Tag Archives: Postaday

Valor’s Better Half (Alternate Title: Close To Home)

Discretion is a virtue

For which some have a knack.

Alas, it seems my roommate

In this department oft does lack.

I too must use discretion

When I lay upon his pillow

Subtle ads for soundproofing

And houses for rent on Zillow.

His endurance is remarkable

As much as his discretion.

He can “dance” for 90 minutes

Split into 60 micro-sessions.

I thought about live-tweeting

My compatriot’s loving dance

But by the time I’d typed my password

I’d already lost my chance.

Now in addition to discretion

Temperance I must display

To avoid sending him this poem

About his “bet you can’t have just one” lays.

You might call that passive-aggressive

And Dear Reader you’d be right.

I’ll ponder such implications

As I’m live-tweeting tonight.

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You Think I’m Joking…

I want a theme park

Where 60-foot insects

Entertain guests

Who beside the bugs sit.

I hope the bugs bite

And destroy anybody

Who’s freaky enough

To buy a ticket to it.

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My Anti-Drug Treatise?

Great Scott would eat no pot.

His wife was also clean.

Their afternoons were generally normal

And they did not live in Colorado.

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That Time Of The Month

I saw her in a shady bar

And decided to go a step too far.

I invited her out into my car

Beneath the full white moon.

We did about what you’d expect.

It was so wrong yet so correct.

We surely were not circumspect

And afterwards slept ’til noon.

And when at twelve I done awoke

I very nearly had a stroke

For beside me was a bearded bloke

Where before there’d been a lady.

That moment’s when I’d realize

That full white moon caused the disguise.

I’d fallen prey to a Werewoman’s lies.

Now the bars I go to are less shady.

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Half Dozen Of The Other

So many people live like eggs

It’s almost not okay.

Their only goal is, like an egg,

To get laid every day.

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A: Burger King, Somebody Named Consuéla

I won “Who Wants To Be A Millionaire”

On Venezuelan TV.

Now I’m wondering where to spend it

And who will share the fries with me.

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Prelude To A November Incarceration

Today I donned my costume

Of civilization’s promiscuity

And the intolerable agony

Such laxness ought to bring.

Yes, amidst the evening’s gloom

It looks a bit like nudity.

And officer, I’ll answer yes,

It is a nipple ring.

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Prudent Historical Decisions

There’s a reason there aren’t dentists

On that South Dakota mountain

‘Cause then they’d have to  call it “Mount Brushmore.”

For taste there’s no accountin’.

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It’s The Thought That Counts

I saw a homeless family.

In rags they all did dress.

They held a sign: “We appreciate

“Whatever you’ll spare. God Bless.”

I just happened to be

Driving home from the lab

And I had extra hydrochloric acid

Beside me in the cab.

I tossed them the beakers

Which catch they did not.

Oh the presumably joyful tears

To their eyes that I brought!

Some people would pass them

Without thinking twice

But today I was different.

Today I was nice.

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Things Could Be Better… Or Not?

Remember that time,

That era of bliss,

When everything was

So much better than this?

When rainbows were present

Despite sunny days?

When you truthfully liked

One or more high school plays?

When people were friendlier

Than they are now?

When you could eat beef

Without harming a cow?

When the radio played

All your favorite songs

And giant monkeys weren’t kings

But elected-representative Kongs?

When Hamilton tickets

Could be purchased without

Selling infants on ebay

And a diagnosis of gout?

When Harambe was living

And that neighbor you hate

Was still in a prison

Somewhere in Kuwait?

But alas, you are peasants

And remember you don’t.

You tell me “say sorry,”

But too bad, I won’t. 

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