The fact that thrice you mentioned
That you don’t care about corn Jimmy cracks
Makes me think that your indifference
Is facade instead of facts.
Tag Archives: Postaday
This Is My New Favorite Synonym For Buttcrack
I looked at the thong and what it covered
(Or more of what it didn’t hide).
I saw that arcing crack and had to ask
The most pressing question: “Butt Y?”
Filed under Poems
Rainy Parking Lot
Little drops of ocean sky
Fall upon my Honda’s hood.
I am warm and dry inside,
Content and sleepy. Life is good.
The raindrops play their glassy drum;
None of them would e’er predict
The mayhem that my wiper blades
Will, on their zen, so soon inflict.
Filed under Poems
When The Evil Witch Is On Social Media…
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder:
This much I know is true.
Logically, it must therefore follow
That you’re beheld by very few.
Filed under Poems
The White Guy Equivalent Is “Orr and Stafford”
Which Mexican guy is a sailor?:
Señor Gonzalez or Señor Cruz?
Well, Gonzalez does the actual sailing…
Cruz just crew the cruise.
Filed under Poems
My Superbowl Recap
Their once was an organized crime
Who fixed football games all the time.
Then a female singer
Put the crooks through the wringer
And black Tom Brady won with a dime.
hAIkus
If you say to me
“Epistemological”
I will think you’re smart.
————————————
If you say to me
“Cheese is made from poodle eggs”
I will think you’re smart.
————————————
If you say to me
Anything at all, that’s fine.
I’m not built to judge.
Filed under Poems
Woe Is Me (Millennial Edition)
“I need to write a poem”
Isa thing I say many a night.
That’s usually followed by a poem like this.
Thus is the artist’s plight.
Filed under Poems
Fishing For Likes?
There was like a guy from like somewhere
Who like liked like things like like long hair.
He like like-liked this girl
Whose hair had like a curl
And he was like “I like like-like you. So there.”
Filed under Poems
Just Like Being A Real General, But Without The Pay
All of those violent video games…
The ones with the Nazis and guns…
Are thought by most people as harmless,
Just mindless and gory and fun.
They think they’re just one simulation
Of engaging in conquest and war
Where a kid can sit down for an evening
And proceed to, the whole world, ignore.
But when you grow up you realize
And begin to see children who stare
At a screen sending soldiers to slaughter
With less than a whiff of a care
And you realize with eyes open wider
And a hint of an older man’s sorrow:
They’re not corrupting the youth after all:
They’re training the kings of tomorrow.
Filed under Poems
The Daily Travesty 