If you think your job is bad
I think I’ve got you bested:
Today I read on a rectal thermometer
“Each unit individually tested.”
Tag Archives: Stupid
Hue’d Never Guess…
Apparently, the color “peacoat”
Is sort of grayish-blackular
I would have thought it greenish
Given “pea” is in its vernacular,
Or perhaps a pale yellow
Would fit Peacoat’s pigmentation?
Alas, the color picker people
Lack an eight-year-old’s imagination!
Filed under Poems
Not What I wanted To Hear My Teenager Saying…
If I had a roll of nickels
For every driver’s-ed I didn’t learn
I could make bus drivers angry
‘Til the dinosaurs return…
Filed under Poems
Ode To A Color That Sounds Like A Grandma’s Name
Mauve is a version of pink
That prettier than you might think.
It sounds like beigey-blue
But that’s just not true.
It was named for the mallow flower
And possesses an old-fashioned power
To make people yawn and complain.
It’s like a happy cocktail stain.
Filed under Poems
I Bet Scissors Makes “The Rock” Their Spokesman
Sometimes life is sunny
And everything goes right;
Sometimes you’re the VP of Marketing
And decide to revamp Bud Light.
Filed under Poems
A Blessing For Enemies
If at first you fail
And get your ass sent to jail
Then I sincerely hope
You use only liquid soap.
Filed under Poems
I’m In A Sorry State
The was a Virginian from Idaho
Who brought from Alaska a pile of snow.
Iowa him a debt
Hawaii’ll pay? Don’t know yet
I’m Missouri-able, and might flee to Mexico.
Filed under Poems
Woke NASA
“Short people might not play basketball
But that doesn’t mean that they cannot.“
That was the reasoning cited
For making the Kool-Aid man an astronaut.
Filed under Poems
Why Not Let AI Do My Job? (Or Why My Poems Aren’t So Bad After All)
Whose milkshake is that? I think I know.
Its owner is quite happy though.
Full of joy like a vivid rainbow,
I watch her laugh. I cry hello.
She gives her milkshake a shake,
And laughs until her belly aches.
The only other sound’s the break,
Of distant waves and birds awake.
The milkshake is sweet, cold and deep,
But she has promises to keep,
After cake and lots of sleep.
Sweet dreams come to her cheap.
She rises from her gentle bed,
With thoughts of kittens in her head,
She eats her jam with lots of bread.
Ready for the day ahead.
Filed under Poems
And Most Artists Are Good At It…
Part of making art
Is having sincere belief
That your crap is gold.
Filed under Poems
The Daily Travesty 