I think we need a theme park
Called IQ Test Land
Where every ride is deadly
(Intentionally planned)
And a prize will be given
To the one lucky guest
Who survives on the rides
Longer than all the rest.
It’s not a solution
Without any flaws
And may be against
International laws
But in the week that its open
The world will be cleared
Of many a person
Who think seat belts are weird.
Filed under Poems
There once were some people with torches
Who sat upon their front porches
And cried “People with pitchforks
“Are evil and rich dorks”
While the real evil people ate bortsch.
Filed under Poems
One person’s trash is another man’s treasure
Which is why every single raccoon
Is living the life with their hot raccoon wife
As a billionaire garbage tycoon.
Filed under Poems
When people say that Santa Claus
Is, and has always been, white
I agree with them in principle
But ask if it’s alright
That going down a million chimneys
Every Christmas night
Would make him look like blackface
‘Cause I like to start a fight.
Filed under Poems
I had a lovely afternoon
About which you’ll never hear
Because I’m saving the clever poems
For probably sometime next year.
Filed under Poems
So in the warm parts of the world
Where the snow never falls in December
Do they still play the same Christmas carols
Or some songs Northerners don’t remember
Like “I want a gator for Christmas”
Or “Chestnuts roasting in a forest fire”
Or my particular favorite:
“There’s no snow to shovel when I retire”?
Filed under Poems
Shortest day of year
Then Grandma says “anal cyst”
Feels much longer now
Filed under Poems
There once was a break in my work
When I didn’t have to go to work
And my days had no work
And the absence of work
Was accentuated by not going to work.
Filed under Poems
Some music tells a story
Through its lyrics and its tune
While other songs can set a mood
Akin to Clair de Lune,
But gather up some saxophones
And play the notes you shouldn’t
And enjoy the kind of angry zen
That other music couldn’t.
You play between the melody
And skip around the beat,
Lighting cigars from wreckage
Of that old Chernobyl heat,
Not thinking of the church or state
Or fighting that good fight
But hearing without listening
And feeling things be right.
When every chord is almost sweet
And every stab of pain
Invites the opportunity
For dancing in the rain
You’ll know you’ve found the answer
And a chill runs down your spine
Because your call’s important
So please stay on the line.
The Daily Travesty 