Tag Archives: Stupid

April 6, 2018 · 7:48 am

Jack Didn’t Sense The Conspiracy Until It Was Too Late

Peter picked a peck of pickled peppers.

It seemed to him the decent thing to do,

Then sweated sweetly with some swarthy schleppers

To schlep the peppers way back home to you.

But you, alas, had since left for the seashore

To sell your silly seashells I don’t doubt.

So I went to the park to soothe our offspring.

Didn’t give tidy teeter-totter daughters time to pout.

But somewhere in my heart I felt a tugging…

The tongue-tied tugging you and Jack know well.

I hope it goes away as I fetch water.

But oops! I tripped or slipped. Jill? What the hell?

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April 5, 2018 · 10:40 am

But The Microwave Is Silver…

The pot called the kettle black.

The kettle thought the pot was a racist kind,

But then kettle saw that the pot was black too

And, quoth the kettle, nevermind.

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April 4, 2018 · 12:15 pm

Death Metal Groupies

Just because your singing voice

Sounds like Jabba the Hutt

Imitating Bryan Adams

Gargling a cigarette butt

Run in slow-motion backwards

Mixed with satanic chants

And is voted less favorably

Than being bitten by ants

Doesn’t mean I don’t want to

Get into your pants.

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April 3, 2018 · 11:01 am

The First Ever Skate-Park Graffiti Artist

Amidst the canyons of cement

I, with my board and spray-paint saw

Amidst the half-pipes, sad and gray,

A never-before-dreamt-of flaw.

For who would want to ride downhill

While listening to bands like “thrust” and “taint”

If there were no large bubble letters

Or titties drawn in low-cost paint?

And so I shook my can of blue.

My conscience whispered “make some art.”

And on the hill, for all to see,

In indigo I spelled out “fart.”

Inwardly proud I swallowed a sob

Then went back to congress to do my job.

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April 1, 2018 · 6:30 pm

It’s A Matter Of Efficiency, Really

Today is Easter, as you know.

It’s also April Fool’s Day.

I think those go together

As they celebrate the way

That Jesus was all dead and stuff

And then suddenly he wasn’t.

The two holidays make sense to me

Because the whole “not dead” thing doesn’t.

What also doesn’t make much sense

Is a question of this kind:

It’s that God sacrificed himself

To appease himself I mind.

Not only that, but if it’s true

That Jesus isn’t dead

Then why not find another way

To cure one’s Godly head?

It seems if you’re omnipotent

You could just say “hey folks,

“Get your shit together”

Instead of the “oops, not dead yet” jokes.

But I am just a human

And can’t be my own son

So I’ll just eat my chocolate eggs

And let His will be done.

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March 31, 2018 · 9:41 am

We Are The Sum Of Our Experiences

Have you ever seen a sunrise

And thought “that’s very yellow?”

Have you ever met a stranger

And known you do not know the fellow?

Have you ever started a poem

Without knowing how it will end?

If so I have to ask you

To stop trying to steal my identity.

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March 22, 2018 · 5:38 pm

Is This Just Uninspired Trash Or Some Sort Of Super-Roundabout-Yomama Joke Or What?

Folks sometimes yell

“Jesus Christ!” When they’re mad,

But what did Mary shout

When Jesus was bad?

I do have a theory

And, yes, it is lame

But when Jesus was bad

Mary shouted my name.

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March 19, 2018 · 9:25 am

Le’eonardo De’avinci

Yo, ‘sup homie.

I got da shizzow:

It’s a portrait I did

Of dis half-smilin’ hoe.

It’s all kinda dark

In a beige kinda style

And I figga the critics

Gonna rave for a while.

I got some new model

But wut’s dat bitch’s name?

Moana? Le’isa?

Nothing worthy of fame.

They’ll ask why’d I paint it

And wonder howso.

Too bad I was trippin’

And forgot her brows yo!

#Wurd

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March 15, 2018 · 3:22 pm

Never Date A “Journalist”

I said “I can’t go dancing

Because of Plantar’s Fasciitis.”

She said “isn’t that when gardeners

Vote for Trump just to spite us?”

I laughed a bit too much I guess.

I thought it was just banter.

Now I’m mocked on Buzzfeed

For being a fascist planter.

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March 13, 2018 · 6:51 pm

That’s All He Had Time For

Today we bury the body of Joe

Who lived to 108.

He read the terms and conditions

And thus he is “the late.”

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