If you sell your soul to the devil
And try to buy it back
You’ll find Beelzebub unwilling
To grant you any slack,
But if you do convince him
You’ll need to pay back more
Than whatever you decided
To originally sell it for.
This proves that souls are subject
To monetary inflation
As non-fungible timeless artifacts
With finite monetary evaluations
And thus I say a human life
Gets more valuable with age
From a monetary point of view.
Now let me out of this cage.
Filed under Poems
Growing up means being sleepy
But working anyway,
Trying hard to not be creepy
While you earn your pay,
And maybe plotting a murder or two
But not giving that away.
Filed under Poems
Death hung up the phone
And looked upon the acres
Of tombstones,
Each of them for a deceased death,
Each of which also died
Minutes after receiving the same call.
From Chuck Norris:
“Ready for another try?”
But this time Chuck was ready
To pull an Obi-Wan Kenobi.
Death was just a means to an end…
Filed under Poems
I used to dread going to parties
And talking to strangers all night.
Then I learned all about hemorrhoids
And now parties feel all right.
Filed under Poems
I love you
Like city officials love roundabouts
And bicycle lanes
And sidewalks with little gardens
That make them impossible to traverse.
I need you
Like white girls need artisan coffee
With little flowers made of milk
And 27 makeup brushes
To achieve that perfect “no makeup” look.
I want you
Not quite as much as I want trading cards
But pretty close,
Especially when you’re not all hormonal
And don’t talk too much.
Your boobs are nice too.
Filed under Poems
Pooping is great!
Pooping is fun!
Just sit on the toulet
And ploop! You’re all done!
Or if you are male
And/or have a phone
Pooping can give you
An hour alone!
Filed under Poems
What if a time traveler became a teacher
And for a few decades or so
Just didn’t teach people to write
Because they already know
That AI will destroy the world
And our only hope are those
Who trained the AI how to write
Using their own terrible prose?
Filed under Poems
I can’t afford to pay a dominatrix.
Their fee is simply too high to abide,
So when I want to be whipped and degraded
I turn on the “check engine” light in my ride.
Filed under Poems
When people say “What would Jesus do?”
I take that to mean
That I should go underground
And for three days not be seen.
Filed under Poems
The Daily Travesty 