Oh you’d better watch out.
You probably will die.
You slept with your sister,
Not gonna lie.
Game of Thrones is coming to town.
You’ve finished the season
And now you must wait.
Don’t lose your head…
Oops, too late.
Game of Thrones is coming to town.
The characters are creepy.
The show keeps you awake.
They’ll kill off eveyone you like,
So like Joffrey for all our sakes.
‘Twas a quiet day in the house
And a good day to be a mouse
For as the sly poet tried to come up with crap
The cat on the floor flew onto his lap.
“Hello there kitty,” the poet did shout
As the cat proceeded to let its hair all fall out.
The poet spoke more and stroked it’s blonde fur,
And the cat licked itself and mumbled a purr.
Then the poet’s appointment, confirmed as it was,
Took precedence over the self-licking fuzz.
And so he departed, and the cat in the lap
Lay down in his sheddings for his apathy nap.
Filed under Poems
There was too much water,
At least a gallon or two.
Little intestine was struggling
To make some pee for you.
The intestine thought “I think I can.”
As it turned out, he could.
If you didn’t like this poem
Small intestine says “you should.”
Filed under Poems
So many Depends
On a red wheelbarrow,
Speckled with what we hope is rainwater
Beside the white chickens.
Filed under Poems
(A Parody of “Welcome to the Jungle” by Guns N’ Roses)
Welcome to the Tundra.
We’ve got fun and games.
We’ve all got PhD’s, Honey
And we’re all named Frank or James.
One hour on Skype’s all the social
Intercourse we need.
If you’ve got a scientific grant,
We’ve got your deep freeze.
In the tundra, welcome to the tundra.
Watch it bring you to your knees.
I want to watch you renew our funding please.
Welcome to the tundra.
We take it day by day.
If you want it, you’ll wear lots of fur,
And get industry-competitive pay.
And if you’re a very sexy girl
Let likes to talk and chat
You better get your cell phone out
‘Cause us guys don’t dig all that.
In the tundra, welcome to the tundra
Feel my, my, my polar bear.
Ooh, you’d better grow your hair.
Welcome to the tundra
Where we’ve got two-hour days.
You learn to live like an animal
In our permafrost-sampling ways.
If your hungry, here’s an MRE.
You’ll get used to them eventually.
You can have anything you want
Unless it’s fresh, flavorful, or hot.
And if you’re high, you’re actually
At the same elevation as everyone else.
You know where you are;
You’re in the tundra baby.
Your skin’ll get dry in the tundra.
In the tundra, welcome to the tundra
Studying stratification.
In the tundra, welcome to the tundra
Writing your dissertation.
In the tundra, welcome to the tundra
Extrapolating from incomplete information.
In the tundra, welcome to the tundra.
It’ll bring you to your
Required credits of applied study. Ha!
I did an activity in a setting
That evokes a novel mood,
Then you you see my way of life
And my love interest dude.
Then it’s all turned upside down
In this young adult dystopia,
And I have to kill some children
Packed inside a cornucopia.
Eventually I win the games,
Then I go back my fam.
Then I go on a victory tour
In a super-high-tech tram.
I see some starving people
And they kiss their fingers at me.
I say some stupid, honest stuff
And hope they’ll let me be.
Alas, I’m wrong, and the mean white guy
Puts me back in the game.
I bust out with an arrow.
A shoddy forcefield’s to blame.
I find myself deep underground
Amidst a rebel plot,
And I get to dress up like a bird
And get the rebels hot.
We fight a war and sort of win
(‘Cause lots of people die).
Then I marry love interest
And bid you all good bye.
Filed under Poems
Have you heard the low thrum
Of a dozen mopeds
Cresting the rise of a hill?
The carry an air
Of environmental concern,
And always pay their bill.
The drink microbrews,
Read the Huffington post,
And ride to protest warming weather.
They want to be safe,
But they won’t kill a cow,
So instead they’re decked out in fruit leather.
They’ve occupied Wall Street
And conquered small towns.
They adopted Obamacare early.
They wear handmade bling
And fair trade hemp socks
And, only on Facebook, act surly.
And then with a puff
Of carbon-free smoke
They pedal away once again.
They’re Al Gore’s private army,
The Heck’s Angels gang,
Inclusive of GBT men.
Filed under Poems
You’re a bad human being,
Not because of what you do,
But because you have fingers.
I’ll prove it to you.
But first a few facts
From an uncited source:
Sixty percent of ticklish marriages
End in divorce.
If that’s not enough,
Let the record show
Ninety-nine percent of victims
Are tickled by someone they know.
Just because you don’t tickle
Doesn’t wash you of guilt.
Look around? Don’t you see
The tickle culture you’ve built.
But after writing this
Everything stays the same.
All I’m seeking to do
Is impose fear and shame.
If I succeeded,
I am one happy elf.
If I didn’t, you’re evil.
Go tickle yourself.
Filed under Poems
Oh say can you see
By the fluorescent lights
That red flag you sought out
On their online profile,
That was written so well,
Focused on good highlights
But it failed to reveal
All the things that were vile.
As the waiters brings food
And your date wrecks the mood
By reciting some thoughts
That are terribly lewd.
“Oh say, did you notice
It’s getting too late for me.
“This was a very special night,”
You lie as you flee.
Filed under Poems, Songs, To the Reader
The Daily Travesty 
NFL Commentary
How do you like those Animals?
They’ve got grit and size and speed.
Getting the ball from the QB’s hands
To the receiver’s what they need.
They’ve got guys who make a difference,
They’re just as strong as they seem,
And I think they’ll be successful
If they score more than the other team.
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Filed under Poems
Tagged as Commentary, Football, Good Advice, Humor, Parody, Poetry, Postaday, Sports