Cars and sports and guns and sports
And balls and boobs and mustard:
These (plus sports) are what guys like;
Other stuff makes them flustered.
I would write another poem
About what women like too
But they just can’t even anymore
And if you don’t know, they won’t tell you.
Filed under Poems
I want you
Like vegan bacon,
Like rain on my birthday,
Like my car being towed.
I want you
Like an unreleased kraken,
Like a giant pet termite
Or a poisonous toad.
I want you
Like an IRS audit,
Like Buffy wanted
A vampire to slay.
Some might hate this poem
But I know you applaud it.
My wants may be wonky
But you like it that way.
Filed under Poems
I like carmel. I like salt.
I like things that aren’t my fault.
I like chickens, ducks, and geese.
Star Wars rules. So does John Cleese.
I like monkeys, apes and such.
I like girls a bit too much.
What I don’t like is being made of wood
And shaped into a pawn. That just ain’t good.
I live a life of constant war.
In the middle I die, but the sides are a bore.
I don’t have films or birds or caramel
And, surrounded by pieces, I feel abnarmel
And that’s not all! In my whole world
There only is a single girl
Who’s married to my weak-ass boss
Who me into the fray does toss.
We are the lonely pawns, the guards,
And we hope one day you’ll decide to play cards.
Filed under Poems
Some men are boob guys.
Some like hair and eyes.
Some seek butts from all across the globe.
Some go nuts for feet,
But what I think’s neat
Is a lady with some really nice earlobes.
Filed under Poems
I heard that when uncertainty
About your future strikes
Examining what you avoid
Can lead you to your likes.
I tend to avoid everything
And like lying in bed
Writing jokes about the stuff
That’s running through my head.
I tend to avoid washing things,
Dishes and self included,
And consequently feel good
When I eat (get watered and fooded).
I like to be alone a lot.
I like the color orange.
I dislike thinking ahead
Which sometimes makes life hardyorange.
And so I have concluded
From my lifestyle and refinement
That I should pursue a career
In solitary confinement.
So if someone were so kind
As to frame me for a murder
I’d be grateful for all my life
And happy with my life’s direction-urder.
Filed under Poems
The Daily Travesty 