Tag Archives: True Story

My Friday Night

I took me out to a ball game,

Alas, to one with a crowd.

There they sold peanuts and alcohol

‘Cause Cracker Jack’s racist and traditional.

There I learned baseball tactics

And how to play the game right

From a screaming drunk woman

Who looked like a dark alley at night.

“Hit the ball!” Was her opener.

“Throw a strike” later came.

Then was “Make people stop not getting out

“And you’ll win the whole (censored) game!”

It turns out this lady’s cheerleading

Did lead the home team to win

So if you’re still an Orioles fan

Bud Light’s a good place to begin.

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Sorry Europe, South America, And Basically Everywhere Else, But You Have Terrible Taste

There’s an argument in the USA

About soccer teams and equal pay

‘Cause men got paid more overall

Despite the women winning all the way.

The other side of this tirade

Says the male players are underpaid

Because the revenue their team produced

Was 55 times more than the women’s team made.

Now how revenue or standings weigh

On the importance scale I can’t say.

The real question is, in 2019,

Why won’t this stupid sport just go away?

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A Historically Accurate Transcription Of Events Preceding The Invention Of The Microwave Oven

In 1920 some guy said

“A thought just poppethed into mine head.”

His peer responded “Tell me sir,

“What thought does cause thine brain to stir?”

Some guy then said, in a manner quite prickly,

“What if I had a box that heated food quickly?”

His peer replied “Your thought is bold,

“But how about heating the plate and leaving the food cold?”

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In. Case. They. Screwed. Up.

When. I. Read. Hai. Kus.

I. Read. Them. One. Syll. A. Ble.

At. A. Time. Don’t. You?

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The Hero We Deserve

I hope somewhere there is a bat

Who’s terrified of men

Who flew off to train with ninjas

And (insert syllables here) then

He became a vigilante

Fighting crime and stuff like that.

He holes up in his man cave

Because he’s called Manbat.

He wears a man-shaped costume

With a cape that’s shaped like fat.

The drives his manmobile badly

Because he is a bat.

I want this very badly

Mostly ’cause of the “man cave” pun.

His sidekick is called Flamingo

And yes, this poem is done.

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Autobiography, Chapter 1

Writing lousy poems

Is really not that hard.

It doesn’t take a lot of work

To be a blogging bard.

The only bit that’s difficult

Is deciding what to write,

Thus my meta-poetry

At 10 o’clock at night.

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Truth, AKA The Last Resort

Once again I find myself

Besot by evening’s chill,

No longer in possession of

The time I had to kill.

My mind fixates upon the task

I’ve thus far left undone:

I swore I’d write a poem a day

And yet have written none.

Thus I lie upon my bed

Writing where I am now,

Stating the truth about my life

As syllables allow.

Now comes the peril of present-tense:

I write that I’m writing,

Now I reread the previous line

To see if it’s exciting.

I also find, where once I wrote

Six syllables then eight,

My meter has forsaken me

By virtue of it’s late.

Thus endeth my desperate foray

To create relevant verse.

To all reading I bid good night!

(Poetry is a curse).

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