Bob works on an oil rig
And thinks it’s a real nice gig
Despite the never being warm,
Likelihood of death, and unending storm.
Jane sell pictures of her feet
And also thinks it’s real neat.
She’s richer than Bob, but feels depressed
Because she’s historically oppressed.
Meanwhile, Greg’s a CEO.
What does he do? How should I know?
But I know he lives much like a royal
With abundant feet pics and plenty of oil.
Filed under Poems
Yes sir, good morning, and how do you do?
That’s wonderful, really. I’m fine, how are you?
You mean it? That’s awesome! Ya know, that’s so true!
Thanks for your business. Bye bye now! (Pee-yew)
Filed under Poems
Instead of all the low-income housing
Why can’t we build a castle or six
And all of the nerds will move in there
And the poor get the houses of sticks?
Filed under Poems
I think that God has outsourced
The world to EA Games
‘Cause every year the same stuff breaks
But just with different names,
The upgrades aren’t what we request
And some good features get lost
Yet somehow we get nothing
That explains the rising cost.
A year or so ago this thought
Would seem a funny meme
But current events might indicate
It’s truer than it seems…
A world that’s run by CEOs
That, year after year, never change?
Now I’m convinced this theory
Isn’t really all that strange.
Filed under Poems
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
The Daily Travesty 