He was born a maggot
And he grew into a fly
Until my cat got hold of him
And then he had to die.
We celebrate his passing
With a vigorous fist bump
For he reminded us our fat cat
Can manage still to jump.
Tag Archives: Humor
When You’re 29 And Your Brain Ain’t Like It Used To Be
Some like it hot.
Some like it cold.
Some start their poem with the same cliche two days in a row
Because hey, I’m tired and old.
Filed under Poems
How I Feel About Yoga
Some like it hot.
Some like it cold.
I just don’t like it
And I will not be sold.
Filed under Poems
You See Four Old Ladies Hogging The Tennis Court, But I See…
Four towers in the corners
Of eight-hundred and eighty square feet
Separated by a net
And a ray of Summer’s heat.
One let fly a bullet
And their counterpart stepped back,
Eyed the bouncing projectile,
Then gave a hearty thwack.
And so the ball of fire
Soared between the warriors four
Until finally to out of bounds
Their common goal did soar.
“A point for us!” The victors cried
As fell the reaper’s sickle
Upon the party who had lost
The game of ball and pickle…
Filed under Poems
Sunbathing? Sure…
I thought about the venus flytrap
And how cool are carnivorous plants.
Then I thought about the opposite
And how we might enhance
An animal that ate no meat
And was immobile and sat in the sun.
Turns out there’s an animal like that:
The “Californian”.
Filed under Poems
I Actually Wrote A French Poem Too, But If You’re Reading This You Probably Don’t Like That Kinda Thing
If I were born in France
I’d have had a harder childhood.
I’m a pretty nerdy dude
Which means it wouldn’t be too good
To be in school and hunted
Like hounds hunt a fox
Except I’m French, to I’d surrender
To all the athletic Jacques.
Filed under Poems
If Greta Thunberg Were Black
There once was a bigass windmill
That stood on a bigass hill.
A bigass gust of wind
Made the bigass fan spinned
So why I still got a power bill?
Filed under Poems
Hands First Or Balls First?
There are two types of bathers
That I have come upon:
The type who take the bar of soap
And rub, rub, rub it on
And the type who see the bar of soap
And never, ever use it
‘Cause they know the other bather
And how often they abuse it.
Filed under Poems
We All Know A Group Like This…
There once was a five minute break
Between 8:30 and 8:37.
It was twelve minutes long
Until cake came along
And we all reconvened at 11:00
Filed under Poems
Basically Every Greek Hero Origin Story
He is Zeus.
She is Maude.
He becomes moose.
New demigod.
Filed under Poems
The Daily Travesty 