I once knew a Moroccan
Who thought that I was shockin’.
I gave him a shake
To see what sound he’d make
And he said “That’s a maraca, dumbass!”
I once knew a Moroccan
Who thought that I was shockin’.
I gave him a shake
To see what sound he’d make
And he said “That’s a maraca, dumbass!”
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A minute with me
Is an hour in Heaven,
But no woman will know
‘Cause I’m five-foot-eleven.
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The roses are dead.
The violets are too.
Someone swapped the water
With adhesive glue.
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We’ve seen names with apostrophes
And names that lack a vowel.
We have seen surnameless names
Like Retta, Link, and Farrel.
We’ve seen whatever Prince’s name
Had been known as previously.
I just hope I get to be the first
To name a kid with an Emoji.
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Just because a wise man said it
Doesn’t make it wise.
A wise man says “No bacon for me,”
But, plot twist! He eventually dies.
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This poem is like
A blue-footed booby:
It makes some people laugh
And won’t have any significant impact on your life…
Shadooby.
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I beg your pardon
For I mean to yap at thee
My case for nonconsensual
Reallocation of apathy,
For were we to allow
Our youth to expand
Their range of beliefs
We’d soon lose command
Of the best and the brightest
And the dullards alike.
Though the latter don’t argue
The former’d take a hike
And should free-thinkers see
All the ways we have lied…
Well, that is a notion
We must not abide.
Thus we must imprison
(At least to an extent)
Those who’ve not yet reached
The age of consent
And proceed to tell them
Facts they will ignore
To distract from the world
That they long to explore.
We’ll teach them arithmetic,
Reading, and writing
But most of all that
There is no need for fighting
For if each one resisted
Each oppressive foe
Then our script would be flipped
We, the high, become low.
Thus state education
In all things miscellaneous
Shall ensure that our underlings
Are not extemporaneous.
Thus closes my pitch
For public education.
We overlords live
Thanks to school’s misdirection.
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I opened a bottle of root beer
And smiled at the sweetness and fizz.
You probably don’t think that sounds racist
But I’m white, so it probably is.
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Her love made me warm and fuzzy
Like a bit of french cheese
Left in a sauna over the weekend
But, alas, she had fleas.
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If birds ate at restaurants
I imagine KFC
Would be a lot more popular.
The reason might just be
That folks would eat at restaurants
Where birds would frequent less.
You might think that’s racist
But that’s my fairest guess.
Filed under Poems