I am getting sleepy
And I open wide to yawn,
Then I march into my bedroom
And put plate armor on.
My chainmail hugs me tightly
And I fall into a heap…
This is what I have to do
To get a good knight’s sleep.
Tag Archives: Poetry
When Dad Talks To Your Friends
Tubing is rad
And, like, what’s up my homies?
I like Minecraft and pickles
And my sister’s a bronie.
I got shizzle for days
And my swag is so tight…
Wait, what do you mean
I’m not saying it right?
Filed under Poems
I Hope I Never Have To Read This Poem Out Loud
For every book ever written
And every food ever bitten
There’s that one guy who is not admittin’
He doesn’t know how to pronounce the word “chitin”.
Filed under Poems
Aztec Millennials
Two cannibals awoke on Sunday
And went for brunch at a cafe.
One said “I’ve got a hunch
“That the real brunch
“Is the friends we’ll meet along the way.”
Filed under Poems
Why Even Numbers Are Boring
One is the loneliest number
And two can be as bad as one
Three is a crowd
Four is twice as bad as one
Five has no particular qualities
Six is three times as bad as one…
Filed under Poems
I May Not Have Love, But My Mattress Full Of Money Keeps Me Warm At Night
If you’re having trouble with a breakup,
Feeling glum, and lacking sex
Just remember Elon Musk bought Twitter,
Flipped the bird, and called it his “X”.
Really Though… I Would Love To See More Movies Dubbed With Animal Noises
I wonder if animals watching TV
Think every show is just a human Lassie:
“Oh look! A talking human is saving the day.
“It makes its funny noises and everything is ok.”
Filed under Poems
Ye Olde Thug Lyfe
If I were a rapper I’d write some sick rhymes
About crimes and hard times and increasingly warm climes
But instead I’m a blogger and I’m writing these verses
Without curses so my readers won’t go out and steal purses.
Instead of glorifying living as a thug out on the street
I’m all for the institution’s safe and sanctioned meet-and-greet
And if you thinkin’ I’m a sellout I’ll correct you: If you think
Anything I’ve written here‘s worth paying for… go get a shrink.
Greenbacks aren’t a flowing to this blogger’s cargo pockets
Like they do for Tommy Cruise or to that baller Tyler Lockett’s
But I’m rewarded with a gift that no celebrity gets:
I can wear sweat pants to Costco and no one gives two shits!
Filed under Poems
The Daily Travesty 