Tag Archives: Poetry

A Halfass Ballad

Come all ye round and sit ye down

And hear me lonesome tune

About a man who dreamed to show

The whole wide world the moon.

He dreamt of walking round in space

And that breathtaking view

And yet alas, a dream of NASA

Never could come true.

For this here lad of whom we sing

Was born without a feature

Incurable by brilliant minds

Or the nation’s finest teacher.

The man, who’s name we shall not say

For fear what he might do

Was born with only one buttock…

Just half the normal two!

Now don’t ye mock the man who had

That single wondrous cheek,

The sight of which could shush a bitch

And make her knees grow weak.

Oh yes, the ladies stopped and stared

And many more went mute

When they’d walk by the halfass guy

And his one glorious glute.

Alas, with but a half a butt

The fellow couldn’t run,

And so he’d sit and tan a bit

In rain or sleet or sun,

Leaving all a full display

The privilege of his birth:

And in the night the moon so bright

Shone on the moon of Earth.

Now in the water by the beach

Whereon our hero tanned

There lived a mermaid of the sea

With hair like golden sand

Who also wore no clothes to hide

Her modesty from view,

And soon she fell in love, for she

Had just one buttock too.

She sang a song of ocean life:

How living in the sea

Was not unlike the moon in that

It lacked most gravity.

She beckoned him to join her in

A land both wet and wild

To share a life of happiness

With many a one-cheek child.

Our hero was quite skeptical,

For of the girls he knew.

Could a lass with half an ass surpass

A lass whose ass had two?

And more important in his mind

Was if he could adjust

To a woman who, as all could view,

Had also but one bust?

Yet as she sang, way up and down

Did heave that single breast

And with such grace his dream of space

Was soon but second best.

And so they left the land alone,

No longer to breath air.

And thus one perfect buttock was

Half of a perfect pair.

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They’re Like Puppies, But With Testosterone

What if men who’re two feet tall

Are the physical ideal,

The epitome of manliness

With endless lust and zeal?

All the women saying

They prefer a taller guy

Have never seen a two-foot man…

True candy for the eye!

And although such small men are rare,

Precious and petite,

A man who’s 2-foot-6 or so

Is also really neat.

In fact, any guy beneath three feet

Is a slice of masculine heaven

Unless, of course, the manlet stands

Exactly 1’11”

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But I Have “Dreamer” On My Linkedin Profile… That Has To Count For Something

As a kid, I wanted

To win a Nobel Prize,

To heal the sick and dying,

Or to travel endless skies.

I’d live to one-hundred and twenty

And count the many ways I thrived!

This week I got excited

When my meal-prep box arrived…

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Just A Tip: Wait ‘Til All Is Revealed

Ladies: I am five-foot-two,

Bald, and overweight

With a salary four figures long

And a commemorative bowling plate.

Now sure, I know you’re thinking

“Does he know how bad that sounds?”

Well… if they circumcised me

I would lose 100 pounds…

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Realistic Aspirations

There are a lot of things

That you will never be:

You’ll never be an airplane

Or a cup of Earl Grey tea.

You’ll never be a unicorn

Or a tube of chili paste

Or a fan of Hip-Hop music

Who has impeccable taste.

You’ll never be a lantern

Or a humble guy from Yale,

But thanks to human effort

You may just become a whale.

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When Gen Z Starts Procreating

If I ever have a baby

With the person I call “Honey,”

I will name it “In the Headlights”

‘Cause when we sing “Happy Birthday” it’ll be funny.

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Quit Selling Drugs And Make REAL Money

If you’re a burglar

And want to do something bad

To an ex-CIA agent

Turned middle-class dad

I think you ought to

‘Cause although you’ll get killed

Hollywood will tell your story

And teen boys will be thrilled.

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For Everything There Is A Season

Some people say I’m not funny.

Some people say I’m just dumb,

But for years a grammatically-incorrect cat who wanted a cheeseburger was the funniest thing on Earth

So I figure my time will come.

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Change Who’s Steering, Or Just Bail Out?

Sometimes it seems

Like society is a sled

Screaming down a snowy hill

To the place from which we fled,

And everyone who rides the sled

Are begging it to slow,

Save those who see the ski jump

And exclaim, “How high we’ll go!”

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Instead Of Going Back In Time To Kill Hitler, Consider This Guy

“What if, instead of selling stuff

To people who will buy it

We interrupt TV and stuff

To talk about a diet,

A tv show, a sugar drink,

A car, or car insurance?

That should make folks love us,

Or at least that’s my inference!”

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