Tag Archives: Stupid

This Poem Reflects Their Work Ethic

If you want the very best

Be a fan of the New York Jets.

That rhyme didn’t work quite right

And neither do they.

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Millennial Parenting Takes Another Small Step

If your name were Bedtime

And asked for a bedtime story

People might share anecdotes

Of you in all your glory.

Your children might get all confused

When it’s their rest-your-head time

And you ask them to ask you

“Tell me a story, Bedtime?”

Or say you want a lesson

In a subject like history

And you have to tell somebody

“Tell me, Bedtime, a story.”

One thing no one asks though

Is why Bedtime isn’t sad

When he tells the story of the time

He killed his mom and dad…

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It Could Always Be Worse…

My mom was a pterodactyl

And my dad was an asparagus;

This is not true at all,

But maybe your life now seems less a mess?

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Bird Flu

I found what I thought was a condor

That was terribly sick with the flu.

But my asian vet said, “That’s ill eagle”

And now I don’t know what to do…

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Golf

Little ball of plastic

I hit into a hole:

It takes me many tries

To once achieve my goal.

I then repeat the process

Seventeen more times.

This sport is very stupid

But hey, the poem rhymes!

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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.

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2021

Deep below, the hipster slugs

Are killing worms and taking drugs

And handing out free slimy hugs

And chanting “Slug Lives Matter.”

High above, against the odds,

Someone applauds the gastropods

And, thinking they are modern gods,

Eat escargot and grow fatter.

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The Dream MLK Forgot

She showed a sign and shouted

And got up in our faces

Telling us about how white folks

Are the worst of all the races.

The way her spittle spattered

Was a most impressive sight,

My first and last impression

Of a peaceful Portland night.

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My Solution To School Shootings (Until They Clone Chuck Norris)

They should clone Queen Elizabeth

14 billion times

So we can all have immortal bodyguards…

It’s true and it rhymes!

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Nostalgia For Days Less Wordy

I am a man who’s mostly fluent

In most things some call “incongruent.”

If you don’t swallow, you shall spewn’t.

Also, I’m not Clyde.

I hope the intro set the scene

For me to tell you what has been;

This time’s the time I met my queen,

My once and future bride.

My eyes fell softly on the wench

Who sat backwards upon a bench,

Talking to a crescent wrench

About which bands were good.

I asked the lady, “How be it

“That you who speak to hardware sit

“With legs ensconced, I do admit,

“Within that bench of wood?”

She did not reply at first,

For my manners were near the worst,

And I, my oversight, then cursed

And then addressed the tool.

Now seeing that I understood,

She said “I’m trapped within the wood

“Because I wondered if I could.”

Now I felt like a fool

And so I left her trapped within

The bench where didst our tale begin,

For sitting backwards is no sin

But merely hard to grasp.

She’s still my queen and future bride,

For I speak truth and have not lied.

When she is free, and bathed beside,

Her body I will clasp.

For who better to share a life,

Who better to be made a wife,

Than one, though trapped, can feel no strife

Though physics she has broken?

And who, from her odd point of view

Can feel a love so strong and true

Than not Clyde, whose hair isn’t blue,

Who made her heart awoken?

This tale has a moral, yes,

So close your eyes and take a guess.

Your eyes are closed… how read you this?

Anyway, I boast

That this here incongruent verse

Tells you, dear reader, of my curse

And that there are things so much worse

Than a lazy, four-line post.

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