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.
Tag Archives: Silly
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.
Filed under Poems
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.
Filed under Poems
Microaggressions
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.
Filed under Poems
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.
Filed under Poems
Words Hurt
I wonder if the guidance counselor
At Hitler’s Alma Mater
Told him to “Just be yourself”
And then regretted it later.
Filed under Poems
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).
Filed under Poems
