She was meretricious
And he was five-foot-two
And yet somehow between them
Amorous feelings grew.
He thought she was a goddess
And she thought he was funny.
So go the lives of 4’s and 5’s
When they have boobs or money.
Tag Archives: Postaday
The Case Against Hell
Were there an inventor,
Perhaps of a car,
And it found its vehicle flawed
I’d think that the fault
Was not with the car
But with it’s creator, Car God.
And if Car God said,
“You dumb stupid lemon,
“Made flawed because I wasn’t clever,
“Instead of repairing,
“Refining, retrying,
I think I’ll just burn you forever…”
If that were the case,
I’d want a new God
For fear that I might somehow fail.
But our God is better:
Our God is forgiving
For he made, but has not burned, kale.
Filed under Poems
But Hockey? There’s A Great Sport!
Soccer’s like “The Notebook:”
I’ve never watched for more than a minute,
I consider it nap-time
And don’t like anyone in it.
Soccer and I
Are also much alike
In that no one ever scores
And the entertainment it creates has unsatisfying conclusions.
Filed under Poems
Insurance Be Like…
I called Permanente Kaiser
‘Cause I had pain in my incisor.
What they said seemed rather ruthless:
“Pay up or you’ll soon be toothless.”
If Only His Parents Named Him Neil…
Greg is 17-foot-3,
Runs faster than the eye can see,
And more impressive than Greg’s size is
How Greg’s won four Nobel Prizes.
Greg is just 18 years old.
All Greg touches turns to gold.
Greg’s backstory’s very tragical
Which makes Greg seem even more magical.
Greg declared the other day
Greg wants to play in the NBA.
The coaches laughed ’til they soiled their pants…
Greg once said, “Cops are fine,” so Greg never stood a chance.
Filed under Poems
Why Teachers Don’t Get Paid Enough
I didn’t like to talk
So I said, “I hate speech.”
Mr. King was sad
Because it’s his job to teach.
He said, “That is incorrect.
“You should say, ‘I use hate speech.'”
I quoted him out of context
And now he’s homeless on the beach.
Filed under Poems
Hospital Memos
Vegetable soup will
No longer be served in the
Quadriplegic’s ward.
Filed under Poems
Think About The Bulimic Market Though!
First they made potatoes,
Then they made potato chips
Which were the same but thinner
And were prone to chap one’s lips.
Then they thought, “What if we
“Made these taste like spoiled fruit?”
Thus born was “Salt and Vinegar,”
And thus rose the chip’s repute.
“That went well,” the people said
And so they made new flavors
Like “Sour Cream and Onion”
And “Tasteless” (For the savers).
They made the chips organic,
They made them hot and cold,
They covered them in who-knows-what,
And still, somehow, they sold,
But you now dare to tell me
That my product is a waste?
Who wouldn’t want to purchase chips
Called “Orange Juice and Toothpaste?”
Filed under Poems
Also, Life Is Better With Endless 8-Bit Russian Folk Music
In life, as in Tetris
Failure is guaranteed.
The longer you’ve been playing
The higher is your speed.
You choose where to place the blocks
That you’ve no strength to bend.
Your only goal’s to stay alive
Until the very end.
To play the lowest levels
Is a way to work off stress
But you’ll find when all is over
The rewards are much, much less.
You’ll win by staying focused;
You’ll lose if you get shot.
If you choose to try again
It may get worse… or not.
When you’re done the lowest scores
Are gone without a trace,
But for the few who managed to
Put everything in place
You’ll enter your initials
To claim your high score’s stake
And if you do not enter “ASS”
You’ve made a huge mistake.
Filed under Poems
