Tag Archives: Silly

It Used To Be An Innocent Day Of Wiccan Ritual… Before The Dark Times

Instead of holidays with mangers

Tonight we ignore all the dangers

Of costumed little shits

Led by cats with big tits

Who, through threats, steal candy from strangers.

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When You Break Up / Lines In A Poem / So It Looks Longer / Than It Really / Is

Warlords might not be

The sensitive type,

Not ones to use shampoo

Or lotions,

But they’re a lot better

Than pacifists

Who are racist

Against certain oceans.

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When The Subtitles Don’t Match The Singer

Sometimes I wonder

If deaf people have to censor rap videos

Because someone accidentally curses in sign language.

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I told my friend “good morning”

And they just said “morning” back

Which makes me wonder what I did

To deserve that sort of attack.


He said “My pronoun’s potato

“Instead of he, him, and his.”

I mumbled “What isn’t a pronoun”

And he shouted “Yes, what is!”


I ate dessert for breakfast

Though I don’t know how or why;

I made some scrambled eggs

But they identified as pie.

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Another Win For Airport Security

Bob and Jim were terrorists

With three-ounce bottles of shampoo.

Steve and Josh were anarchists

And they each had some shampoo too.

They made a bomb to kill some folks

By pooling all of their shampoo

And they would have succeeded

If Dan, with the nail clippers, had gotten through.

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Words Hurt

I wonder if the guidance counselor

At Hitler’s Alma Mater

Told him to “Just be yourself”

And then regretted it later.

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Life, By The Numbers

Number one is what ambitious people want to be.

Number two is what you do when you don’t have to pee.

Number three’s a dream for men (if you know what I mean)

And four-point-oh’s the GPA of those who know the dean.

Five star restaurants are nice; Motel 6 is not.

If your girl’s a seven or an eight she’s pretty hot.

Nine’s the biggest number with one digit, that is true.

And ten means that non-Nabokovs think she’s too young to do.

I could do eleven, even twelve and then thirteen

But already the gimmick of the poem’s growing lean

So I will end it with a number that is really fine:

Seventy! (The number that comes after sixty-nine).

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