A minute with me
Is an hour in Heaven,
But no woman will know
‘Cause I’m five-foot-eleven.
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Tag Archives: Men
Size Matters
Bigger is better in terms of pianos,
4×4’s, salaries, and dicks.
But smaller is better in the eyes of go-getters
When it comes to the waist size of chicks.
——————————————————–
Bigger is better, the man would insist
When it comes to masculine stuff
Because those said men have never had things
That were, in our eyes, big enough.
Filed under Poems
When You Can Watch Something Other Than Baseball And Golf Again
‘Twas the week before football
And all through the States
Everyone outside Boston
Came to terms with their fates.
So many Don’taes,
Tyrones, and Lamars
Checked if Wendy’s needed
Someone who could lift cars.
Meanwhile those lucky
To remain on their teams
Prayed the ACL gods
Would not ruin their dreams.
The fans were all cozy
Wrapped up on their couches
While the TV says who’ll be
The sleepers and slouches.
And a tenth of a billion
Mostly female folks
Didn’t see the appeal
Of tackling blokes,
Yet still two-hundred-million
Pulled on overpriced shirts
With the last name of someone
Whose whole body hurts.
They’ll sit back to watch
As the combat begins.
They’ll be happy as long
As their animal wins.
Filed under Poems
I’m Not Advocating Kidnapping, But…
We once had damsels in distress
And knights to ride to their aid.
Although the knights and damsels are gone
The distress somehow has stayed.
As the all-knowing poet
I have a solution of course:
We need more women who love dragons
And fewer men who own a horse.
Filed under Poems
Men
There are 300 urinals present.
Just the first and last are used at all.
If one of those two isn’t open
Non-sociopaths use a stall.
Filed under Poems
But Both Are Equally Boring When Presented By The Intellectual Elite
I questioned the need
For vagina monologues.
Why we needed them was a mystery.
Then I realized
That the penis dialogues
Was basically just all of history.
Filed under Poems
The Answer, At Last!
All the single ladies
Ask where all the good men went,
Dreaming of the good old days
When the six-foot-plus millionaires
Without egos or exes
Would contact them conveniently
And buy them stuff
All without leaving the house.
Meanwhile the six-foot-plus
Drama-free millionaires
Are in their basements
Roleplaying car thieves
And writing bad poetry blogs.
You’re welcome.
Filed under Poems
