under Poems, To the Reader
I sit in a dark room, combing my hair.
I apply shadows to my eyes.
I wear a gown of vermillion, and sip the air
As to my feet I rise.
My nails are as red as an infants blood,
And tear drops dot the room.
I gaze at myself in the mirror.
My God, I’m a sexy groom.
Filed under Poems
You ever have that feeling where your eyes won’t stay up?
When your fingers are heavy and you can’t lift a cup?
When you feel you’ll crash any minute now,
And likely hit your face on the keyboard? Ow!
I’m glad I don’t feel like tht
Cause that would make me fel like my facw went splat!
I need to slepp now, or sleep wil tak me by force.
Is this oem finsiheeeedmkkkkkkkkjgijjjjjjjjhnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn
Filed under Poems
There once was a poet named David.
Night and day, on this blog, he slave-id.
But one Saturday, hazy,
He felt rather lazy,
So to the temptation of limericks he cave-id.
Alas, he still had no ideas.
This was one of his great fea’s!
Poems aren’t noisy.
He spelled fear like a guy from New Joisey,
And he screwed up his meter/shed tea’s.
And thus I do finish this post.
It has few worthy features to boast.
But I’m tired and stuff,
And this is probably enough,
So dear reader, these limericks are toast!
5: Spider Man
Well, yes, he is a hero.
That is good and well,
But this is spidey’s evil twin,
And like spiders, he’s scary as hell!
4: The Licenser
The Licenser is an insidious one.
He makes you wait in line.
He restricts your access to cars and guns
And he also makes you wait in line.
(Did I mention the waiting in line thing)?
3: The Pizza Delivery Boy Killer
No, he doesn’t kill delivery boys.
He eviller than that.
He poisons the pizzas you order in
With carbohydrates and saturated fat.
2: The Baby
Loud, obnoxious, and stinky,
It’s a villain with a potent defense:
You cannot kill a baby.
That’s just common courtesy. Such is the pretense.
And Finally:
1: The Internet
It’s said that most Americans
Are on the web 2.5 hours a day.
That’s 9.6 percent of your life.
Let me put it this way:
If you live to be one hundred years old,
You’ll only live to be 90.
Don’t believe me? Well look at your screen.
You’re on the internet, and it’s kicking your hiney.
Filed under Poems
Roses are red,
Violets are purple.
If you’re seeking bad poems,
I’ve got a curple.
Roses are red,
Violets are not.
But they share one addiction:
They can’t live without a pot.
Some roses are red,
Some roses are white.
I forget about violets,
But nobody gives a s***.
Filed under Poems
A cop from Detroit had a tazer
That he hid underneath his blazer.
He was good in a fight
Until one dark night
When he was killed by a guy with a laser.
There once was a man from Currant
Who gave trousers as gifts to his Aunt.
The pants tore in half,
And he ran like a calf,
But in the end he gave only one pant.
There once was a lady from Maying
Who wore yoga pants that were fraying.
To me it did behoove
That I saw the lips move
But I couldn’t hear what they were saying.
Filed under Poems
“I’d like to give a fuck,” he said
As he looked me in the eye,
“But I’m afraid I used my last one up
On your mother the other night.”
And so I asked the fellow,
“Why does it make you proud
To look me in my eye right here
And announce unto the crowd
That you expended a limited sex drive,
and, if I might ask, why in Hades
Would you be so very proud
To score with middle aged ladies?”
And so he slunk off quietly,
And to those who know folks like him:
Do the world a favor,
Just find the guy and spike him!
Filed under Poems
Every now and agin,
When entertainment is thin,
We human beings get bored.
But why must it be
That if bored are we
We cannot have fun? Oh my lord!
For instance if you’ll
Be bored in a pool
That means you’re water board.
And if you find eating dull,
And your food brings a lull,
Then alternatively, you’re fodder bored.
If you’re bored with computers
And can’t define transmuters
Chances are you’re circuit board.
And if you want to have sex,
But you’re bored and depressed,
Go ahead and just furk it bored.
When you go on a sailboat
You’re boarding a ship.
When your date is boring
Just give them the slip.
If you’re on rollers or ice
You could be skate board,
And if you cannot be early,
Be late bored!
And finally if a lion
Who live out in Zion
Whose name is Ford, has roared,
Then it’s quite possible
That specific sort of dull
Is to be as lion Ford roared bored!
Filed under Poems
I look at myself in the mirror
And at those that I call my peers
And I wonder how this generation
Got so messed up in so few years.
Then it hits me like Big Uncle Louie
And the things he would do with his knee:
It isn’t our fault we’re how we are,
It’s the fault of the films of Walt Disney.
Girls have been told since Snow White
That it’s fine to share a home
With seven short, gem-mining strangers,
And to trust only dwarves, never a gnome.
We’ve been taught that marriage
Is right for anyone who
Is beautiful, and is most unacquainted
With their spouse to be. Love is a coup!
And finally they showed us that filthy “Toy Story,”
Which features “Woody” and “Buzz,”
A cowgirl, a slinky, and a kid-hugging bear
That smells like strawberry fuzz.
So if love doesn’t last for our lifetimes,
It’s assuredly not our fault.
It’s the films, meant for fun, that have scarred us.
You can blame our dysfunctions on Walt.
Filed under Poems
