Being an adult
Means you schedule things like sex
And video games
Being an adult
Means you schedule things like sex
And video games
Filed under Poems
Have you ever had a character
In your favorite game or show
That you either would like to be
Or wish would forever go?
Well now you can fulfill your dream
Thanks to Fortnite! It’s a game
Where every IP of all time
Gets shot in the face the same.
Sign on and join a universe
Of people 13+
Who unironically use terms
Like “Sigma”, “Bussin”, and “Sus”.
There you can play any game
While dressed as anyone
And after your kid tells you how to play
You might even have fun!
Only one can win each round
Out of a hundred players
But if you’re bad, don’t be so sad!
Play again and avoid your slayers.
Claim victory or somehow blow it
Until you see someone
Dressed as a certain terrible poet
Chasing you with a gun.
Filed under Poems
I want to be a comic sidekick
Who is dorky but also inspiring.
I’ve no fears, I jerk tears, and bring laughter
But nobody seems to be hiring.
At least I can bring home some bacon
And dress in ridiculous ways
Right here at Volcanic Hideaways Inc.
Until evil brings about better days.
Filed under Poems
It’s bedtime again.
Tomorrow I go to work.
Life is Groundhog Day.
Filed under Poems
Whoever decided “Present”
Should mean both “gift” and “now”
As well as “here” like “I am here”
And “here” like “take this cow”
Should be presented with a present
If they’re present in the present
‘Cause their presence in the past
Makes the present present as unpleasant.
They said I couldn’t write a poem
Without using the letter “E”.
They were right, and yet somehow
I’m happy as can be.
On occasion you may find
Satisfaction without complying.
Also, I don’t know how to cut out
My first stanza… not lying!
Filed under Poems
I called her pulchritudinous.
She called me eellogofusciouhipoppokunurious.
Both of those are compliments
In case I made you curious.
We asked Canada to become a state
But they responded with only hate.
What was poor America to do
But extend the offer to Venezuela too?
Filed under Poems
In the distant German mountains
The cloistered monks abide,
Perfectly fermenting
The hidden power that’s inside.
They slice a cabbage handily
With their German ninja blade,
Discovering through discipline
How real strength is made.
They drink not wine but vinegar
As they battle high and low,
The secret monk practitioners
Of the great art: Sauer Do.
Filed under Poems